I Was Raised to Be Harvested

I stared at the word "Goods" on the screen. I hadn't even realized that I was holding my breath.

A delivery? What was being delivered? What were the goods?

My thoughts spiraled, but some stubborn part of me kept trying to make excuses for Dad.

Maybe we'd landed some huge business deal. Maybe he'd sold something expensive.

Dad loved me.

Just last month, when I'd accidentally scratched the back of my hand with my fingernail, he'd immediately hired a top skincare specialist to make sure that it wouldn't leave a mark.

For 18 years, I'd given up everything a normal kid enjoyed so I wouldn't disappoint him.

While my brother, Michael Hollister, devoured greasy fried chicken, I sat alone in the training room eating boiled vegetables without a drop of oil.

While he spent weekends racing around amusement parks, I was pinned to the floor by a personal trainer, enduring agonizing stretches to perfect my posture.

Thus, how could they possibly be talking about me?

…

The next morning, Dad walked into my room carrying a freshly made smoothie bowl.

"Come on, Evan. Eat it while it's fresh. I had made it just for you. It'll do wonders for your health."

He smiled warmly and brushed the hair away from my forehead.

Staring into his gentle eyes, I tested the waters. "Who was that guy last night? And that huge payment… Are we selling him something?"

Dad's hand froze around the spoon. The metal spoon struck the edge of the bowl with a sharp clink.

The shock lasted only a second before his smile returned.

"Since when do kids worry about business?" he said with a chuckle. "That's Ian Sullivan, the eldest son of the Sullivan family. He's going to be one of our biggest clients. Just keep doing what you're told and stay healthy. I promise you'll have a life of luxury."

The more he dodged the question, the more uneasy I became.

That night, I lay awake in bed.

A nagging feeling finally drove me out of bed. I crept upstairs and stopped outside the study.

The door wasn't fully closed. Michael's impatient voice drifted through the crack in the door.

"Dad, when is he finally going into surgery? It's taking too long! When am I getting the ten-million-dollar limited-edition sports car the Sullivans promised me?"

My heart lurched.

Then, I heard Dad's merciless voice. He sounded nothing like the man I'd spoken to that morning. "What's the rush? The Sullivans are even more nervous than we are. He'll have his final physical checkup tomorrow. Once they confirm that everything's perfect, we'll send him over.

"Don't let him get suspicious now. If this deal falls through, this family's over."

I clamped both hands over my mouth, forcing myself not to make a sound. Tears splashed onto the back of my hands.

I really was getting sold.

18 years of meticulous care hadn't been love. I'd simply been raised to fetch a higher price.

My whole body shook as I stumbled back toward my room. Just as I reached for the door, a wave of terror washed over me.

The door I was sure I had closed was now slightly ajar, and a pair of cloudy eyes stared straight at me through the narrow gap.