1 I was abducted as a child. When I finally escaped and found my way back, I discovered I was the true heiress of the wealthy Hayes family. But my biological parents didn't love me. They loved the girl who had taken my place. During an emergency surgery, my parents were clad in full protective gear, and my brother, Wesley, shielded the fake heiress, Stella, like a human wall. No one told me the patient had HIV. No one told me I needed to wear a biohazard suit. And so, with a fresh cut on my hand, I was exposed. After cheating death, the fragile thread of family affection, already worn thin, finally snapped. I was done hoping. The moment the surgery ended, I calmly dialed a number. "I need to file a report. A colleague intentionally withheld a patient's medical history, leading to my occupational exposure." "Winnie, why aren't you in a hazmat suit?!" My colleague Jenna's shocked voice echoed from the doorway, her eyes wide with a terror I didn't understand. I froze, confused. "What's wrong?" I asked. I hadn't heard anything about the patient having an infectious disease. Jenna recoiled as if I were the plague itself, backing away until she was plastered against the far wall. "This patient has HIV and syphilis! You can't have contact! Didn't Dr. Hayes tell you?" "Oh my god, are you insane? You went into surgery with zero protection?" "You're too young to want a death sentence! Didn't they teach you anything in nursing school?" ...HIV? My gaze drifted to my parents, cocooned in their pristine protective gear, and then to my brother, Wesley, who stood guard in front of Stella. For a moment, my mind went blank. HIV. A virus that medicine has yet to conquer. Once you have it, you have it for life. My heart stuttered, missing a beat, then another. I turned stiffly to face the brother who had so carefully protected the other girl. He was the hospital's top anesthesiologist. Reviewing a patient's history was his job. The accusation died on my lips. I tried to force a joke. "Wes, Jenna's kidding, right? I didn't hear anything about an infectious—" "The patient is HIV-positive," he cut in, his voice flat. "This was an emergency. I didn't have time to tell you." Didn't have time to tell me? The smile froze on my face. My own brother dismissed my life with those four careless words. "Winnie, you've always been strong. It'll be fine," he continued. "Stella is delicate, that's why I didn't let her assist. Weren't you always complaining that we play favorites? Now you get to take the lead. You should be happy." I couldn't hear the rest of what he said. A roar filled my ears. My face drained of color, my hands trembling uncontrollably as a hot mist of tears blurred my vision. In the ringing silence, I screamed. "Why didn't you tell me?!" This was a communicable, life-altering disease! Even if I weren't their daughter, their sister—even if I were just a stranger, a colleague—they had a duty to inform me of the patient's history. My heart turned to a block of ice. Then I heard my mother's impatient sigh. "Winnie, can you not be such a buzzkill?" "Your father and I knew you'd make a scene. That's why we agreed not to tell you. You're always so dramatic, such a downer." "Besides," she added, "you're just a nurse. What does it matter if you know or not? Stella knows the patient's history, and she's standing right here, isn't she?" A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. "She's as far away as possible and wrapped in more plastic than a Christmas toy! How is that the same?!" My voice cracked. "Mom, Dad, Wesley… she's the apple of your eye, but am I not your daughter? Your sister? Why would you hide something like this from me?" Silence. The surgery continued, their movements precise and undisturbed. My father didn't even deign to look at me. Only after he'd stitched the final suture did he snap, "Winnie, you are being incredibly childish!" "What happens in this family, stays in this family! Have your mother and I taught you nothing? You don't air our dirty laundry in public!" 2 His tone was pure reprimand. But who could remain calm, learning they might have just contracted HIV? Especially when I had an open wound on my hand. I stared at them, a horrifying realization dawning. From the moment I entered the operating room, they had been bundled up, double-masked, wearing goggles and two layers of rubber gloves. The entire time, Wesley had kept Stella protectively behind him, never letting her get close. I had thought she was just squeamish. And with my parents barking orders at me, I was so busy, sweating through my scrubs, that I hadn't paid any mind to their strange attire. It wasn't just a precaution. It was a transfer of risk. They were so terrified of Stella being endangered that they'd given the "opportunity" to me. My hand trembled more violently. My mind spiraled, imagining