Chapter 1

Twenty years ago, my baby girl, who could barely even take her first steps, died in that freezing, sterile emergency room.

She could have lived. The St. Jude Foundation had already approved her Compassionate Use Grant. The lifesaving funds had been wired to the hospital’s account. But the night before her surgery, her name was secretly replaced, and the funds were withdrawn.

Only later did I find out that the people who stole her spot were my own brother, Thomas, and his wife, Samantha. They traded my daughter’s life for their own son’s chance to survive. Back then, Samantha pointed her designer-clad finger at my face, waving a forged approval letter, and sneered, "This is just how life is, Lynn. Your daughter was born cheap. Don't blame us for having better luck."

I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene.

Instead, I spent twenty long years clawing my way up to where I am today—the Chief Director of the Compassionate Use Program at the State Medical Board.

Today, Samantha’s son lies in the ICU, desperately waiting for the only dose of a rare, federally funded gene-therapy drug in the entire state.

I looked down at the familiar name on the application form, picked up my red pen, and drew a massive, cold "X" right across it.

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