My dad scheduled my physical for high school enrollment. During the blood draw, I overheard the nurse confirm, “Is this the blood sample for the bone marrow typing?” I froze. There was nothing about that on my medical form. And typing? Who needed a match? The lab request slip fluttered from her hand. As she bent to pick it up, a few lines of text burned into my vision: Patient: Faye. Diagnosis: Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Guardian’s Signature: Richard Walker. I snatched the paper and checked again. It was unmistakably the handwriting of my father, Richard Walker. Who was Faye? And why was my dad her legal guardian? I immediately dialed his number. “Dad, why does a physical require a bone marrow test?” There was a pause on the line, a flicker of panic in his voice. “The hospital must have made a mistake. But hey, an extra test or two can’t hurt, right?” I forced a laugh and said okay. After hanging up, I went straight to the hospital room listed on the form. 01 Walking into the room, I saw the girl lying in the bed. Her face was ashen, her body frail. Her features, especially around her eyes and brow, were a near-perfect mirror of my dad’s. A cold weight settled in my stomach. My fists clenched as I approached her. “Are you Faye?” She blinked, looking up at me, but before she could speak, a woman’s voice came from behind. I turned. It was her mother. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, still young, dressed simply. She had the air of a gentle, domestic woman. But now, she looked frantic. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly. “You must be one of Faye’s classmates?” she asked, her voice urgent and shaky as she rushed forward to grab my arm. “She needs to rest. Could you come outside for a moment? I need to talk to you.” I didn’t resist, letting her lead me out of the room. In the hallway, she let out a visible sigh of relief, then hesitated before speaking. “You are…” I held up the lab form, cutting straight to the point. “Why is my father’s name signed as your daughter’s guardian?” I demanded. “Ma’am, what, exactly, is your relationship with my dad?” The hospital corridor was busy with people coming and going, some of whom seemed to know her. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so direct. Her panic intensified, though she forced a smile for an acquaintance passing by. Then she turned back to me, her own smile strained. “Oh, that signature… my daughter is sick, and a charity foundation is helping with the costs. The person in charge was there when we were handling the payment, so he just signed it for us.” “My daughter’s last name is also Walker, it’s just a coincidence. Please don’t overthink it.” Her words were placating, meant to deflect. But as her eyes fell on me, I saw a flicker of something else, something malicious and possessive. I met her gaze and held it. She looked away, unnerved, and unconsciously ran a hand through her hair. That’s when I saw it. The diamond ring on her finger. It was familiar. A designer piece. From my mother’s favorite designer. He had been out of the industry for years but recently released a new collection that everyone was talking about. It just so happened to launch around my parents’ wedding anniversary. I’d secretly reminded my dad about it, suggesting he could get that specific ring as a gift for Mom. He promised he would, telling me to keep it a secret, that he wanted to surprise her. But on their anniversary, what he presented was a common, off-the-shelf piece from a department store. It wasn't even real diamonds, just zirconia. He claimed that a time zone difference during an international conference call had made him miss the limited-edition drop. He said he’d have someone contact the designer for a custom piece later to make up for it. So, he hadn’t missed it. He’d bought it. He’d just given it to another woman. And fobbed my mother off with a cheap imitation. I bit down hard, suppressing the rage that was boiling up inside me. Staring at the woman’s awkward expression, I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “That’s a beautiful ring, ma’am. It’s the limited-edition piece, isn’t it?” “My mother waited forever for it, but she couldn’t get one.” She must not have expected a kid to recognize it. She froze, her face twisting into an ugly grimace. She quickly tried to hide the ring with her hair, stammering out a defense. “What designer? I… I wouldn’t know about things like that. My daughter just picked it up for me, it’s nothing expensive.” “I have to get back to my daughter now,” she said abruptly. “Oh, and please don’t mention any of this to anyone. We wouldn’t want your family to get the wrong idea.” With that, she turned and fled back into the hospital room. Watching her scramble away, I let out a cold, humorless laugh. Pathetic. What a coward. Without a second glance, I turned and left the hospital. The moment I was in the car, I contacted my grandfather’s assistant. “Mr. Finch, I need you to look into my father’s recent activities, especially his travel records and financial transactions. Be quick, but don’t let him know.” “And whatever you find, secure the evidence immediately.” 