Diana Mirabella Kaiser
Thursday the 4th of April, 2024, 3am.
Blood tastes like metal.
I've tasted it more times than I can count, mine, theirs, it all blends together after a while. The ring lights above me buzz like dying fireflies and the crowd is a blur of movement and noise. They scream my name, but I don't care. I don't fight for them.
I fight for silence.
The guy across from me is big, too big to be legal in a match like this, but rules don't matter down here. Underground fights aren't about fairness. They're about survival. And I've bin surviving longer than most people think a girl like me should.
He throws a punch. Clumsy. Predictable. I duck, twist, slam my fist into his ribs hard enough to hear something creak. He grunts and stumbles. Good. I follow up with a jab to the chin, then a final hook across his face. His eyes roll back before he even hits the floor.
Silence.
Then the crowd erupts. Shouts. Cheers. Money flying into the air like confetti. I don't even lift my arms. I just stare down at the guy and feel .... nothing.
Another win. Another body. Another night I didn't die.
In the locker room, I peel off my gloves and wash the blood from my knuckles. They sting, but I welcome the pain. It keeps me grounded. Reminds me that I'm not invisible, even if I feel like it most days.
For a second, my mind drifts. White sheets. Beeping machines. My mom's tired eyes looking into mine.
"Be strong, baby girl." I was five. I didn't know what "Blood cancer" meant back then. All I knew was that one day she was there and the next she wasn't.
I don't change. Just pull the hoodie on over my white t-shirt, grab my bag and head down the hall toward the only office at the back.
Tom, my sponsor, is already waiting behind a dented metal desk. He's older maybe mid 40's and always looks like he slept in his clothes. But he pays me on time and never asks too many questions.
"Clean hit" he says, counting bills. "Kid went down like a sack of potatoes." I shrug." He shouldn't have been in the ring." Tom snorts and slides the money across the table. "You keep fighting like this, I might actually start betting on you." "You already do." I say, pocketing the cash. He grins. "fair enough."
I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Same time next week?" "If I've got a match for you. Stay sharp."
"I always am."
-
I walk back to my apartment through cold, quiet streets. It's nothing fancy, a rundown second floor flat with a leaky faucet and a window that doesn't close all the way. But it's mine. No roommates. No foster families. No rules.
I drop the money on the counter, toss my hoodie on a chair and collapse on the couch. I fall asleep and by the time I wake up only a few hours past. When I look at the clock on the microwave that I could barely see from my seat on the couch, it's still early, 8am.
The money from last night's win sat untouched on the counter. A little over three hundred. Enough to keep the lights on and buy food for a couple weeks, but barely. I could stretch it. I always did.
The apartment creaked with every wind gust outside. I liked the sound. It made this place feel alive. Broken, yeah but mine. No screaming families . No nosy social workers pretending to care. No rules. Just me and the quiet. As I'm staring at the wall my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I let it ring the first time. Then the second. By the third, I gave in and picked it up.
"Yeah?"
"Hello is this Diana Mirabella Kaiser?" A woman's voice. Gentle. Measured.
"Who wants to know?"
"My name is Penelope Clark. I'm calling from the Ancestors program. You were matched with someone in our database. A close relative."
I frowned. "I didn't sign up for anything."
"You were registered when you were five. It's routine."
I said nothing.
She continued, "The system ran a batch update. You've been matched with a half sibling. We can provide you with the details if your open to—"
"Not interested." I interrupted flatly.
"I understand this can be a lot to process—"
"I said I'm not interest." My voice was steady, not angry. Just done. "Whoever that is, they don't matter. I've been alone my whole life. That's not changing now."
There was a pause on the other end, like she didn't know what so say. "If you change your mind—"
I ended the call.
I dropped the phone on the couch beside me and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. My heart was steady, but something stirred in my chest. Not grief. Not anger.
I'd always known the truth. My mom had me when she was twenty. We didn't talk about my father, because there was nothing to talk about. A one night stand. No name. No drama. Just a piece of her past that ended before I even began.
She never kept that from me. She never pretended she was more than she was. That's why I never hated the guy. He didn't abandon me, he never even knew I existed.
But seventeen years later a match?
With a sibling at that.
Now?
Why?
I told myself it didn't matter.
But somewhere deep inside, a quiet unease curled in my gut.
The streetlights flickered off outside as I got ready to bed at 8:45 am. I pulled on my hoodie, brushed my teeth, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Same mismatched eyes. Same tired face.
I didn't need anyone.
Not Tom. Not some mystery sibling. Not anyone.
I locked all four bolts on the front door, slid the dresser in front of it like I always do and climbed under the blankets.