A Scar for a Sister Chapter 2

So that was it. In their eyes, my sacrifice was simply what was owed, and my very existence was a potential annoyance to Mia. I leaned against the cold wall, the linoleum chilling my bare feet as I made my way back to my room. I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins.

I was wheeled into the OR. The surgical lights were blinding. Through the glare, I watched the surgeon pull on his mask, his scalpel glinting.

The anesthesia entered my IV. As the world dissolved into blackness, my last thought was, Maybe this is for the best. Once I’m asleep, I won’t feel a thing.

When I woke, the sky outside was dark. A tearing pain ripped through my side with every breath. I couldn’t move, and my throat was so dry it felt like it might crack.

The woman in the next bed, a kind-faced lady in her fifties, saw I was awake. She poured me a glass of water and helped me sit up enough to drink it.

“Honey, where’s your family?” she asked, her voice full of sympathy. “Going through a major surgery like this, you shouldn’t be all alone.” She sighed softly.

I managed a weak smile and said nothing.

Cole didn’t show up until the evening of the third day. He was carrying a thermos, a look of impatience etched on his face. He set it down on the bedside table with a thud.

“Mom sent soup.”

I turned my head to face the grimy window. “Not hungry.”

His brow furrowed, clearly irritated by my lack of cooperation. “Claire, don’t be childish. Mia’s surgery was a complete success. The whole family is thrilled.” He paused, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “Once you’re recovered, Mom and Dad will find a better job for you. You’ll be taken care of.”

He sounded like he was making a charitable donation, or placating an unreasonable subordinate.

I looked at him, and the absurdity of it all struck me. It was almost funny.

Slowly, enunciating every word, I said, “Cole, did you know? I never wanted to compete with her for anything. I just… I just wanted you to look back at me, just once.”

Cole froze for a second, then a flicker of derision crossed his face. “Look at you? Look at what? The bottomless well of resentment you carry around, acting like the whole world has wronged you?”

“Claire, can’t you just grow up? Mia is ten times more mature than you are.”

“Mature?” I repeated the word. My chest heaved, pulling at the stitches in my side. The pain was so sharp it made my vision swim. “If I had been the one to pull Dad out of that snowdrift, would you think I was… mature?”

Cole’s face darkened instantly. “What are you talking about?” he snapped. “Are you trying to dredge that up again?” His voice was a low growl. “You’d really stoop to making up lies like that just for attention?”

I stared at his furious expression, and the last, tiny ember of hope inside me finally went out.

Of course. They never believed me.

On the day I was discharged, the family’s driver came to pick me up. No family, no welcome home. I was dropped off at my small rental apartment. Before leaving, the driver handed me an envelope from Cole. Inside was the credit card for the hundred thousand dollars, and a note written in Cole’s sharp, aggressive script: Take care of yourself. Don’t cause any more trouble.

So, even me coming home to recover was considered ‘trouble.’

I lay in bed. My wound ached, but my heart ached more. The doctor had told me that with only one kidney, my body would be significantly weaker than a normal person’s. I couldn’t overexert myself, couldn’t pull all-nighters, and my life expectancy would likely be affected.

I was only twenty-two, and my future had already been sold at a discount.

I spent two weeks recovering in my apartment. Not a single person from the family came to visit. My mother called occasionally, brief, hurried conversations. “How’s the recovery going?” she’d ask, before the topic inevitably shifted to Mia.

“Mia is doing wonderfully, she has so much more energy now! She said she wants to pick out a gift for you.”

“Your father hired the best nutritionist for her. Three gourmet meals a day, all sorts of supplements to build up her strength.”

I would listen in silence, saying nothing. Every phone call felt like salt being poured directly into my wound.

Once I could move around a little better, I went back to the family house to pick up the last of my things. The house was on the base, a two-story colonial with a neat yard. As I walked in, the sound of cheerful laughter filled the air.