Maya had known from the beginning that her life wasn't her own. She was nothing more than a blood bag for her sister, Ann. Her parents made sure she never forgot it.
"Your life belongs to Ann," her mother had once said, her voice like ice. "The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for everyone."
Ann had been born fragile—too fragile. A rare blood disorder turned even the smallest scratch into a threat. A paper cut could be fatal. Since childhood, Maya's veins had been tapped again and again, her blood siphoned to keep her sister alive. She couldn't remember her first donation; it was as though the needles had always been there, waiting for her. Sterile rooms, the sting of antiseptic, the hollow sting of being useful only when she bled—that was her normal.
Maya loathed needles. The sight of one made her stomach turn and her hands shake, but her tears never softened her parents. They pushed her into the hospital chair every time, deaf to her sobs. The only kindness she ever tasted came from the nurse who slipped her candy afterward. She used to clutch the sweet like a talisman, pretending the sugar could numb the pain of her family's neglect.
She lived for Ann.
She bled for Ann.
She existed for Ann.
The shrill blare of her alarm ripped her from sleep.
"Ughhhhhh," Maya groaned, smacking the clock with more force than necessary. Her body felt like lead, drained and heavy, but she forced herself upright. In the bathroom, she splashed icy water over her face before stepping under the shower. Steam curled around her like ghostly fingers when she emerged, a towel wrapped around her and a frown tugging at her lips.
"Shit, I'm late. Jane's going to kill me," she muttered, pulling on her clothes with frantic hands.
She bolted downstairs, bag clutched in one hand, only to pause at the familiar, gentle voice that floated from the kitchen.
"Miss Maya! Please, eat something before you go to work!"
Nanny Emily.
Maya stopped, her shoulders sagging as she turned back. Despite her exhaustion, her eyes softened at the sight of the older woman. Crossing the room, she hugged her tightly, burying her face in the safe scent of laundry soap and warm bread.
"Good morning, Nanny Emily. Did you sleep well?"
Emily chuckled, smoothing Maya's tangled hair. "I did, my lovely girl. But what about you?"
"I'm fine," Maya lied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. In truth, sleep had been a battlefield—shadows of thoughts gnawing at her all night. "I just woke up late again."
Emily studied her pale face, worry clouding her own. "You push yourself too hard, Maya. You're looking thinner every day."
"I'll be okay, Nanny," Maya said quickly, stepping back before the woman could press further. "I really have to go. See you later!"
She slipped out, the morning air cool against her skin. Overhead, heavy clouds gathered, swollen with the promise of rain. Maya quickened her pace toward the bus stop, hoping to outrun the storm.
Meanwhile, in the grand Wilson mansion, Mrs. Wilson's sharp voice cut through the halls.
"Emily! Emily!"
The nanny hurried forward, bowing slightly. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Where is Ann? Still asleep?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." Mrs. Wilson's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Do not wake her. She deserves her rest. Make sure her breakfast is ready when she asks for it."
Emily hesitated. "And Maya, ma'am?"
Mrs. Wilson's mouth tightened, her voice dripping with disdain. "She's already gone, hasn't she?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"That ungrateful brat," the woman muttered. "The day Ann no longer needs her will be the day I throw her out of this house for good."
Emily's chest ached, but she lowered her eyes. To defend Maya would only bring trouble.
"Bring my breakfast upstairs," Mrs. Wilson snapped, already turning away. "My husband is bringing an important guest tonight. The house must be spotless. No mistakes, Emily. None."
"Yes, ma'am," Emily whispered.
"Be quick about it!" Mrs. Wilson's heels clicked against the marble staircase, each step like a gavel.
Later that morning, Ann twirled in front of her mirror, her silk dress shimmering in the glow of her vanity lights.
"Mum! How do I look?" she chirped, spinning with a playful laugh.
Mrs. Wilson's stern face melted instantly. "Perfect. My beautiful angel." She cupped her daughter's face with worshipful hands. "Where are you off to, dressed so elegantly?"
"Shopping with friends!" Ann giggled.
Her mother arched an indulgent brow. "All right, but don't stay too late. Your father is hosting an important guest tonight. He wants you there."
Ann groaned, rolling her eyes. "Not another one of his boring dinners. I don't care about his business partners."
"Ann, he's your father," Mrs. Wilson said firmly, though her tone was soft. "Show him some respect. You'll be back in time, and that's final."
"Fine," Ann muttered, pouting like a spoiled child.
Mrs. Wilson kissed her cheek, smiling. "That's my girl. Now go, enjoy yourself.