The Brothers Who Let Me Burn

Forty minutes later, they finally got me to the hospital.

My third brother, Weston Fontaine, was the attending physician on duty that night. He glanced at me from behind the nurses' station. "I'm covering the ER tonight. If I let my own sister cut the line, how would that look? Have her check in and wait her turn. She can hold on until the morning shift arrives. Go see if Piper is in shock."

But they had all forgotten one thing.

Last year, I was diagnosed with early-stage lung adenocarcinoma.

After surgery, less than two-thirds of the affected lobe remained. My doctor had warned me again and again that I must never inhale irritating fumes or gases. With my lungs already compromised, respiratory failure could happen at any moment.

I tried to call for help, but the smoke had burned my throat raw. When I opened my mouth, all that came out was a faint, broken wheeze.

All I could do was lie there, slowly suffocating—dying silently right under their noses.

The moment Weston finished speaking, Florence Vance at the nurses' station froze. "Dr. Fontaine, forty minutes ago, you personally called and told us to prepare a private room in the ER and pull a burn-care kit for that girl…"

She flipped through the registration forms in her hands, confusion written across her face. "Her chart says she's your sister, too. You specifically told us to fast-track her. So, why does your other sister have to check in and wait her turn?"

Weston did not even frown. He cut her off immediately. "That's different. Piper isn't my sister by blood, so helping her isn't favoritism."

He calmly straightened the collar of his white coat. "But Freya is related to me by blood. I'm on duty tonight. If I let my own sister cut the line, what would people think?"

He spoke with such certainty that the nurses around the station exchanged bewildered looks.

One of the younger nurses leaned toward her coworker and whispered, "What kind of logic is that? He fast-tracked someone with no blood relation in the middle of the night, but left his own sister lying in the hallway?

"And did you see the girl who came in earlier? Her face was flushed, she was wearing a clean nightgown, and the moment they put her in a private room, she started scrolling on her phone."

She stole a glance at me, curled up on the stretcher. "Now, look at her. She's covered in soot, and her lips are practically black."

Garrett overheard them.

Without sparing me another glance, he turned coldly toward the nurses' station. "You don't know the whole situation, so don't go around making assumptions."

He paused. "Piper is the daughter of our family's former butler. Ten years ago, there was a fire at the Fontaine Estate. Piper's father, Mr. Prescott, carried the three of us brothers out of the fire one by one. He never made it out himself. He burned to death inside."

The hallway fell silent for a few seconds.

Garrett looked around, his voice growing heavier. "Piper's father died in that fire. She's been afraid of fire ever since. And now there's been another fire. She must be terrified. What's wrong with making sure we save her first?"

The nurses around us suddenly understood.

"So, that's what happened. That actually makes sense."

"Her father gave his life to save them. Of course they'd want to save her first."

"Now that you put it that way, Dr. Fontaine didn't do anything wrong."

I listened to them, tears spilling uncontrollably down my face.

It was true that Piper's father had died in that fire. But had my brothers forgotten?

Ten years ago, I was the one who stayed inside that burning house until the very end. I was three seconds away from being swallowed by the flames.

When I was taken to the hospital, the doctors said the heat had burned my lungs and airway.

Last year, during a follow-up examination, I was diagnosed with early-stage lung adenocarcinoma and underwent a lobectomy.

And Piper? When that fire happened, she was not even at the estate. She had not experienced that fire at all.

I wanted to tell them.

I desperately opened my mouth, trying to force the words out. But the smoke had burned my throat raw, and every time I tried to speak, all that came out was a faint wheeze.

The harder I tried, the tighter my chest felt, as if a hand were squeezing it. The little air left in my lungs was being forced out bit by bit.

My consciousness was slowly slipping away.

Just before I finally sank into darkness, Garrett happened to glance at me. His voice suddenly rose, a hint of panic in it for the first time. "Freya's face… What's wrong with her?"