a future of agonizing treatments… My mother's voice cut through my panic, sharp and scolding. "The surgery's over. Did anything happen to you? No. I swear, you are such a drama queen!" But the virus has an incubation period! I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice water. My body finally caught up with my mind. I bolted from the OR, scrubbed my skin raw, and choked down the post-exposure prophylaxis. I washed my hands again and again until my muscles gave out and I collapsed against the wall. Tears I could no longer control streamed down my face. Wesley is terrible at eating on schedule. Just last night, worried he'd be hungry during his shift, I'd cooked his favorite braised pork. And, as fate would have it, I'd sliced my index finger while cutting the meat. When I brought him the container, I'd mentioned it casually. "Cut myself. It stings a little." Wesley had gotten the first-aid kit, bandaged my finger himself, and told me to be careful. He was the top graduate of his class. He knew better than anyone that HIV transmission is far more likely with an open wound. Especially when the patient was coughing up blood. Did my brother actually want me to die? ... As I waited for the initial test results, my heart hammered against my ribs. Meanwhile, my parents, finished with their work, didn't spare a thought for where I was. As they passed me in the hall, they didn't even glance in my direction. They flanked Stella, each holding one of her hands, their faces soft with affection. "My sweet girl," my father murmured, "you worked so hard today. What do you want for dinner?" "That new sushi place?" my mother cooed. "Of course. Our treat. Let's go." My mouth opened, but no words came out. I just watched them walk away, a wave of dissociation washing over me. Ever since they'd found me, they had never once called me by a term of endearment. It was always a clipped, simple: "Winnie, come here." "Winnie, dinner's ready." "Winnie, your sister needs help with her homework." After I started at the hospital, their tone became exclusively one of command. "What are you standing there for?" "Didn't you hear me? We're having a family dinner. Keep up." That thought snapped me back to the present. I looked up at Wesley. He was frowning, wearing that same unapproachable mask that kept the world at bay. Maybe it was the tear tracks on my face, but his tone softened, a rare occurrence. "Not telling you about the patient's history was an oversight on my part. I'm sorry." "But Dad's promotion to Vice-Chair is on the line. Once that goes through, it'll benefit you here at the hospital. So can you just drop it? We're busy." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "And Stella's already clocked out. You need to write up her reports for her. I'll text you the location of the restaurant later." "And after the scene you just made, Mom and Dad are furious. You should apologize to them tonight." It was still an order. Distant, detached. As if he were speaking to a subordinate. 3 Benefit me? The words were so absurd, I laughed. And once I started laughing, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. Oh, Wesley. How could any of this possibly benefit me? From the day I started at this hospital, I'd been given the grunt work, the heaviest loads. Stella, on the other hand, was treated like a porcelain doll. My parents, terrified she might overexert herself, told every senior staff member that she was young and couldn't handle hardship. Once, I overheard my mother telling a supervisor, "Don't give Stella too much work." "But you can give the menial tasks to Winnie. She didn't grow up with us. She's tough." She glossed over the truth so neatly. She ignored the fact that I was "tough" because I'd been abducted and sold. She only saw that I could endure, while her precious Stella could not. Stella's grades were so poor that no hospital wanted her. It was my parents who pulled strings to get her a position here. During my entire internship, I'd been doing the work of two people, writing two sets of reports. Most days, I didn't even have time to eat, collapsing into bed the moment I got home. This was a benefit? A sour knot formed in my throat. I fought back a sob, my voice rising to a sharp point. "Wesley, doesn't my life matter to you? It's HIV! If I get it, I have it for life! I'm only twenty years old! If I'm infected, the consequences are unimaginable…" He cut me off before I could finish, his frown deepening. He sneered, his tone turning nasty. "Are you going to milk this for all it's worth?" "Winnie, you're fine now, aren't you? You're a nurse, for God's sake. Can you stop being so fragile? I thought after we found you, you'd become independent, resilient…" He shook his head in disappointment, as if passing a final sentence on me. "But I see now you're a lost cause." The