My Ghost Watches His Final Regret

It took twenty-four hours for a nurse to find my body. By then, I was a cold weight in a pool of my own blood, a piece of forgotten medical waste.

On my tenth birthday, my parents left this world forever. From that day on, my brother threw me out of our home. He packed my life into a suitcase and sent me to a boarding school where I stayed for eight years. He didnt just dislike me; he loathed the very fact of my existence.

As I died on that operating table, I could hear him in the next room. His voice was a velvet caress, a comfort I hadn't felt in a decade. He was telling Hailey, his adopted sister, not to be nervous. He promised he would save her.

He didn't mention that he was harvesting my brainmy lifeto give to her.

The last thing he ever said to me over the phone was: "What is it this time? Coughing up blood or another fake fainting spell? Im warning you, unless youre actually dead, stop bothering me."

Then, he hung up.

After I died, my soul remained tethered to my brother. I watched him, my tether, as he stood outside the Intensive Care Unit like a gargoyle carved from grief and anxiety. Hailey had been moved there after the surgery. Through the observation window, he stared at her pale, fragile face with a look of pure, agonizing devotion.

"The next twenty-four hours will determine if the transplant was a success," Dr. Whitmore said, stopping beside him to offer a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Youve done everything a surgeon could do, Beckett. The rest is up to fate. If the best neurosurgeon in the state couldn't save her, then no one could."

"By the way," the doctor added, "your phone was blowing up while you were in the OR."

He handed the device back. Beckett unlocked the screen, saw the name flashing there, and his jaw tightened until the muscles jumped.

It was my homeroom teacher.

He held the button down to delete the notification, but the phone rang again immediately.

"You should probably take that," Dr. Whitmore suggested gently. "Theyve called a dozen times. Maybe something happened to Wren at school?"

At the mention of my name, Becketts eyes flashed with a visceral, jagged hatred.

"Something is always happening to Wren," he spat. "She faints, she vomits bloodits a goddamn theatrical performance. Every time I show up, shes fine. She treats me like a dog on a leash. If she were even half as decent as Hailey, I wouldn't have had to cut off her tuition."

He gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "Dont bring her up. Every time I hear her name, I see my parents' mangled bodies in that wreckage."

I stood beside him, a transparent ghost, my heart aching with a familiar, hollow despair.

Beckett, I wasn't lying. I would never play games with you.

I only took the suppressants before you arrived because I didn't want you to see me fading. I didn't want to burden you.

From the day our parents died, the brother who used to tuck me in at night began looking at me like I was a murderer. After the funeral, he volunteered for a medical mission in the rural South. Thats where he found Haileya girl with a brain tumor and a family too poor to afford a bandage, let alone surgery.

He brought her back to our house. He sent me to boarding school. From that day on, he had only one sister. He wouldn't spare me a glance, yet he moved heaven and earth for Hailey. To fulfill his promise of curing her before her twentieth birthday, he spent years searching for a donor, even putting up his entire life savings as a bounty for a "willing" match.

I knew this was my only path to his forgiveness. When I realized I was terminal, I signed the organ donation papers. I thought that if my death saved the girl he loved, he might finally stop hating me.

Tears I couldn't feel rolled down my ghostly face. Just before the call timed out, Beckett finally snapped and pressed 'accept.'

"Hello? Is this Wren's guardian?" the teacher's voice came through, frantic. "Shes"

"I don't want to hear it!" Beckett barked, cutting her off. "If she's dead, call me to pick up the body. Otherwise, lose my number."

Beckett, usually the epitome of the calm, collected surgeon, only lost his mind when it came to me. Or Hailey. He treated Hailey like a second chance at penanceas if saving her would earn him a pardon from our parents' ghosts.

Dr. Whitmore, who had been a peer of our parents, watched Becketts rage with a look of deep concern. "Beckett, its been eight years. The plane crash wasn't Wrens fault. I watched that girl grow up alongside you. She is the only family you have left in this world."

"Dr. Whitmore, please," Beckett said, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Don't mention her again. My only priority is Hailey."

The senior doctor sighed and walked away. A nurse approached timidly. "Dr. Moore, your remaining clinic appointments for today"

"Cancel them all. Im staying right here until she wakes up. I won't leave her side for a second."

