Because of My Sister’s Death, My Parents Came to Despise Me Completely.

### Because of my sister’s death, my parents came to despise me completely. “You’re so cruel! Why wasn’t it you who died instead?” “Don’t call me Mom. I’m not your mother anymore. You don’t have parents. Get out of this house!” They didn’t just cut me off—they replaced me. They took in a girl they had been sponsoring for years through a charity program, treating her like the daughter they wished they’d had. Years later, that girl developed kidney failure. My mother, a coldly methodical doctor, didn’t hesitate. She harvested one of my kidneys to save her. My father, a high-powered executive and ever the enabler, refused to cover my medical bills. I was left to fend for myself, discharged from the hospital with nowhere to go. Just a few hours after the surgery, a brain tumor I’d been silently battling flared up. I collapsed alone, in the middle of a filthy, reeking alley. And there, surrounded by garbage, I died—forgotten and unloved. I’m dead now, but the searing pain in my back still clings to my soul. I floated helplessly through the hospital halls, my spirit anchored to that place. There they were—my mother and father—sitting anxiously by Ellie’s bedside. Their faces were etched with worry, their eyes fixed on her with a tenderness I had never known. They had never looked at me that way. For me, their eyes were always cold, filled with disgust. “You’re nothing but a burden! Just get out of my sight!” “Don’t come back! I’ve done enough for you. We’re done!” And now, outside Ellie’s hospital room, I heard my mother’s voice, sharp and dismissive: “Thank God Sofia’s kidney was a match for Ellie. That useless girl finally served a purpose!” Three hours ago, my own mother had taken my kidney. As punishment, she refused to allow any anesthesia. I was strapped to the operating table, unable to move, unable to escape, writhing in excruciating pain. Her voice echoed in my mind, cold and detached: “This is what you deserve for killing your sister. You have to atone for your sins.” “This pain? It’s exactly what you should feel.” My father stood nearby, silently watching, handing her the scalpel without hesitation. For years, I thought I had been the one who caused my sister’s death. But as I lay there, consumed by the agony of losing my kidney, fragments of a long-buried memory surfaced. It wasn’t me who pushed my sister into the water. It was Ellie—the girl my parents had so lovingly taken in.

Sometimes, I wonder if the truth even matters. After all, my parents hate me so much. But I still found the strength to call my father, desperate to tell him what I had remembered. His response was a cruel, mocking laugh. “Lying again, huh? Do you even hear yourself?” “How could I have raised a daughter like you? Ellie would never do something like that. She’s perfect. But you? You’re the only one capable of something so vile.” Prejudice is like a mountain—unyielding, immovable. And in my father’s heart, that mountain had been standing tall for years. Convinced I was lying, he refused to pay for my hospital stay. “Dad, I don’t have any money…” I pleaded. “Liar!” he spat. “Aren’t you always working part-time jobs? You’re just too selfish to spend your own money!” He didn’t know my part-time job earnings went to pay for medication. Long shifts, skipped meals, endless stress—I had worked myself into stomach cancer. But there was no point in telling him. When I showed him my diagnosis report, he barely glanced at it before ripping it to shreds. “Do you think I have time for this nonsense?” he snapped. “I’m perfectly healthy, and I’m twice your age. You’re young—how could you possibly have cancer? Faking a medical report? Really? If it’s true, then just go ahead and die already!” Now I’m dead. But it wasn’t cancer that killed me. It was the post-surgery infection I couldn’t afford to treat. When I told my father I had spent all my money on medication, he scoffed. “Then sell yourself!” he said with a sneer.

