Stranded, Bleeding, and Easily Forgotten

On the third day of my hospital stay, I walked out of the treatment room after having my dressing changed, leaning on a pair of crutches as cold sweat drenched me.

That was when I ran into my parents, Leonard Olsen and Penny Ziegler, and my sister, Renee Olsen. They were behind me and on their way to the medical checkup center.

They flanked Renee, anxious that passersby might bump into her, and froze when they saw me. A hint of astonishment flickered across their faces.

Mom reacted first. She frowned, strode over, and pulled me aside. "Rhea, what are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay with the car? Where is it? Honestly, you have no sense of responsibility at all."

People in the corridor heard her loud remarks and turned to look at me.

I steadied myself with the crutches. "Mom, the car has already been towed away. I called you guys, but no one answered, so I sent a message in the group chat."

Mom looked unconvinced. "When did you send it? How come I didn't see it?"

She took out her phone and scrolled down, finally finding a small group chat named "Family of Four".

I happened to be standing where I could see her screen. Next to the group name was a bell with a slash through it. It was the "Mute" icon. The dozen or so messages I had sent—asking for help, begging them to come, and telling them I was already in the hospital—were unread.

Mom looked slightly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and put her phone away. "Couldn't you have called us a few more times when we didn't pick up? You're a grown adult. How can you be so thoughtless?"

I didn't respond.

Perhaps I looked too pale, for Mom's voice softened as she glanced at the bandage on my leg. "Are you okay?"

I was about to reply when Dad walked over, urging, "Alright, enough. She's in the hospital. What could happen to her? They're about to call Renee's number. Let's go. We can't miss it."

I stepped aside to let them through. "Go be with Renee. I'm going back to my room to get my IV."

Without bothering to wait for their response, I turned around and slowly made my way back.

As I lay in the hospital bed, the image from just moments ago kept replaying in my mind. At the top of Mom's chat list was a group called "Family of Three".

I wasn't in that group.

Meanwhile, the "Family of Four" group that included me had long since been pushed to the bottom by other messages and notifications, with "Mute" turned on.

An hour later, someone pushed the door open. My parents filed in behind the nurse.

"Rhea, here's your hospital bill. Make sure it gets paid on time."

The nurse placed the bill on the bedside table, adjusted my IV drip, and left.

Mom picked it up, and her voice rose. " Why is it so expensive? It's just a minor injury, isn't it? They just wrapped it up. Do they need to charge so much money and prescribe so much medication?"

I sat in silence for a few seconds before explaining, "Mom, the doctor said my wound was infected, so I needed medication to treat it."

Mom clicked her tongue, looking completely unconvinced. "Why do you believe everything the doctor says? He's just trying to scare you so he can charge you more. They prey on idiots like you. You're really troublesome. How can you not figure out something so simple? I'm going to talk to him myself."

After that, she stormed off with the bill.

I wanted to stop her, but as soon as I sat up, I strained my injured leg, and a sharp pain shot through me. My body went limp, and I fell back onto the bed.

Renee instinctively stepped forward, but Dad stopped her.

"Don't go near her. That area is full of bacteria."

Renee looked at me, hesitation in her eyes. "But Dad, there's cold sweat all over Rhea's face, and she looks so pale. Should we get the doctor to check on her?"

Dad's offhand reply overlapped with mine.

"Don't worry about it. She's just hot."

"I have a fever."

Dad's face fell. "You do? Why didn't you tell us sooner? Is it contagious?"

I looked up. "Dad, I already messaged you guys about this."

He waved his hand impatiently. "I don't have time to check my messages. Oh, whatever. Renee, let's go. Your immune system is weak. Don't risk catching anything."

After saying that, Dad shielded Renee and walked away as if they were avoiding something filthy.

When they reached the door, Renee turned around, her gaze landing on my bandaged calf. There was a guilty look in her eyes. Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she kept quiet and left.

Silence returned to the room.

I opened the bookmarked website and logged into the field expedition program registration system. The text on the page read, "Preliminary review passed. Proceeding to the second-round review."