Chapter 3

On the day of the recheck, my dad and I went to the hospital together.

While waiting at a red light, he picked up his phone and sent a voice message to my mom.

"Honey, have you gotten to the art exhibition center? Is parking easy there?"

He was checking up on her.

Soon, Mom replied with a message.

"Just got here, waiting in line to get in. Parking was a bit far, had to walk a ways."

She also attached a photo.

A selfie of her and a friend at the exhibition center.

My dad tapped to enlarge it, then kept driving.

"I heard the 'Morning Mist' piece is on display this time. Have you seen it? I remember you really liked that painter."

A few minutes later, Mom sent a photo from inside the exhibition hall.

"Saw it, it's even more amazing than in the catalog. It's pretty crowded, talk later."

My dad seemed to let out a relieved sigh.

He turned to me with a perfect smile.

"Your mom finally gets to relax a little."

Hypocrite.

I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

At the hospital, he played the part of the good father perfectly.

Follow-up appointments, tests, checking in...

He even kindly covered my eyes when they drew my blood.

If I hadn't found out about his affair and that he had another daughter...

I probably would've leaned into that tenderness, snuggled in his arms and whined like a kid, just like before.

The whole process went quickly.

After getting the blood draw receipt, he checked his watch and spoke casually.

"Hazel, wait here for a minute, don't go anywhere. Dad's going to the bathroom, I'll be right back."

"Okay," I whispered, looking down.

He was heading toward the hematology ward.

After a little while, I stood up and quietly followed him.

The ward door was slightly open.

I stood outside, peeking through the gap.

My dad was sitting beside Chloe's bed, feeding her medicine.

The girl leaned against him, looking completely dependent, her voice tearful.

"Daddy, I'm scared..."

"Am I going to die? I don't want to leave you and Mom..."

My dad gently wiped her tears, his voice incredibly soft.

"Silly girl, don't talk like that."

"Daddy got you the best doctors in the country and the best medicine. See, Daddy's always here with you, right? You're so brave, you're going to get better."

Summer also leaned over, gently brushing her daughter's cheek.

"Don't be scared, Mommy and Daddy are here. Your dad has put off so much work for you, coming to the hospital every day, talking to all these experts and professors... Remember when you had that midnight fever last month? Daddy was at a conference overseas, but he got on the next flight home and stayed up with you for two whole nights. With Daddy here, you don't have to fear anything."

The three of them looked like the perfect little family.

Meanwhile, I stood outside the door feeling like a fool.

I remembered when I was eight, I had pneumonia so bad my fever hit 104 degrees, coughing so hard I thought my lungs would split.

Mom rushed me to the ER, her hands shaking she was so scared.

She called him over and over, but all he sent was a text:

"With important clients, can't leave. Thanks for handling it."

That whole night, Mom sat with me alone in the emergency room until morning, watching the IV drip.

Later I found out Chloe had been throwing a fit that night, didn't want him to leave. His "important clients" were just Summer and her.

I dug my nails into my palms so hard they almost broke, but I didn't feel a thing.

Suddenly an arm wrapped around my shoulders. It was Mom.

She gave me a little nod, like she was saying "I've got you."

Just then, the doctor came out smiling:

"Don't worry, you two. Chloe's numbers have fluctuated a bit lately, but they're manageable overall. With parents as dedicated as you supporting her, the child's positive attitude is crucial for treatment. Our team has gone over the bone marrow transplant plan thoroughly—we just need the donor ready, and we can move forward with surgery."

"I'd do anything to save Chloe," my dad said, looking at her with a determined voice.

Anything to save Chloe.

What about me?

Me, being treated like a walking donor.

Didn't my wishes, my health, matter at all?

A dull, heavy ache spread through my chest.

My dad turned to the doctor, his voice steady.

"I've got the donor all set up. We can get all the paperwork done today."

"Please do whatever you can to schedule the surgery as soon as possible."

A senior doctor next to him nodded in agreement.

"Robert Anderson, always so efficient—and so dedicated to his daughter."

"Don't worry, we have the OR ready. Once the donor completes pre-op checks, we can start. A father as connected and involved as you—this child is truly lucky."

The head nurse joined in:

"Yes, Robert Anderson's here practically every day—we all notice. It's rare to find a successful man who's also so family-focused and responsible."

Another doctor added:

"I heard Robert Anderson not only works tirelessly for his daughter but also started a personal assistance fund to help other families facing similar struggles. That kind of generosity really earns our respect."

The hospital room filled with praise and admiration.

He was being hailed as the perfect father and a generous man.

Their voices trailed off, and someone even started clapping.

The mood was upbeat and positive.

Mom squeezed my hand, then pushed open the door, her voice sharp as ice:

"Robert Anderson, that 'recheck' you mentioned... was it just a trick to turn my daughter into a donor for your love child?"