The Hospital: How I Survived The Secret Child Experiments At Aston Hall

I have spent twenty-five years being the son my father never had. I have never worn a dress, never been called a daughter, and never once been allowed to simply be myself. Things only got tougher when I abandoned my own wedding. I got sentenced as a boarder at Silverstone Academy, surrounded by future rulers who sleep, train, and live beside me. One wrong move is all it takes for everything to fall apart. I can only survive Silverstone if I can keep up the lies. But secrets are like wounds, they do not stay buried forever.

My parents received their ‘Educators of the Year’ award on the day my twin sister and I were born. The reporters asked, "How will you educate your children in the future?" My father looked at the babies in the incubator. "Twins are perfect for a comparison experiment." My mother nodded weakly. "One of them will be brought up as an elite, while the other will grow up naturally. This is the only way to prove if education can change someone's life." That was how my family began its two grooming projects. The elite twin was given early education from the age of one month old, and her schedule was filled with enriching activities until she was 25. The regular twin was guaranteed only her most basic survival needs. The experiment would be a success as long as she did not die of starvation, freeze to death, or succumb to any illnesses. All our relatives praised my parents for their dedication and enthusiasm, and their colleagues told them, "These are what real educators are like." When it came time to announce their results on the big screen during a press conference, 26 years later… Mom, Dad, why are you so afraid to watch the outcome now?

I went to the hospital for a minor surgery, but when I woke up, I found myself locked inside a psychiatric hospital. Just as I was about to look for a doctor or nurse to explain the situation, the intercom suddenly buzzed. “There are currently 40 patients in this facility. The administration has discovered that impostors have infiltrated the group and are using up shared resources. “Starting today, there will be one public vote each day. Everyone will work together to vote out the impostor. Anyone voted out will be executed on the spot. “The voting period will last five days. If all impostors are eliminated within five days, the patients win and are allowed to survive. “If the game ends and any impostors remain undetected, all patients will be wiped out and the surviving impostors will be safely released from the facility.”

When my sister and I were born, a witch prophesied that once my wolf awakened, it would kill my sister. To protect her, my parents had the witch place a curse on me. As long as my body temperature stayed above 102°F, my wolf could never awaken. For eighteen long years, I suffered through burning fevers every single day. On my eighteenth birthday, my wolf was on the verge of awakening. To prevent any chance of it happening, they kicked me into the heat chamber. I cried and begged them to let me out. But my father said, "Are you trying to awaken behind our backs? You know your wolf will kill your sister. Is that what you want? To drive her to her death?" The chamber was scorching, searing down to my bones. I pounded on the door with everything I had. "Mom, it's so hot in here! I'm in so much pain! Please let me out!" "Oh, stop putting on an act." My mother's voice was sharp and cutting. "Just tough it out and the awakening will pass! Your wolf can't awaken, and then your sister will finally be safe. Why are you always so selfish?" Footsteps faded into the distance. Sweat poured from my forehead, dripping onto my clothes, only to be quickly baked dry by the heat. I curled up in a corner, wrapped in waves of heat and pain. Eventually, my mind went dark, my body gave out, and my breathing stopped.

My fiancé's junior colleague went around the hospital every day calling herself "the best girl". When a patient with acute appendicitis was admitted, she mistakenly prescribed laxatives instead of proper treatment. The patient nearly went into shock and died. After the hospital was reported by the patient's family, she simply smiled and said, "I don't even need a supervising doctor to prescribe medication anymore. I'm such a good girl!" On another occasion, she failed to order routine pre-op blood work for a surgical patient. During the procedure, a visiting senior surgeon was exposed and later contracted HIV. She actually puffed out her chest and said, "Even if everyone had to stay up all night helping me save the doctor, I'm still the best girl!" I protested more than once and urged my fiancé to dismiss her. He refused every time. He brushed it off with a laugh, saying "this good girl" just needed time and experience. Then, a prominent patient was transferred from a military hospital for surgery. She secretly tampered with the medical records, switching the pathology findings from the left lung to the right. She even revised the surgical plan, recommending removal of the patient's completely healthy right lung. Luckily, I caught the mistake in time, restored the correct pathology report, and performed the surgery successfully. After the patient recovered, he asked for our team to be recognized. To my disbelief, Elena Bakers ran to my fiancé in tears. "I wrote the entire report by myself! All by myself! I'm the best little girl! "Why do you always take credit away from me? It took so much courage for this little girl to be brave just once! "You're all horrible!" Elena stormed out of the hospital and was struck and killed by a car on the spot. My fiancé did not say a word. However, on the very day I was appointed hospital director, he produced falsified evidence accusing me of altering records and causing multiple medical accidents to advance my career. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. As the verdict was delivered, he looked at me with unmistakable satisfaction. "You'll never make up for what you owe Elena. Not in this lifetime." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Elena altered the surgical plan.

The nurse's hands are trembling as she hands me the "Body and Cornea Donation Consent Form". She asks, "Mr. Stone, is Stellan's mother coming?" I gently wipe the blood from my son's lips and slowly shake my head. "No. She's saving someone else's child." My son, Stellan Stone, is born with a complex congenital heart defect. My wife, Sharon Claude, is the youngest cardiothoracic surgeon in the country. Five years ago, she tells me she's going overseas to study the most advanced surgical techniques so she can come back and perform Stellan's operation herself. For the past five years, she has sent home research papers, case studies, and handwritten surgery plans. She always says, "Just wait a little longer. Wait until I'm absolutely certain I can do it." So, I wait. I wait as Stellan grows from a little boy who can run and laugh to a boy who can only lie in the ICU, breathing with the help of machines. Today, I see the latest issue of a medical journal in the hospital lobby. On the cover, Sharon is smiling gently as she holds a little boy in her arms. The child is Aiden Ford, the son of her first love, Chris Ford. In the interview, she says, "He's just a child. I can't bear to let the one I love most face even the slightest risk." But our child is just a child too. I sign my name on the consent form and gently tuck Stellan's cold little hand back beneath the white sheet. I whisper, "Sharon, you safeguarded someone else's heartbeat, but you denied our child a chance to live."