I Made a Wish When the New Year Bell Rang

1 On the last day of December, Mom took my five-year-old hand and led me out of the orphanage. She named me Eve. “Eve, your sister’s name is Hope. Your birthday is on New Year’s Day. It symbolizes a new beginning.” “So, every year on your birthday, you must make a wish. A wish means a fresh start, something full of hope.” I nodded hard, my teeth chattering from the cold. Back then, I didn’t understand. For every wish I made, Mom would take something from me. At six, I wished to see fireworks, and she took my bone marrow. At seven, I wished for a doll, and she took a kidney. At eight, I wished for a birthday cake, and she took a piece of my liver. This year, I am ten. Mom looks at me tenderly in the soft glow of the candles. “Make a wish, Eve.” As the candlelight flickers, I close my eyes. This year, I have only one wish. I wish to live through the year. … The fireworks outside dance in Mom’s gentle eyes. She asks softly, “What did my Eve wish for this year?” I look into her eyes, searching for the warmth I’ve craved all year. I inch closer, my voice a whisper. “I wished for Mommy to love me forever.” Her expression freezes for a second. Then, she opens her arms and pulls me into a hug. It’s tight, so tight I can barely breathe. She smells faintly of perfume. My cheek presses against her soft sweater, and my eyes instantly burn. “Silly girl,” Mom’s voice comes from above me, laced with a smile. “Of course, Mommy loves you. As long as you’re a good girl, as long as your sister Hope can live, Mommy will love you forever.” I nod forcefully, wiping my tears on her sweater. Mom only ever hugs me when I make a wish. This is the hug I have waited a whole year for, from last New Year’s Day until now. As I raise my thin arms to hug her back, she lets go. She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away my tears. “Such a good, sensible girl. Now that Mommy has granted your wish, will you grant Mommy’s wish and help your sister one more time?” I nod. It’s always like this. I’m used to it. “Hope’s heart is getting weaker,” Mom’s voice is still gentle. “The doctor says she needs a healthy heart. Eve, are you willing to give your heart to your sister?” “Tomorrow, Mommy will take you to the hospital for a compatibility test. If it’s a match, Hope can live. You want your sister to live, don’t you, Eve?” I look at her expectant eyes, at the gentle smile on her lips. “Okay,” I say. Mom’s smile brightens. She hugs me again, this time a light, quick squeeze. “I knew you were the best girl.” As she turns to cut the cake, the living room door bursts open. My sister Hope rushes in, wrapped in a thick down jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling. “Mom! The countdown event is starting in the square! Mrs. Peterson said she can get us front-row seats for the fireworks show!” Mom immediately puts down the cake knife and walks over to Hope, brushing the snowflakes from her shoulders. “Sweetheart, slow down, don’t get choked up. It’s so cold out. Why don’t we wait until after your surgery?” “But I want to go!” Hope whines, tugging on Mom’s hand. “It’s only once a year! And the doctor said I’m stable right now…” Mom glances back at me, then at Hope’s eager face. The glance is so fleeting I can’t decipher the emotion in it. “Alright, alright. But only for a little while. You can’t get tired.” Her tone is filled with a fondness I’ve never heard directed at me. Then she turns to me. “Eve, you have the compatibility test tomorrow. You need to rest early tonight, so you’ll stay home.” My mouth opens. I want to say that I want to see the fireworks too. A real fireworks show. On my sixth birthday, Mom had promised. I remember her smiling as she said, “Of course, sweetie. As soon as you’ve helped your sister, Mom will take you.” But after I donated my bone marrow on the operating table, all she did was pat my head and say, “We’ll see the fireworks next time. Your sister can’t wait.” The words die on my tongue. Mom is already at the door, holding Hope’s hand, not looking back. “Eve, don’t eat anything after you finish your cake. You need an empty stomach for tomorrow.” The door clicks shut.

