The stale air of her room seemed to press down on Layla, a familiar weight she carried daily. She clicked her laptop shut, the screen going dark, mirroring the bleakness she often felt. A sigh, heavy and weary, escaped her lips. Today, however, held a flicker of hope.

Her father. The thought of him was a lifeline, a fragile thread connecting her to a semblance of joy. The hospital had called yesterday, the news a dizzying rush of relief: a kidney donor had been found. Markos, her father, her reason for enduring the suffocating atmosphere of this house, could finally be saved.

Quickly, Layla shed her writing clothes for something more comfortable, her movements quick, driven by an urgency to reach him. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her stepsister, Scarlet, emerged, her voice a saccharine inquiry. "Layla, where are you off to?"

"The hospital," Layla replied, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips. "The doctor called last night. They found a donor."

Scarlet's eyes widened, a manufactured excitement dancing within them. "And what's the cause of all that noise?" Rosalie's voice, sharp and laced with annoyance, cut through the fragile moment, her presence emerging from the kitchen like a storm front.