All Chapters of They Sacrificed Me to Avoid Favoritism: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Simon asked a student nurse to check my oxygen level again. The pulse oximeter flashed 82. The young nurse, Reese Holden, went pale. "Dr. Mendoza! She's wheezing. Her lips are turning blue. She needs epinephrine and immediate transport." Simon stared at the number for a second before pulling the device off my finger and clipping it onto another one. "Her fingers are cold. The reading might be off." A few seconds later, the second reading appeared: 80. Reese looked at him in alarm. "It's even lower!" Simon swallowed hard. He knew exactly what those numbers meant. The first time I accidentally ate nuts as a child, he had carried me into the ER on his back. After I was finally out of danger, he held me close and made me the same promise over and over. "From now on, I'll always keep your medicine with me. I'll never make you wait again." Those words came back to me as Simon reached into the emergency kit and pulled out an EpiPen. For a moment, I thought he was finally g

Simon already had his hand on the emergency kit. All he had to do was take out the epinephrine. Maybe then, I would still have had a chance. But our dad called for him again from the press area. "Simon, the reporters want you to explain the situation as a doctor," he said. "People are accusing us of holding back emergency resources for Selena. You need to clear that up." Simon looked back at me. My oxygen level had dropped to 74, and my lips had turned a deep bluish purple. Reese's voice sharpened. "Dr. Mendoza, she can't wait another minute!" I thought he would stay with me. Instead, he closed the emergency kit. "I'll say a few words and come right back." I grabbed his sleeve with both hands. The first time I had an allergic reaction as a child, Simon had stayed beside my hospital bed all night without sleeping. He had told me that if he ever saw me struggling to breathe again, nothing else would matter. He would give me the medicine first and worry about everything

My body was taken to the city hospital, and Simon rode with me in the ambulance. He sat beside the stretcher the entire way, holding my cold hand as though refusing to let go could somehow mean I was only sleeping.… When we reached the ER, several of his coworkers rushed over. One of them instinctively reached for the stretcher. "Trauma bay—" The paramedic beside me stopped him quietly. "No." Simon's head snapped up. "What do you mean, no?" He tightened his grip on my hand. "She's still warm. Check her again!" No one looked him in the eye. Finally, one of his colleagues handed him the resuscitation record. Simon took it and began to read. The report listed severe anaphylactic shock, laryngeal edema, and circulatory collapse, but it was the final line that made him stop. 'Time from first critical symptoms to epinephrine administration: 103 minutes.' It took me 103 minutes to get a treatment that could be administered in seconds, but I waited almost two hours for

My funeral was held on a rainy day. My dad refused to let the school turn it into a big event. He told everyone I had never liked being the center of attention. That was not exactly true. I had grown used to important days passing without my family. On birthdays, holidays, and school events, my dad always had students who needed him more. My mom always had a class that needed her more than I did. Eventually, I learned not to expect them to show up. Still, many people came to my funeral. My classmates arrived wearing dark clothes, each holding a white flower. All forty-six students who fell ill that day stood safely in front of my portrait. Some stayed in the hospital for observation for only one night, while others received fluids and went home the next day. Lola came in last. Her legs were fine now, but she still looked unsteady as she walked toward my portrait. By the time she reached it, her whole body trembled. She dropped to her knees. "Selena, I'm sorry." She

One year later, Parents' Day came around again. The school grounds were crowded with families, but this time, something was different. Just inside the main entrance, a new emergency triage board was positioned. Beneath the red category for critical patients, three clear instructions were displayed: "Immediate treatment. Priority transport. No delay." Reese had been invited back to teach students, staff, and parents how to recognize and respond to anaphylaxis. She stood in the same courtyard where I had died, holding an epinephrine trainer in one hand. "When someone is having a severe allergic reaction, the greatest danger usually isn't giving the medication when it turns out not to be necessary," she explained. "It's everyone thinking they can afford to wait just a little longer." The courtyard went quiet. A student raised his hand. "What if the patient is related to the principal? Do they still receive priority treatment?" Reese's eyes reddened, but she kept her voice st