02 When I got home, my mom was in the kitchen, simmering a soup. When my dad was younger and building his business, his irregular meals had led to severe stomach problems. He’d even had surgery twice. Mom felt for him. A woman who’d never had to lift a finger learned to cook just for him. Soups, congee, medicinal broths… She single-handedly nursed his stomach back to health. She’d been doing it for as long as I could remember, almost a decade now. In two days, it would be my parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary. And I had just discovered that my father was cheating on her. Watching her bustling around the kitchen, my simmering fury gave way to a wave of sorrow, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. She was in her forties, but her figure was trim and her skin firm. She looked like she was barely thirty. Only her hands told a different story. Her knuckles were slightly enlarged, her palms calloused, and the backs of her hands were traced with the faint white lines of old scars. She used to love getting her nails done. But she gave it up, saying it was inconvenient for cooking. I walked into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She jumped, then laughed, teasing me. “You’re back? You’re about to be a high schooler, and you’re still clinging to me like a little kid?” “Go on, get out of here. It’s smoky, and I’m busy.” When I didn’t move, she sensed something was wrong. She turned around, and her smile vanished the moment she saw my tear-streaked face. Her expression immediately tightened with concern. “Audrey, honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Wasn’t Dad with you at your physical? Let me just call him…” She started to reach for her phone. I grabbed her wrist, shaking my head violently. “Don’t call him!” My mom froze, looking at me with growing unease, waiting for me to explain. I squeezed my eyes shut, my throat tight. “Dad… he’s cheating.” “The woman’s name is Serena. She used to be his secretary.” My movements were stiff, my fingers trembling as I pulled my tablet from my bag. The screen lit up, displaying the files Mr. Finch had already sent me. The tablet’s glow illuminated my mother’s blanching face. I swiped through the pages, showing her one damning piece of evidence after another. “They got together not long after she started working for him. Back then… you had just found out you were pregnant with me.” “She quit less than six months later because she was pregnant too. Dad bought her a sprawling condo in The Azure Heights, not far from our house. The deed is in her name.” “When you were in your last trimester, swollen and unable to sleep, he was over there, making her prenatal nutritional meals. When you were in the hospital, fighting for your life during a difficult labor, he was with her, giving her massages and taking her on walks to ease her pain.” “While you were recovering from a C-section, he was at her prenatal check-ups, telling her to walk more so she could avoid having a C-section herself.” “Mom, that girl… his other daughter… is only six months younger than me. He cheated on you while you were pregnant.” The words tumbled out between sobs, my tears splashing onto the screen, blurring the text. My mom’s gaze was fixed, her eyes staring at the words and pictures as they slowly filled with tears, her own eyes turning red. “How could he…” she whispered. “Dating, marriage… twenty years. How could he…” I hugged her tighter, took a deep breath, and continued. “Mom, do you remember the fire we had at the house when I was little?” She nodded, her voice growing hoarse. “Of course, I do. I was on a business trip. Your dad was juggling work and looking after you, and for a second he turned his back, you’d set the curtains on fire… He risked his life to pull you out. He was so terrified afterward, he never left your side at the hospital. He said if he lost you, he wouldn’t want to live.” “After you got out of the ICU, he was a nervous wreck. He followed you everywhere, woke up in the middle of the night just to check on you. He kept telling me it was all his fault… I thought then that he truly loved you, that he cared about this family.” As she spoke, a bitter, icy sarcasm crept into her voice. I swiped again on the tablet, my finger stopping on a section of the investigation report. “What if I told you that fire was no accident?” “He thought I was asleep. He was in a hurry to go see them, so he tossed a lit cigarette into the trash can.” “The window was open. The wind blew the curtains into the can, and they caught fire. He had locked me in the room… I had no way of getting out by myself.” “And he wasn’t the one who saved me. A neighbor saw the smoke and called 911. The firefighters broke down the door and carried me out. He… he only rushed to the hospital much later.” “I was only a little girl, and I was in and out of consciousness. I never remembered the details clearly.” “You thought he was sticking so close to me because he loved me? No. He was afraid. He was terrified that one day I’d remember what really happened and tell you the truth… He was scared you’d get angry, and he’d lose the resources and connections from your family.” My eyes burned, whether from grief or fury, I couldn’t tell. All the happiness I thought I had was just an elaborate lie. The sorrow peaked and curdled into rage. I hated him. I hated him for deceiving my mother, and I hated him for doling out this fake, pathetic version of love to me for all these years. What were we to him? Stepping stones? But one look at my mother, and all I felt was a deep, aching pain for her. She was the one who was truly broken by this. I was about to say more when my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, is this Audrey Walker? We need to review some of the metrics from your physical. Please have a parent bring you back to the hospital for a more detailed examination as soon as possible.” I paused, forcing my voice to sound calm. “Okay, I understand.” Just as I hung up, both my phone and my mother’s buzzed at the same time. The text to me read: [Audrey, the hospital called about a follow-up test. Dad will take you the day after tomorrow.] The text to my mother read: [Honey, you know that French designer you love? A friend gave me two VIP tickets to his private collection exhibit. It’s the day after tomorrow in the afternoon. You should go, clear your head.] The day after tomorrow. The same day as my hospital appointment. He was deliberately sending Mom away so he could take me alone… My mother and I looked at each other. Not a word was needed. