They Chose the Wrong Sister

“Dr. Mason, I'm cured. I don't know why, exactly, but I can feel pain now, the same as I used to.”

“You said before that you wanted to bring me on to research these rare diseases. I accept.”

“Three days from now, I can fly overseas to join you.”

After I hung up, I lay back down on the hospital bed. The wound hurt more than I could stand. The nurse saw the way my brow was knotted and the sweat beading on my face, and she kindly poured me some warm water and brought painkillers.

My eyes stung. I'd said so many times that I could feel pain again, and in the end the only person who cared was a nurse I'd never met before.

I stayed in the hospital for three days.

In those three days, not Dylan, not my parents, not one of them came to say a single word to me.

Quietly, I packed my things, planning to catch a flight that night.

But right then, one of my mother's posts came up on my feed.

She'd put up a photo.

In it were my parents, Dylan, and Jade.

And my mother's caption read: family photo.

I had already decided to leave, but seeing those two words, family photo, my chest still felt like it had been pierced by ten thousand silver needles.

The engagement between Dylan and me had been arranged six years ago.

Starting six years ago, Dylan and I took a picture with my parents every year, and back then the one standing at the center was always me.

And now, in this family photo they took every year, there was no place left for me.

I looked at my packed luggage and tapped a like on the post.

The next second, my mother's call came through.

I answered, and her gentle, coaxing voice came from the other end.

“Sophia, don't take that family photo to heart. When you're out of the hospital in a few days, we'll take a new one together, all right?”

I gripped the phone. Ever since Jade had been found again, my mother hadn't talked to me like this in a long time.

For a moment my heart wavered, but before I could say anything, she went on:

“Sophia, the research on your sister's illness has results now. Could you do us a favor and let them draw a little of your blood?”

“It's always been one vial before, but this time it might need to be six hundred milliliters.”

The words on the tip of my tongue went back down. So that was why my mother had suddenly turned gentle. She wanted something.

Whatever softness I'd felt vanished in an instant, and I couldn't stop myself from shaking all over.

“Why? Can't you draw her own? A few days ago I nearly died from losing too much blood. You take another six hundred milliliters from me, do you even care whether I live or not?”

“It's just a little of your blood. Nobody's asking for your life.”

Behind me, the door of the room was shoved open hard.

I turned to look. It was Dylan, and behind him were two doctors in white coats.

His eyes landed on my luggage, and he grabbed my wrist.

“Where do you think you're going? You already knew there was a lead on Jade's illness, didn't you? That's why you want to leave? How can you be this selfish? Jade's afraid of pain. You know perfectly well that drawing her blood puts her through agony. Can't you have a little decency?”

I looked at him and tried to pull my hand free, but he raised his hand and slapped me across the face, twice.

When I fell still, he cupped my face and coaxed:

“Sophia, this is probably the last time. This will cure your sister for sure. Don't struggle. You can't feel it anyway. I'd hate to hurt you.”

I looked at the bodyguard planted in the doorway, gave a cold laugh, and stopped fighting.

Bright red blood was drawn out of my body, and I closed my eyes, my face gone white.

Once it was done, Dylan hurried off with the two doctors.

Two hours later, at the door of the research lab jointly funded by the Henson and Matthews families, the medical doctor assigned to treat Jade came running out, his face lit up with excitement.

“Mr. Henson, we found antibodies in Miss Sophia's blood. That means her rare disease is cured! These antibodies might be able to cure Miss Jade too!”

Dylan froze. He looked up at the doctor in disbelief, but all he could see in his mind was the way I'd curled up on the floor after the knife went in.

Almost trembling, he asked back:

“What did you say? Whose illness is cured?”