My sister was dying in childbirth, and my father, a top obstetrician, was the only one who could save her. In my last life, I didn't hesitate. I called him. After I begged and pleaded, he abandoned his honeymoon with my stepmother and flew back to perform the surgery. My sister, Kerry, was saved. But the good news came with a death sentence for my stepmother. Her depression, they said, had relapsed. She’d thrown herself into the ocean. She left a suicide note, a ten-page manifesto detailing a decade of alleged abuse at our hands. The honeymoon, she wrote, was her last reason to live, and we had destroyed it. My father read the note. He told us he didn't blame us, his voice a dead, hollow thing. But on the day of my nephew's one-month celebration, he poisoned everyone's food. "If it weren't for you two," he'd whispered, his face a mask of grief-stricken rage, "Penny would still be alive." "How could I have raised such venomous daughters? A hundred deaths wouldn't be enough to atone for what you've done." He held our heads in the toilet bowl until the world went black. I opened my eyes. I was back on the day my sister went into labor. … The first thing I did after being reborn was race to my sister’s house. I was still too late. The moment I pushed the door open, the coppery tang of blood hit me like a physical blow. Kerry was lying on the floor in a rapidly spreading pool of it. My newborn nephew lay in the slick redness beside her, the umbilical cord still attached. My hands shook as I dialed 911. I grabbed a blanket and wrapped the baby in it, trying to keep him warm. The ambulance arrived with screaming sirens, whisking us away to the hospital. Just as they wheeled Kerry and the baby into the emergency room, her husband, Mark, burst in. "Olivia! How is she?" His face was ashen. It was freezing outside, but he was wearing nothing but a dress shirt. He must have dropped everything and run. Before I could answer, a doctor emerged from the trauma bay. He told us Kerry's condition was critical. She needed immediate surgery, and there were only two surgeons in the region capable of performing it: Dr. Cole Sterling at Metropolitan General, and Dr. Ellis Vance at the State University Hospital. Before Mark could even process the names, I jumped in. "We'll go to State University. Doctor, please, arrange the transfer—" "Wait, why State?" Mark cut me off, his voice frantic. "Metropolitan General... Cole Sterling, that's our dad! He's been Kerry's doctor this whole time. He knows her case inside and out. We have to go there." "Dad's on his honeymoon with Penny," I said, my voice tight. "We shouldn't bother them." In my last life, a single phone call had brought him back. It had saved Kerry, but it had killed our stepmother. The memory of the foul, chemical-laced water flooding my throat was still fresh. I refused to die that way again. "Are you kidding me?" Mark stared at me in disbelief. "What's more important, a honeymoon or your sister's life?" He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled out his phone and dialed. It rang for a long, agonizing time before our father finally picked up, his voice thick with annoyance. "What is it?" Mark quickly explained the situation, his words tumbling over each other as he begged our father to come back. "Dad, Kerry's in a bad way. A transfer would be too rough on her. Please, just come to this hospital. We'll get everything ready for you." Our father doted on Kerry, especially during her pregnancy. The slightest discomfort and he'd have her admitted for observation. Mark was certain he would drop everything and come. He was wrong. "Mark, who put you up to this? Was it Olivia?" Dad’s voice was cold steel. "I can't believe you'd side with them in bullying Penny like this. I just examined Kerry this morning. Her vitals were perfect. There wasn't the slightest indication of premature labor. Do you two feel no guilt, pulling a stunt like this just to ruin our trip?" He berated Mark for another thirty seconds before hanging up. Stunned, Mark frantically redialed, again and again. The phone was off. So was Penny's. The ER doctor reappeared. "Have you made a decision? We've stabilized her for now, but we need to move." With Dad's phone off, our only option was the more distant State University Hospital. Mark was about to get in the ambulance with Kerry when a nurse rushed out. The baby was in distress and needed to be moved to the NICU immediately. A parent had to stay. His wife and newborn son both in critical condition, Mark looked like he was about to shatter. "Mark," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'll go with Kerry. You stay here with the baby." His eyes reddened. He gripped my hand tightly. "Thank you, Liv. Please... just make sure she makes it." I nodded, my own throat tight. Kerry was five years older than me. Our mother had died giving birth to me, leaving us to navigate the world without her. With Dad always busy at work, we had only ever had each other. She was the most important person in my life. Even so, seeing her on the gurney, ashen and unconscious, a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. The entire way, I talked to her, a constant stream of prayers and memories, begging her to hold on. A police escort cleared the way, turning an hour-long drive into forty minutes. When we arrived, Dr. Vance was still in surgery. He’d told me to go to the ward and have the head nurse admit Kerry so she could be prepped. He would operate the second he was free. But when we got to the maternity ward, a nurse blocked our path. "There are no beds," she said flatly. "But we called ahead," I pleaded. "We spoke with Dr. Vance. He said to admit her." The young nurse rolled her eyes. "Dr. Vance is a surgeon, he doesn't know the situation on the floor. We're completely full. I don't care if you know the Chief of Staff, it wouldn't make a bed appear out of thin air." Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. I spotted an empty gurney in the hallway. "Can't she just stay on this? We just need a place, any place. Please, miss, help us. My sister is bleeding out. Only Dr. Vance can save her." The nurse glanced at the still form on the gurney, then shrugged. "I'm just a staff nurse. I can't authorize an overflow bed. You'll have to talk to the head nurse." She gave a subtle nod toward the office down the hall. I understood. I rushed over and pushed the door open. The woman at the desk looked up, and I gasped in relief. "Helen!" It was Helen Croft, one of my mother's oldest colleagues and dearest friends. After Mom died, she'd visited us often. Before she could speak, I grabbed her arm like a lifeline. "Helen, please, you have to help me get my sister admitted. She's had a placental abruption, she's hemorrhaging. She needs surgery now." But the woman I remembered as being so kind and gentle looked at me with a cold, unfamiliar expression. She pulled her arm away. "Olivia, I can't believe you'd bring this act all the way here. Take your sister and go home. Your father is a respected name in this hospital. This kind of stunt is humiliating for him." Her words were a physical blow. My ears started ringing. "What are you talking about? My sister is really sick. If you don't believe me, just come and look." I tried to pull her toward the door. If she just saw Kerry, she would understand. "Olivia, I'm very busy. I don't have time for your games." She sighed, her tone shifting from irritation to stern disappointment. "Your father just called me. He said you and your sister were trying to sabotage his honeymoon. I know you don't like your stepmother, but she's raised you for ten years. It can't have been easy. I heard she suffers from depression. You can't bully her like this. A hospital is not a stage for your family drama. Take your sister and leave." I felt myself starting to crumble. If my father were here, I would have screamed at him. I couldn't believe he would be so cruel, so thorough—knowing we'd have to come here, he'd called ahead to poison the well. But this wasn't the time for anger. "Helen, you're mistaken. We're not lying. My sister really is hemorrhaging. I've been in contact with Dr. Vance. If you don't believe me, please, just call him." Helen's face was a mask of disappointment. "Olivia, this has gone too far. You're dragging Dr. Vance into this now? Do you have any idea how important his current surgery is? What if your call distracts him? What if his hand slips? A young woman could lose her ability to ever have children because of your selfishness. Medical resources are not toys for you to play with. You should call Dr. Vance and apologize immediately." The girl on her operating table was young, but so was my sister. And the ER doctor's words echoed in my head: if Kerry wasn't in surgery within two hours, she would die. Without a second thought, I dropped to my knees. "Helen, please," I begged, the words catching in my throat. "I'm not lying. My sister is really dying. Please, just let her in." I bowed my head and touched my forehead to the cold linoleum floor. Once. Twice. Helen was taken aback. Her harsh expression softened for a fraction of a second. She was about to say something, to maybe come and see for herself, when the office door burst open. A young nurse poked her head in. "Head Nurse, are we admitting that patient or not? They're blocking the entrance, and now they're arguing with another patient's family." Helen and I rushed out together. The paramedics who had brought Kerry were in a heated argument with another family whose path they'd blocked. Helen quickly intervened, calming the other family down and sending them back to their room. Then, she marched straight toward me. "Helen, please, can you admit her now?" I asked, hope flickering. She raised her hand and slapped me across the face. The sting was sharp and shocking. "What kind of actors did you hire?" she hissed. "They have no class, no consideration. Don't they know this is a hospital full of sick people? Get these people out of here now, or I'm calling security." My cheek burned. "How could you hit me?" "I'm your elder," she snapped, her eyes blazing. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, causing such a scene? You were born, but you were never raised. You can tell you grew up without a mother." No mother. I'd heard it my whole life, but it had never cut so deep. Did being motherless mean my words were worthless? Did it mean my sister didn't deserve to be saved? I knew arguing was pointless. I wiped my tears away. "Fine. Fine, Helen. You won't help us. But someone in this hospital will. I'm going to find the hospital director and ask him if he plans on letting my sister die in his hallway." Seeing I was serious, Helen panicked. She had two nurses block my path. She turned and spoke into her walkie-talkie. "Security to Maternity. We have a disturbance. I need them removed immediately." Security arrived in under three minutes. With a wave of Helen's hand, they began to push us—me, the paramedics, and my dying sister on her gurney—toward the exit. I clung to the gurney, my sobs echoing down the hall. "You can't do this! Isn't this a hospital? Don't you save lives? My sister is dying right in front of you and you won't even look at her! How can you call yourselves angels of mercy?" My desperate cries drew a crowd of onlookers. Even the two young nurses looked shaken. "Head Nurse," one of them ventured, "I don't think they're acting. The woman on the gurney… she hasn't moved at all. She really looks like she's unconscious." "Her color is terrible," the other added. "Maybe... maybe you should just take a quick look before we—" Helen hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. She took a step toward the gurney. Just then, her phone rang. She answered it. "Dr. Sterling? Yes, I'm here. Your daughters? Yes, they're making quite a scene." My heart sank. It was my father. The hallway was suddenly silent. His voice, tinny through the phone's speaker, was audible to everyone. "They already caused a scene at the other hospital. All my colleagues are calling me, asking me to come back. Penny's blood pressure is through the roof from the stress. I'm bringing her to your hospital now for a check-up. Get rid of them. I don't want her to see them and get upset." I finally snapped. "Cole Sterling, are you insane?" I shrieked. "Your daughter is dying! If you won't save her, fine, but why are you stopping anyone else from helping? What if she dies right here?" His reply was a cold, dead laugh. "Then let her die. I don't want daughters like you anyway." He hung up. I heard someone in the crowd gasp. What kind of father says that? Helen’s face was a stony mask. She walked toward me. "Olivia, you heard him. Stop upsetting your father and your aunt. They've been through enough." Just as she finished speaking, a woman in the crowd screamed. "Oh my God! So much blood!" Helen and I whipped our heads around. The white blanket covering my sister was now soaked in a deep, dark crimson. Blood was dripping from the gurney, flowing down its metal legs. A pool of it was forming on the linoleum floor.
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