A nurse called my mom to let her know I had disappeared from my hospital room. “She should be in her bed, recovering. We can’t find her anywhere,” the nurse explained. My mother sighed, clearly annoyed. “So? What do you want me to do about it?” she said. “Do you think I can magically find her?” When Ellie went missing, my mom had been frantic, calling everyone she could think of to help. But for me? She didn’t care. Standing next to her, Dr. King, an attending physician, frowned. “That girl didn’t look well the last time I saw her,” he said. “Her lips were pale. She probably shouldn’t have been out of the hospital in the first place. As her mother, shouldn’t you have noticed something?” Even strangers showed me more concern than my own mother. But she quickly cut him off. “Do you even know what she’s done?” she snapped. “That girl is no daughter of mine. My husband and I disowned her a long time ago. If she’s gone, it’s just another one of her attention-seeking games. She’s always pulling stunts like this.” “She’s not missing,” my mother added dismissively. “She’s just waiting for us to come running after her like usual. It’s her only trick.” Dr. King stared at her in disbelief. “Even if that’s true, she’s still a child. How can you be this heartless? She’s your daughter!” “Not anymore,” my mother said coldly. “If she’s dead, let me know so I can collect the body.” Dr. King was furious. “I thought doctors were supposed to be compassionate,” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “But you can’t even show basic decency to your own child. It disgusts me.” He stormed out, leaving my mother unfazed. I felt guilty for causing Dr. King so much frustration. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have had to argue with my mother. After my father refused to pay my hospital bills, the nurses tried to reassure me. “No parent would just abandon their child,” one of them said gently. “Just stay here and rest. They’ll come around eventually.” But I knew better. I knew my parents far more intimately than they could imagine. To avoid causing the hospital any more trouble, I dragged myself out of the room, my legs weak and unsteady. Somewhere behind me, I heard a nurse calling out: “Wait! You just had surgery—you’re not well enough to leave!” Another voice muttered, confused: “When did she even have surgery? I don’t see her name on the schedule…” Now I’m gone. I’ll never be a burden to anyone again.

They waited anxiously outside the operating room. My mom, usually so confident in her medical expertise, was pacing nervously. For once, the composure she prided herself on was nowhere to be found. “What if something goes wrong?” she murmured, wringing her hands. “I performed Ellie’s surgery myself… but what if I missed something?” My dad tried to reassure her. “She’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “Ellie’s a fighter. Everything’s going to be okay.” I drifted above them, watching through the window as Ellie lay in her hospital bed. Her surgical wound had been stitched with meticulous care, her body tucked neatly under a soft blanket. She looked serene, like a child resting peacefully in a world where she was deeply loved. She was the daughter nurtured and cherished by my parents, their pride and joy. But me? I was never that. When my mom stitched my wounds, her hands were rough, her movements hurried—like even a moment spent caring for me was a waste of her time. I remembered the nurse who had tried to stop her earlier. “Dr. Turner,” the nurse had said hesitantly, “you still have other patients waiting in your clinic today…” But my mom cut her off sharply. “Cancel everything. Reschedule all of them. I’m not seeing anyone else until Ellie wakes up!” “But some of them drove hours to see you…” “And? Let them book someone else, or they can wait! I don’t care. My focus is on Ellie right now—nothing else matters.” It was rare to see my mom so emotional. She was usually the perfect professional: her white coat pristine, her glasses perched neatly on her nose, her demeanor precise and detached, like a machine engineered to respond to every patient’s needs. But whenever Ellie got sick, her calm façade shattered. She became frantic, consumed. The nurse fell silent. Then my mom seemed to remember me. She frowned and turned to my dad. “Where’s Sofia?” “She’s gone,” my dad said with a shrug. “I didn’t pay her hospital bills.” Mom smirked. “Good. That’s exactly what we agreed on.” And then, as if nothing had happened, they began discussing how to use the money they’d saved on my medical expenses. “We should get Ellie a surprise,” my mom said, her voice soft now, almost giddy. They went online and ordered everything they could think of: a massive bouquet of fresh flowers, Barbie dolls, stuffed animals, glittering toys… The packages arrived quickly, and soon the gifts were piled high, a colorful mountain of every little girl’s dream. As I watched them, I couldn’t help but think of something else—a memory from not so long ago. I was sitting near a garbage dump, tired and weak, my body aching from the infection that was slowly killing me. A little girl passed by with her mom, holding a worn-out teddy bear. The girl frowned, wrinkling her nose at the toy. “It’s so ugly!” she complained before tossing it into the trash. As they walked away, the girl glanced back at me a few times, her eyes filled with curiosity. Maybe she was wondering why I looked so dirty, so ragged. Maybe she thought I was ugly too. I stared at the discarded teddy bear. Its fur was matted, its seams fraying, but its button eyes still gleamed brightly in the sunlight. For a moment, I wanted to move. I wanted to reach out, grab that little bear, and hold it close. But then I stopped myself. The bear, even in its brokenness, was still too good for someone like me. I didn’t deserve anything beautiful.

