For His First Love, He Ignored Our Life and Death

On the day the SAT results were released, my daughter got into both Harvard and Stanford, an incredible achievement.

That evening, our world came crashing down: my entire family tested positive for HIV. Desperate, I asked my husband, a physician, for antiretrovirals.

John Garcia handed me one dose and disappeared.

Holding the only vial of medication, I stood helpless by the hospital beds of my seven family members.

I called him, only to be met with impatience,

"I gave you the dose. What else do you want?"

Through tears, I told him one dose wasn't nearly enough for all of us.

John accused me of exaggerating and scoffed, "Emily, what kind of family is this, where everyone has such a disgraceful disease?"

His words stunned me, but before I could respond, his ex's voice came through the phone,

"John, you still love me, right? Finalize your divorce when we're back."

The line went dead directly.

The next time I saw him was two weeks later.

I was dragging a cart with six urns up to the cemetery, my face numb, my heart heavier.

John hadn't approved the medications until the time was too late.

We missed the crucial treatment window; my family succumbed to complications, starting with my grandparents and moving to my younger siblings and aunts.

I had always known about John's first love, but I couldn't believe he'd abandon us to celebrate her birthday overseas.

That night after he ended the call with me, my phone displayed a painful reminder—a post from John, showing a woman with a diamond ring.

The caption read bitterly, "True lovers never part."

I blocked John and started arranging the funerals.

After hours in the cemetery, dizziness overcame me as I tried to stand.

"Emily? What are you doing here?"

Having thought I misheard my name, I turned and saw the familiar face of John Garcia. He was back.

Annoyance was clear on his face as he asked, "Are you following me now?"

He referred to how I used to call his assistant when he came home late, checking on him.

Since our HIV diagnosis and his disappearance, I had pleaded for more medicine.

To him, my constant worry was just obsessive and invasive.

Not wanting to argue, I attempted to leave, but Jessica Hernandez, by his side, stopped me.

She looked at me with surprise and then a sly smirk, "You're Emily, right? John talks about you often."

Seeing Jessica, so similar to me yet different in demeanor and haircut, confirmed the rumors that went viral for the past sixteen years, which inevitably sank my heart. John had used me as a substitute for Jessica.

"Don’t get it wrong," she said. "My dog died during transport, and John, being the good guy he is, was helping me grieve here."

I replied coldly, "And how is that my concern?"

Despite my restraint, John acted as if I was attacking Jessica.

He stepped between us and said, "Emily, why are you always so confrontational?"

I used to defend myself, but now I had no energy left to fight.

Simply, I answered, "Yes. Are you killing me? If not, I'll leave."

As I began to walk away, John grabbed my wrist out of reflex. I pulled away sharply.

He looked confused, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

"Emily, why all the drama? Didn’t I give you the medication?"

My laughter was bitter, filled with pain, "The medication? The one dose I had to beg for on my knees? It wasn't enough for seven of us, John!"

"Is it really so hard to provide enough doses? Anyone can buy these drugs with money. Why can't we? Do you really despise me that much?"

My family tested positive at his hospital. I had tried everything and begged the nurses for more doses, but only John’s approval would suffice. I called him for it but he didn't let me finish and threw me one dose, then left the country.

Afterwards, no matter how many times I called, his phone was off.

Seven of us, just one dose.

That decision forced me to choose who might live.

All my pent-up anger, grief, and despair came pouring out.

Remembering my family’s tormented faces in the morgue overwhelmed me, and I broke down crying.

John had never seen me like this. For a moment, empathy flickered in his eyes.

He left Jessica to comfort me, but his initial words were far from soothing,

"Emily, I see Jessica as a sister. You shouldn’t trivialize your family's health."

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

He still believed I was using our family’s illness to manipulate him.

I was a shameless monster that would go all lengths in his mind...

"You're playing with my family’s lives," I said, my voice choked with emotion.

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by despair, "John Garcia, it's over between us."

Nothing else mattered now; six of my family were gone.

John’s face showed a flicker of panic, but he quickly masked it with dismissiveness,

"Why are you being so irrational? Okay, I’ll drop the grudge. I'll tell my assistant to send the meds. Are you happy now?"

His voice was laced with sarcasm.

He pulled out his phone and hastily made a call to his assistant,

"James, get Emily the doses she needs—fast."

He ended the call before even waiting for a response, treating it like a mere formality.

He looked at me as though he had made a great sacrifice.

If only he had listened, he would have known they were already dead.

But he never really listened.

Overcome with rage, I slapped him.

"John Garcia, you're a monster."