words were a cruel irony. My heart, once swollen with emotion, felt like a deflated balloon—limp and defeated. I suddenly remembered the day they brought me home. I was clutching Wesley's hand, my other hand twisting the hem of my faded, threadbare dress, my heart pounding. Be calm, I told myself. Make them like you. Don't let them send you away. And then— Stella appeared at the top of the grand, sweeping staircase, a vision in an expensive princess gown. She descended step by step, stopping in front of me to look me up and down. Then, with a practiced innocence, she asked, "Wesley, who is she? Is she the new maid?" Wesley's jaw tightened. His grip on my hand grew firm, but he never denied it. He only said, "From now on, she's your sister." ... At first, I was resentful. Because of my parents' negligence, I was lost for five years, eventually sold to a rural family as a child bride. There, I had to cook, clean, and care for an invalid "grandmother" who was bedridden and incontinent. I had to fend off the advances of the family's lecherous old bachelor son. I refused to give up. I studied relentlessly. It was only when the family let their guard down that I made my escape, walking for three days and three nights to the nearest town to call the police. I thought, after all that, I was finally coming home. But there was no place for me here. Stella was already the family's untouchable treasure. After I was lost, my parents had channeled all their guilt and affection onto the girl who bore a passing resemblance to me. Most of the time, their bias was unconscious. But it was always there. Once, I reached for a piece of beef at dinner, and my father snapped, "Your sister likes that. Can't you wait until she's had her fill? Why are you so greedy? It's not like you've never had it before." But I hadn't. Not in a very, very long time. I silently put down my chopsticks. I pushed the serving dish closer to Stella, swallowing my anger, swallowing my words. I was terrified that if I stepped out of line, they would abandon me, and I'd be sent back to that rural hell. I tried to be accommodating. I gave up so much. Three years ago, I even gave up the boy I had a secret crush on. Wasn't it enough? Why wouldn't my family just accept me? ... A long time passed. Long enough for my colleagues to clock out and leave for the day. Wesley glanced at his phone, his patience wearing thin. "Just get over it. Jenna told me you already took the PEP. You'll be fine." A notification popped up on his screen. He glanced at it, then shot me a cold smirk. "Stella's worried you're going to have a breakdown. She asked me to comfort you." "You don't have the life of a princess, but you certainly have the attitude." I snapped out of my daze, licking my dry lips. My throat felt tight, but I managed to say, "Okay. Thank her for me." The truth was, I was hurt. So deeply hurt. Who could be treated this way by their own family and just laugh it off? But I knew, even if the pain killed me, no one here would care. My parents would just call me dramatic. My sister would just wipe her crocodile tears and say, "Oh, sister, if only I had been the one who was taken…" Wesley seemed taken aback by my compliance. He faltered for a second before snapping, "Look at you. What a mess." Without waiting for a reply, he rushed off, presumably to the sushi dinner. After he left, I stood frozen for a long time. My family's words echoed in my ears, each one a fresh wave of heartache. "When will you ever be as considerate as your sister?" "Why do you always walk around with that dead look on your face? What do we owe you?" "If you make Stella cry again, you can get out of this house!" Those merciless words were a razor-sharp knife, severing the last, tender strand of connection I had to this family. Abducted at eleven; found at sixteen. I had spent five years walking on eggshells, making myself small. Finally, at twenty, I understood. My own flesh and blood truly did not care if I lived or died. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. I felt something inside me, a place I had reserved only for family, begin to crack and shatter. A knife appeared, methodically slicing away the thing called "kinship." The wound healed, scarred over, reformed into something new. I placed a hand over my beating heart. And I was surprised to find… I really didn't care anymore. I didn't care about my parents' love. I didn't care about my brother's approval. And I certainly didn't care about my sister's constant provocations. My hands felt clumsy as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the State Medical Board. The words I had buried for so long finally came pouring out. "I need to report my colleagues for concealing a patient's HIV status, resulting in my occupational exposure."
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