They were brainstorming what else they could do to make Ellie happy when my dad suddenly snapped his fingers. “Ellie’s always wanted to feel like she’s truly part of our family. Why don’t we just make it official? Add her to our family records!” My mom’s face lit up with approval. “That’s a great idea! Go grab the paperwork right away!” As my dad hurried off, a nurse approached my mom, her expression tense. “Dr. Turner, this isn’t just some misunderstanding. Several people saw Sofia leave the building on her own. She just had surgery—where could she possibly go?” “And there was blood,” the nurse added hesitantly. “A lot of it. The janitor’s still scrubbing the floors—it’s everywhere.” From the third-floor railing, you could see the trail of blood leading all the way out of the hospital doors. The janitor, hunched over, was painstakingly cleaning it up. I watched from above, feeling a pang of guilt. I was sorry for making her job harder. But at the time, I couldn’t stop the blood. It kept pouring out, soaking through everything. I was terrified. It felt like I was bleeding out every drop of life I had left. My mom glanced at the nurse, clearly annoyed, and waved her off dismissively. “Stop telling me about her! God, I’m so sick of this! Why is everyone so concerned about that girl? Honestly, the world would be better off if she just died and got it over with. Then we’d all have some peace!” “Do you think you know her better than I do? I’m her mother! This is just another one of her dramatic stunts.” The nurse hesitated, then turned and left, likely realizing there was no point in arguing. Just then, Dr. King stormed down the hallway, his face flushed with anger. He marched up to my mom, clutching a stack of papers in his hand. “You took your own daughter’s kidney… to save your foster daughter?!” He held up the documents, his voice shaking with disbelief. “If I hadn’t checked the surgery logs today, I wouldn’t have even known! Do you realize that harvesting an organ without proper authorization is illegal? You’ve broken the law! And that was your biological daughter! Do you have any humanity left?!” Dr. King’s hands trembled as he thought of the girl in the operating room—me. He’d watched the footage of the surgery, seen the pain I endured, and now his chest tightened with rage and sorrow. This man, a stranger to me, felt more for me in that moment than my own family ever had. My mom faltered for a second, but she quickly regained her composure. She reached into her bag and pulled out a document: the organ donation consent form. “She signed it herself,” my mom said coolly. “I didn’t force her.” Technically, she wasn’t lying. She had tossed the blank form onto the table in front of me and said, “Ellie needs a kidney, and you’re a perfect match. If you have any sense of decency, you’ll know what to do.” I had stared at those bold words on the paper, my stomach twisting with dread. My hand instinctively touched my side, where my kidney was. I hesitated. That brief pause was all my mom needed to unleash her fury. “I knew it!” she snapped. “You’re a selfish, ungrateful brat! You killed your sister, and now you’re just going to sit back and watch your little sister die too?” “It’s just a kidney,” she continued, her voice dripping with scorn. “You have two—you’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m asking for your life!” Her disappointment in me was palpable, cutting deeper than any scalpel. Her eyes burned with contempt, making me feel like I was nothing. She didn’t force my hand, but the weight of her disdain crushed me until I signed the paper, tears blurring my vision. Dr. King’s voice broke through the memory, furious and unrelenting. “She’s your daughter. How could she possibly refuse you?” “Even if she signed the form, did the hospital approve it? Was it filed properly? And you think you can just use the hospital’s resources for a personal surgery? Do you even remember the oath you took as a doctor?” My mom’s confidence wavered for a moment, her eyes darting away. But then she straightened her shoulders, her tone turning defensive. “I’m scheduled to represent the hospital at the medical conference next week,” she said. “My paper on internal medicine is being published. Do you really think the hospital can afford to lose me right now?” Dr. King’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. Seeing that she had regained the upper hand, my mom softened her tone, her voice almost sweet. “Trust me,” she said. “Once Ellie wakes up, I’ll go look for Sofia. I’m sure she wouldn’t want her mother to lose her job over this.” Dr. King clenched his fists, his face red with anger. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore,” he said, his voice low but firm. With that, he grabbed his lab coat, tore off a piece of the fabric, and threw it to the ground. It was a symbolic gesture, a severing of ties. My mom’s eyes flickered with something—regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. But then she rolled her eyes and muttered, “That old fool thinks he’s so important.” She turned back to the pile of gifts they had bought for Ellie, her expression hardening. “And Sofia,” she said under her breath, “she’s nothing but trouble. Always has been.”

