
I Was Used as the Blood Bank for My Parents' Real Daughter
lily · Ongoing · 8.0k Words
Introduction
My mother always encouraged me, saying, "Nian Nian, bear with it a little longer. The pain will be over soon. Mom and Dad are doing this to save your life."
Hoping to be cured as soon as possible, I gritted my teeth and endured ten years of painful treatments, even if it meant living like a lab subject.
That was until I accidentally overheard my parents’ cruel conversation:
“Increase the blood draw even more. It doesn’t matter if she dies—she was only picked up to save Ying Ying. As long as she has a breath left, she owes it to us.”
At that moment, I finally understood: I was never sick at all.
The decade of daily treatments were nothing but a way to use me to extend the life of their biological daughter.
Chapter 1
The conversation in the study hit me like a thunderbolt exploding in my head.
I pressed my hand tightly over my mouth, but tears kept streaming down.
So this was the "strange illness" they'd been talking about, and their ten years of raising me were only because I was a "spare blood bag" for their biological daughter, Isabella Taylor.
Just then, Mom Harper Anderson's phone rang.
Even through the door, I could hear Isabella's spoiled voice:
"Mom, I want freshly cut pineapple. The fruit at the hospital isn't fresh at all, and I have to peel it myself. It's so annoying."
Harper, who had just been discussing my life and death, instantly softened her tone:
"Okay, don't be upset. Dad and I will go buy some right now and bring it to you. We won't let you suffer even a little."
Hearing footsteps coming toward the door, I quickly moved away and pretended I'd just arrived.
When Harper saw me, a flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly recovered.
They didn't even have time to say a word to me. Father Samuel Taylor grabbed the car keys and rushed downstairs.
"Dad... Mom..."
I tried to reach out and grab Harper, wanting to ask them what was going on.
But the constant blood draws had left me severely anemic. In my anxiety, a violent dizziness struck me.
My legs gave out, and I tumbled down the tall spiral staircase.
With a heavy thud, searing pain shot through my body.
Warm blood instantly gushed from my forehead, covering my eyes and staining the floor tiles beneath me a shocking red.
Harper and Samuel, who had reached the door, spun around at the sound.
Seeing me convulsing in a pool of blood, Harper instinctively moved to help me.
Through my blood-red vision, I stared hard at their retreating backs.
I was gambling.
I was betting on those ten years they'd raised me, betting with what was left of my broken life.
If they chose to save me now, I'd pretend I never heard what was said in the study, and they'd still be my parents.
Samuel walked quickly over to me. He glanced at the ugly wound on my forehead, his brow furrowed.
Just as he pulled out his phone, Harper suddenly grabbed his wrist, pointing at the clock on the wall, looking anxious:
"Samuel, there's no time! That pineapple shop is about to close."
"Isabella still has a fever. If she can't eat the fruit she wants, she'll cry herself sick!"
Samuel's hand froze in mid-air.
He looked down at me, covered in blood, with hopeful eyes, then at the time. A flash of impatience crossed his eyes.
Finally, he turned away, the warmth in his eyes completely gone.
"You're right. She won't die anyway. She's got a strong will to live."
Samuel rummaged through the medicine box, pulled out a Band-Aid, and tossed it carelessly onto me.
The flimsy band-aid landed in that pool of glaring blood, looking so ironic and ridiculous.
"Evelyn, be good. It's just a scratch. Take care of it yourself."
"Then go back to your room and lie down. We need to bring Isabella her fruit. We can't waste any more time."
With that, they didn't look at me again and hurried off into the night.
The villa's front door slammed shut.
In that moment, my heart died along with that loud bang.
So in their hearts, my life wasn't even worth a piece of pineapple for Isabella.
Fighting through the pain, I used my blood-covered fingers to shakily dial emergency services.
When I woke up again, I was lying on a stretcher in an ambulance.
The nurse beside me was pressing down to stop the bleeding, her hands trembling with anger:
"What kind of parents are these? Their child has such a huge gash on her head, and they just don't care!"
"Your body is already so weak, your blood vessels are as fragile as paper. If we'd arrived half an hour later, even God couldn't have saved you! Something this serious happened, and where are your parents?"
Listening to the nurse's angry words, the tears pooling in my eyes were tinged with blood.
Parents? How ridiculous.
I was just a blood bank they'd used for ten years. Who would care if I died!
I tried to speak, but as soon as I opened my mouth, another wave of dizziness hit me.
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