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when his whole scheme came crashing down. 03 Two days later, my father and I drove to the hospital. While waiting at a red light, he picked up his phone and sent a voice message to my mom. “Honey, are you at the gallery yet? Was parking okay?” He was testing her. A moment later, Mom replied. “I’m here, just waiting in line to get in. Had to park a bit far, it was a bit of a walk.” She attached a photo of herself and a friend, smiling, in front of the gallery. My dad zoomed in on the picture, then texted again. “I heard they have Morning Fog on display. Did you see it? I remember you love that artist.” A few minutes later, another photo came through, this one from inside the exhibit hall. “Saw it. It’s even more stunning in person than in the books. A little crowded, talk later.” My dad seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. He turned to me, flashing a flawless smile. “It’s good your mom can finally relax a little.” Hypocrite. I pulled my lips into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. At the hospital, he played the part of the perfect father. Consultations, check-ups, questions for the doctors… He even gently covered my eyes when they drew my blood. If I hadn’t found out about his affair, about his other daughter… I probably would have melted into that warmth, nestled against him and acted like a spoiled child, just like I used to. The process was quick. After we got the receipt for the bloodwork, he glanced at his watch and spoke in a casual tone. “Audrey, you wait right here, okay? Don’t wander off. Dad’s just going to the restroom, I’ll be right back.” “Okay,” I murmured, looking down. The direction he headed was toward the hematology ward. After a moment, I got up and quietly followed him. The door to the hospital room was slightly ajar. I stood outside, peering through the crack. My dad was sitting by the bed, feeding medicine to Faye. The girl leaned against him, completely dependent, her voice thick with tears. “Daddy, I’m scared…” “Am I going to die? I don’t want to leave you and Mommy…” My dad gently wiped her tears away, his voice incredibly soft. “Silly girl, don’t say things like that.” “Daddy found the best doctors in the country for you, the best medicine. See? Daddy’s right here with you, isn’t he? My Faye is the bravest girl I know. You’re going to get through this.” Serena leaned in too, stroking her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Mommy and Daddy are here. For you, your dad has pushed aside all his work, running to the hospital every day, contacting specialists and professors… Remember that time you spiked a fever in the middle of the night? Your dad was in a meeting overseas, but he got on the red-eye flight the second he got the call. He stayed by your side for two days and two nights without sleeping. With Daddy here, you have nothing to fear.” A perfect little family, happy and whole. And I was the clown standing on the outside. I remembered when I was eight, I had acute pneumonia. My fever was soaring over 103, and I was coughing so hard I could barely breathe. My mom rushed me to the hospital, her hands shaking with fear. She called him, over and over, but all she got was a single text message back: “With an important client. Can’t get away. You’ll have to handle it.” That entire night, it was just my mother, holding me in the emergency room as I shivered through my IV drip until dawn. I found out later that on that very night, Faye had been throwing a tantrum, refusing to let him leave. His “important client” was them. My fingernails dug into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Suddenly, a hand rested on my shoulder. It was my mother. She gave me a look that said, It’s okay. Just then, the attending physician spoke with a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Walker, please don’t worry. Little Faye’s numbers have been a bit unstable lately, but overall, her condition is manageable. With such dedicated parents supporting her, the child’s positive mindset is crucial for her treatment. Our team of experts has thoroughly reviewed the bone marrow transplant plan. We’re just waiting for the donor to be ready, and then we can proceed with the surgery.” “I’d do anything to save Faye,” my dad said, his eyes fixed on the girl, his voice firm and resolute. Anything to save Faye. Then what about me? The one being used as a “donor.” Were my wishes, my health, even worth considering? A dull, numb ache spread through my chest. My dad turned to the doctor, his tone confident. “I’ve already worked things out with the donor. We should be able to finalize the procedures today.” “As for the surgery, I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Please schedule it as soon as possible.” An older specialist standing nearby nodded in agreement. “Mr. Walker, you are truly a man of action, especially when it comes to your child.” “Rest assured, the operating room is ready. As soon as the donor completes the final pre-op examinations and preparations, we can begin. A child with such a resourceful and hands-on father is truly blessed.” The head nurse chimed in with a sigh. “It’s true. Mr. Walker is here almost every day, we’ve all seen it. It’s so rare to see a man who is both successful and so devoted to his family these days.” Another doctor added, “I heard that not only is Mr. Walker tirelessly working to save his daughter, but he has also personally established a special assistance fund to help other families in similar situations. That kind of compassion is truly admirable.” The room was filled with praise and compliments. They painted him as the perfect father, a paragon of virtue. A round of applause broke out. The atmosphere was glowing. My mother, holding my hand, pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her voice was cold as steel. “Richard, is this what you meant by a follow-up? Lying to me so you could use our daughter as a donor for your illegitimate child?”
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