I felt a bitter smile touch my lips. I looked through the glass at Hailey. I was overwhelmed by a cold, sharp envy. I had donated my entire physical form, and it hadn't bought me a single smile. She simply had to exist to make him abandon his principles, his patients, and his life.

He used to be the kind of doctor who stayed late to see every single person in the waiting room. But for Hailey, the rules didn't apply.

Suddenly, Dr. Whitmore called his cell again. Beckett hit speakerphone without looking away from Haileys bed.

"Beckett, I just saw Wren's name on the hospital registry," Whitmore said, his voice grave. "Did something happen?"

Becketts brow furrowed. I could see the fuse of his patience burning short. He glanced at the date on his phone, and his chest began to heave with jagged breaths.

"Does she have no shame? Does she not know what day it is?" he hissed. "Tell her to get out. I dont want to see her."

Today was my eighteenth birthday. It was Haileys nineteenth.

And it was the eight-year anniversary of our parents' death.

"Beckett, this isn't the visitor's log," Whitmore said, his tone dropping an octave. "Its the inpatient list. Ask her if shes okay."

"Or check your office," Whitmore continued. "Whenever she comes to see you, she waits there. Shes a quiet kid; she wouldn't tell you if she was hurting."

The dam broke. Beckett roared into the phone, "Shes been 'hurting' since the day they died! Every day it's a new symptom, a new crisis, and every time I check, theres nothing. Im a doctordo you think I can't tell when someone is faking? Her face is yellow as cornmeal, and she doesn't even have the decency to use the right foundation to hide the 'sickness' she's pretending to have. I don't know that liar. Stop talking to me about her!"

On the other end, Dr. Whitmore sounded breathless with anger. "If you won't ask, I will. Youre going to regret this, Beckett. If your parents were alive, they would never allow you to treat their daughter this way."

"Wren is no daughter of theirs!" Beckett screamed, his face a mask of fire. "She doesn't deserve the name. As soon as Hailey wakes up, Im taking her to the courthouse to legally put her on our family registry."

Dr. Whitmore sputtered, his voice thick with suppressed rage. "If your father were alive, you would be the one kicked out of the family. For eight years, you cut her off. Have you ever wondered how a young girl survives on her own? Have you ever looked in her dorm? She has more work uniforms for her three part-time jobs than she has school clothes! Youre a brilliant surgeon, Beckett, but as a human being, you aren't worth the dirt under your father's fingernails."

The line went quiet. Becketts eyes were bloodshot. He stood in the sterile hallway and screamed at the ceiling: "Don't you dare bring them up! If it wasn't for Wren, they would never have changed that flight! They wouldn't be dead! I will never forgive her until the day she dies!"

His words hit me like a physical blow, pinning me against the wall. A wave of exhaustion washed over my soul. I slid down the wall, burying my head in my hands.

I had wanted to be like them. I wanted to be a healer. I worked three jobs to pay for the dream he stole from me. I studied by the light of streetlamps and worked double shifts, and the stress turned into a silent killer. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with liver cancer.

I remember the day I tried to show him the report. I was trembling, my hand shaking as I held out the envelope. He didn't even open it. He tore it into confetti and threw it in my face.

"Wren, do you think if you pretend to be sick like Hailey, Ill love you? In your dreams. If you bring me another fake lab report, Im calling the police for fraud."

It was a report from his hospital. All he had to do was type my name into the system.

I never mentioned it again. When I fainted at school, the teacher would call, and I couldn't stop her in time.

But don't worry, Beckett. The calls are going to stop now. This time, Im really gone.

My body lay on the cold steel of the operating table in the basement. Piece by piece, the parts of me not ravaged by cancer were being harvested.

And upstairs, Beckett was still a sentinel at Haileys door. A nurse, hurried and harried, rushed past him toward the service elevator, but he caught her arm.

"Wait, keep an eye on her for me," he said, nodding toward Hailey. "Don't leave for a second. If theres a spike in her heart rate, page me. Im just going to the restroom."

The nurse looked conflicted. "But the donor's body... we need to prep for transport to the crematorium..."

Beckett waved her off, frowning. "The donor saved my sister's life. Ill handle the final arrangements personally later. Right now, watch Hailey."

He walked away, glancing back three times, his heart visible on his sleeve.