2 I stand there, still holding the piece of cake Mom handed me. The living room is suddenly silent, except for the boisterous sounds of the New Year’s Eve show on TV. The host is counting down excitedly, “Ten minutes to go! A new year is coming!” I take my cake and slowly walk back to my small room. The storage closet has no windows. I sit on my little cot and take small bites of the cake. It’s sweet. So sweet it’s bitter. I remember that night when I was seven, after the kidney surgery. The anesthesia wore off, and the incision burned like fire. I cried for my mom. A nurse came in and told me Mom was in Hope’s room because Hope had a nightmare. That night, I counted the cracks in the ceiling. I reached three hundred and twenty-seven before the sun came up. After the liver surgery when I was eight, I was violently ill. Mom came to my room, looked at me with a frown, and asked the nurse, “Why is her reaction so strong? It won’t affect the quality of the liver, will it?” She never asked if I was in pain. She never asked if I was scared. She only cared about the organ that was no longer inside my body. The cake is gone, but the emptiness and a sharp pain in my stomach are even worse. All I’ve had to eat since this afternoon is this one small piece of cake. Mom said I needed an empty stomach, but no one told me it would feel this bad. The old scar on my abdomen begins to ache. Ever since they took my kidney, I haven’t been able to sleep through the night without pain. The lights in the living room are off. Mrs. Peterson must have gone to bed after cleaning the kitchen. The house is silent, except for the rumbling in my stomach and the distant pop of firecrackers. I try to endure it, but finally, I quietly push open the door to my room. There should be something to eat in the kitchen. Even a slice of bread. In the fridge, there’s a bowl of soup that looks delicious. I swallow hard. “Eve?” Mrs. Peterson’s voice comes from behind me. I jump, nearly dropping the bowl. “Are you hungry?” she asks, a troubled look on her face. “But your mother gave me specific instructions. You have a blood test tomorrow. You have to have an empty stomach…” “Just one sip,” I plead, my stomach letting out another loud growl. “Please, I’m so hungry. My tummy hurts…” Mrs. Peterson hesitates. She looks at the clock on the wall, then at my pale face and the hand clutching my stomach. She sighs. “Alright, just a tiny sip. I mean it. If your mother finds out, I’ll be in big trouble.” She takes the bowl from the fridge, pours a small amount into a mug, and heats it in the microwave. In those few seconds, the rich aroma fills the air, and my stomach clenches as if squeezed by an invisible hand. “Here. Drink it slowly.” The moment the warm liquid touches my throat, I almost cry. I’m so hungry that every warm sip feels like salvation. I cradle the mug, taking tiny sips, afraid it will be gone too soon. Just then, I hear a key turning in the front door. Dad, Mom, and Hope are back. Dad is carrying Hope, her little face buried in his shoulder, her breathing even. Mom follows behind, carrying Hope’s small backpack. Their smiles freeze when they see me in the kitchen, holding the mug. “Eve? Didn’t I tell you to have an empty stomach?” Mom rushes over and snatches the mug from my hands. The sudden movement startles Hope awake. She sees Mom’s angry face and shrinks back into Dad’s arms. “Mommy…” I look at her, tears welling up in my eyes. “I was so hungry. My tummy hurt so much…” I point to the side of my abdomen where my kidney used to be. It’s throbbing with a dull ache from the hunger and the cold. “What do you mean, it hurts? You’re doing this on purpose! You don’t want to give your heart to your sister, so you’re eating on purpose, aren’t you?” “No, Mommy, I was really hungry…” I sob, reaching for her sleeve. Dad frowns, turns, and carries Hope toward the master bedroom. “Honey, put Hope to bed first. Don’t scare her.” Mom’s finger is practically jabbing my nose. “Eve Chen, didn’t I tell you that Mommy would love you if you were a good girl? Didn’t you promise to give your heart to your sister?” “I promised, I promised! Mommy, please don’t yell at me, please don’t leave me…” I cry, gasping for breath. “You’re a liar! You just don’t want to save your sister! I raised you for nothing!” She grabs my arm, her grip so tight it feels like she’s going to crush my bones, and drags me toward the storage closet. A familiar tide of fear washes over me. She’s going to abandon me. Just like the ladies at the orphanage said, children who don’t behave get thrown away. Mom shoves me hard into the closet. I stumble and fall, a searing pain shooting through me. “You selfish, ungrateful brat! You can stay in here and think about what you’ve done!” The door slams shut, and the familiar darkness swallows me whole.