While my dad was on his way back from the house, carrying the paperwork to make Ellie their official daughter, he passed by the dumpster behind the hospital. Something about the air made him pause. He furrowed his brow, pulled out his phone, and called me. Of course, I couldn’t answer. Frustrated, he ended the call and started typing furiously instead: “Sofia, how long are you going to keep this up? Haven’t you had enough of your little tantrum?” “Fine. If it’s about money, I’ll pay your hospital bill. But seriously, for someone your age, you’re already such a manipulative little schemer. Enough with the games!” He thought I was just sulking, throwing another fit to get his attention. If he had just taken a moment to glance at the pile of trash in front of him, he would’ve found my body. I was right there, buried under that heap of garbage. Through the haze, I could even see my own foot, peeking out from beneath a crumpled chip bag. But he didn’t look. He just spat on the ground in irritation and walked away. When he returned to the hospital, Ellie was awake. Pale and fragile, she lay against the pillows, her eyes fluttering open. Dad’s face lit up as he rushed to her bedside. Mom was already there, arranging a mountain of stuffed animals around her, their colorful shapes crowding the bed. A fresh bouquet of flowers sat on the windowsill, dew glistening on the petals. Ellie’s face brightened with joy. “Thank you, Uncle and Auntie!” she said, her voice weak but full of gratitude. Dad grinned and leaned closer. “Oh, there’s an even bigger surprise for you!” He pulled out the paperwork he’d brought back, holding it up proudly. “How would you like to be our real daughter? From now on, you can call us Mom and Dad.” My dad—a man who had faced boardrooms full of CEOs, negotiated million-dollar deals—was suddenly nervous, his voice trembling with anticipation. Even my mom, usually so composed, seemed a little anxious. “Ellie,” she said softly, “you… you don’t think we’re too old, do you?” Tears welled up in Ellie’s eyes. She choked back a sob and whispered, “I just… I just feel so lucky. So happy…” And then they hugged, the three of them, a picture-perfect family wrapped in their own little bubble of joy. It was the kind of ending you’d see in a movie—warm, perfect, full of love. I watched from above, my spirit suspended in the air. But my heart felt hollow, as if a piece of it had been carved out. Blood ties are supposed to be the strongest bond in the world. But for me, they were chains—binding me so tightly that they cut into my skin, leaving me bleeding and broken. If I hadn’t been their child, maybe I could’ve run far, far away. Maybe I could’ve escaped this family without hesitation. But I wasn’t so lucky. Downstairs, a piercing scream shattered the quiet of the hospital grounds. “Someone’s dead!” “There’s a body in the dumpster!” The sound carried faintly, but my family didn’t hear it from where they stood. They were too far away, too caught up in their moment of happiness. Then a nurse came running, her face pale with shock as she reached my parents. “We found Sofia!” she blurted out, her voice trembling. Mom and Dad turned to her, startled. “She’s dead,” the nurse continued, struggling to keep her composure. “That body in the dumpster… it’s your daughter.”

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