Half an hour later, he returned. It was shift change. The hallway was empty save for the skeleton crew. My body remained on that table, forgotten in the transition of paperwork.

A young nurse ran up to him, holding a bag of takeout. "Dr. Moore, this was dropped off at the front desk for you."

Beckett pulled his gaze away from Hailey. He rubbed his tired eyes and saw Haileys name on the receipt. A warm, genuine smile broke across his face.

"Shes an angel," he whispered. "Even before surgery, she was thinking about making sure I ate."

There was a long note in the "special instructions" section. Beckett read it word for word, his eyes shimmering.

[Big brother, if youre reading this, the surgery must be over. Are you tired? Did you forget to eat again? I ordered this specifically for you. When I wake up, Im going to make sure you take better care of yourself. Youre the most important person in the world to me!]

Beckett wiped a tear with a napkin and ate the meal standing up. Just as he tossed the trash, Dr. Whitmore called again.

"I found Wren's room number. Im sending it to you. Go see her. Im stuck in a consultation."

The warmth vanished from Becketts face instantly. "What is she pulling now? Doesn't she know I'm busy? Did she tell you to call me? If shes not dead, tell her to crawl over here herself! I am not leaving Hailey until shes out of the woods!"

He gripped the phone, his voice shaking with resentment. "Dr. Whitmore, I call you 'Uncle' out of respect for my father. But look at the difference. My biological sister does nothing but cause trouble while Im trying to save lives. My adopted sister, while facing death, orders me dinner because shes worried Im hungry. Do you honestly still think Wren deserves a place in this family?"

He slammed the phone shut. It was the first time he had ever truly defied his mentor. And once again, it was because of me.

Don't worry, Beckett. When you finally find out, youll never have to be angry again.

Beckett glanced at the room number on his screen, his face hardening into a mask of ice. He deleted the message. On his way back from the trash bin, he passed the door to the room I had occupied.

He paused for a fraction of a second. His lip curled in a sneer. "Drama queen," he muttered under his breath.

My heartthe ghost of itleaped into my throat. Just turn the handle, Beckett. Just look inside. You'll see I wasn't lying.

But he didn't stop. The weight of his disappointment was so heavy it felt like lead in my soul. I followed him to the corner, where he stopped, breathing hard.

Suddenly, he spun around. He marched back to my room and threw the door open with a crash.

"Wren! Get out here!" he barked into the silence.

There was no answer. He took two steps inside and saw the bed. It was half-stripped, the pillows neatly stacked, but the mattress was empty.

Look closer, Beckett! Look at the nightstand! I left everything for you!

I didn't kill them... I swear I didn't...

But he had no patience for me. Seeing the empty bed was proof enough for him. He slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.

Back in the hallway, he pulled me out of his block list. He took a deep breath and sent a voice memo, his voice vibrating with rage:

"Wren, if you waste hospital resources one more time, I will have security drag you out. If you aren't in your bed, you aren't sick. Youre a fraud. Im giving you twenty-four hours to check yourself out. If you don't, never call me your brother again."

As the message sent, my phonesitting on the pillow in that empty roomchimed softly. No one was there to hear it.

Beckett returned to Haileys window. He seemed to remember something and texted Dr. Whitmore: [I checked. Shes not even in her room. You fell for her act again.]

Inside the ICU, Haileys finger twitched.

Beckett pressed his face to the glass, his eyes wide. When he saw her eyelids flutter, he forgot all about me. He pulled out his phone and started shoppingjewelry, a designer bag, things a girl her age would love. Then he opened a food app and ordered a strawberry cake, her favorite.

He paced the hall, muttering to himself. "What else does she like? What else?"

He snapped his fingers and ran toward his office. He grabbed his briefcase and pulled out the legal documents for the family registrythe ones hed had prepared for months.

He was running so fast he collided with the nurse who had been assigned to me. She looked up, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Dr. Moore! Your sister, Miss Moore, she"

"Not now!" Beckett waved her off, not letting her finish. He burst into Haileys room just as she opened her eyes. He let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.

Then, his phone rang. It was the morgue coordinator.

"Dr. Moore, your sister... the organ donor... shes still on the table in OR 3. The staff just realized. We need you to come down and sign for the body. There are no other family members on file."