They’ll Take My Heart Over My Dead Body

My parents drag me to court to harvest my heart and save my adoptive sister.

A neural scanner will extract my memories live on camera.

100 jurors will decide if I live or die.

They’re confident I won’t show up because I’m the “evil daughter” who destroyed our family.

But when my true memories are revealed…

The entire courtroom erupts in tears.

The “loving parents” become monsters

The “innocent sister” becomes the manipulator.

And I become the one seeking justice.

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1

The sharp crack of the holographic gavel echoed in the silent neural courtroom.

My name is Layla Ahmadi, and I was on trial for my life.

I stood in the defendant’s box. On the giant screen above, the live chat was a frenzy.

“She’s the first person to ever dare to face a neural trial!”

“No one can lie when their memories are on display.”

“Here comes the drama!”

The judge gave me one last chance. “Defendant, are you aware of the consequences? Are you sure you wish to proceed?”

I knew the consequences. If I was found guilty, I would be euthanized on the spot. They’d transplant my heart into Zahra Naziri.

That’s right. They wanted my heart to save her.

From the plaintiff’s side, my own parents, Farid and Nasrin Ahmadi, glared at me.

They looked so sure they’d win.

I just didn’t get it. I was their daughter, Layla. But for years, all they’d given me was pain, hatred, and abuse.

Now, they wanted me dead.

Sometimes I wondered if Zahra was their real daughter, not me.

She sat right beside them, her features obscured by a surgical mask and dark sunglasses.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told the judge, “Let’s begin.”

The judge turned to my parents. “Do the plaintiffs…”

My mother, Nasrin, cut him off with a shriek. “We’re her parents, how could we lose? Hurry up! Zahra is fading fast!”

The trial began.

The first charge: Neglect of familial duty. They claimed I was cold-blooded and selfish, that I’d refused to get my father medical help when he had a heart attack.

On the screen, my mother wept.

She told the court how we were a struggling immigrant family. How my father worked himself to the bone, and when he collapsed from a heart attack, I did nothing.

I didn’t call an ambulance, she said, which led to permanent heart damage.

“My God, is she even human?”

“What’s the point of an education if you’re a monster!”

The comments section went wild. The screen showed logs of my mother’s frantic calls to me, and security footage of my dad clutching his chest and falling to the floor.

Even the judge was frowning.

My parents were already smiling, savoring their victory. Zahra’s chin was tilted up in a smug arc.

I sat quietly as a technician fitted the neural scanner to my head. A jolt of electricity shot through my brain, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain.

I clenched my jaw and didn’t make a sound.

A few seconds later, two words flashed on the screen: NOT GUILTY.

The chat flooded with question marks.

“How is that possible?”

My mother looked down, a flash of guilt on her face.

Then, my memories started to play.

I was eight years old when Zahra came to live with us.

There was a car crash. Her parents, who were my family’s best friends, died on impact. Zahra and I were the only survivors.

Her father had been my dad’s closest friend, so he adopted her without a second thought. My mother, who had always adored Zahra, was thrilled.

From that day on, my life became a living hell.

If Zahra wanted something, I had to give it to her.

Even my Stanford acceptance letter.

In the memory, I was holding the letter, my hands trembling. “Dad, Mom, it’s Stanford! A full scholarship!”

My father, Farid, slapped me across the face. “Zahra just lost her parents, and you have the nerve to be happy about college?”

My mom snatched the letter and tore it to shreds. “You selfish brat! What about Zahra? She needs us!”

I screamed and tried to grab the pieces, but my dad held me back.

Zahra hid in my mother’s arms, her eyes red. “Layla, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I’m just so scared to be alone…”

I stared at the shredded confetti of my future on the floor and sobbed, “That was my life!”

“Your life is to take care of Zahra and make up for what she’s lost!” my father roared. “You don’t deserve to go to college!”

But I was the one who had earned that scholarship.