3 I curl up in the cold corner, my stomach a hollow, aching pit. Hunger gnaws at me from the inside, making my body cold and shaky. Worse than the hunger is the itching. I can’t stop scratching, my nails leaving red welts on my skin. The more I scratch, the more it itches, a maddening, deep itch that makes me want to writhe on the floor. “Don’t be hungry anymore… Mommy doesn’t want me anymore…” I mumble, my fingers digging into my skin. “It will be better after the transplant… If I scratch myself clean, Mommy will come back…” My nails break the skin. Warm liquid oozes out, and the pain finally overwhelms the itch. The darkness has stolen my sight, but it sharpens my other senses. I can hear my own ragged breathing. I can smell the sweet scent of dumplings from somewhere in the house. It’s New Year’s Day. Every family is eating dumplings. I want some too. My consciousness begins to fade. I see her again. On a snowy night, a woman in a thin cotton coat holds a bundled-up child. I can’t see her face, only that she’s crying, her shoulders shaking violently. She places the child on the cold steps and walks away. “Mama… Mama…” the child cries, reaching out a small hand. That’s me. At one or two years old. The woman hesitates but doesn’t turn back. The snow falls on her, quickly turning her into a white silhouette. “Mama, take me with you! I’ll be good!” “Don’t leave me… Please… don’t leave me…” I cry and chase after her, but her figure shrinks, disappearing into the blizzard at the corner of the street. I kneel in the snow, crying until my throat is raw, until my body is stiff with cold. A lady from the orphanage comes out, scoops me up like a piece of trash, and throws me into the small, windowless dark room. “What are you crying for? Your mother doesn’t want you! Crying won’t help!” The sound of the lock turning is the same as tonight. “No… Mama… don’t leave me…” I wake up from the dream, sobbing, my face wet with either cold sweat or tears. It’s morning. I struggle to my feet. The scratches have formed thin scabs that tear open with every movement. I lean against the wall and slowly make my way to the door, pushing it open a crack. The living room is brightly lit. On the dining table sits a large platter of plump, white dumplings. Hope is sitting in her special high-backed chair, a few dumplings in her small bowl. Mom is picking one up, carefully blowing on it, and bringing it to Hope’s lips. “Here, sweetie, open up. These are good luck dumplings. They’ll bring you peace and health in the new year.” Hope obediently opens her mouth and takes a bite, a happy smile spreading across her face. “Yummy!” “If you like them, have some more,” Dad says, smiling as he pours Hope a glass of warm milk. “It’s New Year’s Day. Our Hope needs all the good luck she can get.” My eyes are fixed on the platter of dumplings. I’m hungry, so hungry my vision is starting to blur. I forget the pain, forget last night’s punishment. All I see is food. “Eve?” Dad sees me first, a look of surprise on his face. Mom and Hope turn to look at me. But I don’t care. My attention is completely focused on a dumpling that has fallen from Hope’s bowl. My fingertips are about to touch it when Hope, trying to protect her food, accidentally knocks my hand. I am already weak. The slight touch sends me toppling over, crashing into the dining table and sending everything flying. Hope lets out a loud wail, tears streaming down her face. “My dumplings… my good luck dumplings… they’re all gone… waaaah…” Mom’s face turns livid. She stands up abruptly, and a heavy slap lands on my cheek. My head snaps to the side, my ear ringing, one side of my face numb and burning. “Eve Chen, did you do that on purpose? You can’t stand to see your sister happy, can you? You even have to ruin her good luck dumplings?” I shake my head, crying, my insides twisting with fear. “I’m so hungry… I want to save Hope, I’ll give her my heart… please let me eat something…” Mom lets out a cold, sharp laugh and grabs my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Then let’s go to the hospital right now and get it over with! At least then you won’t be in the house, plotting against your sister!” The cold morning wind cuts my face like a knife. I’m still in my thin pajamas as Mom shoves me into the car. We drive to the hospital. I’m taken to a brightly lit room. A doctor in a white coat looks at my bruised and scratched body and frowns. “Mr. and Mrs. Chen, this child can’t be more than ten. She’s severely malnourished and has undergone significant physical trauma. Are you sure you want to proceed with a heart compatibility test right now?” “Is the child willing? Have you asked for her consent?” Mom’s face is hard. “She’s willing.” I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I drop to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, Dad, I want to eat good luck dumplings. I want Mommy to call me sweetheart. I want Mommy to love me.” “I want to live through the year too.”