The Deadly Cosmetic Procedure

That day was Zoe's birthday. The dazzling fireworks outside looked just like the flames that engulfed my father.

'Dad, if you knew the truth, would your heart ache as much as mine?' I thought.

Leonard's phone screen hadn't turned off. On it was a newly liked post from his feed.

Zoe had posted three private photos of herself in a dress, captioned, "The secret to beauty is drinking lots of warm water. Let's all stay beautiful in the new year!"

The comments were full of compliments. A few people speculated about how she had become more beautiful, but Leonard shut them down immediately, saying, "The uterus has an evolutionary function. Generally, younger sisters are naturally more beautiful than their older ones. It's perfectly normal."

I let out a hollow, mindless laugh.

The vanity in the background was filled with luxury skincare products.

Each bottle and jar had neat labels—"Use in the morning after using toner." The handwriting was Leonard's.

When it came to Zoe, he was always meticulous, personally tending to every detail.

I supposed that I had also benefited from her. I received endless tubes of skin regeneration cream and an abundance of cheap scar removal ointments.

I opened their chat. A one-million-dollar transfer took up the entire screen.

Yet, his message was restrained and almost careful. It read, "Happy birthday. The fireworks are beautiful, and so are you."

A new message popped up. Zoe had sent him a few photos.

A silk robe traced her curves, and nude-colored heels accentuated her long legs.

"This is your reward. See you at the usual place tomorrow."

The usual place? Tomorrow?

Tomorrow was my father's death anniversary. Leonard would accompany me to our village every year to visit his grave.

So this year, he had someone else to keep company.

The image of Leonard and Zoe together flashed through my mind, and a wave of nausea surged up my throat. I flipped the phone over, face down.

The thick stack of medical records sat beside my bed. I took a deep breath and forced myself to open them.

The moment I saw the contents, my breath caught, and a searing pain twisted through my insides. It wasn't a medical record. It was practically a diary of Zoe's cosmetic procedures.

He had documented every patch of skin and graft with meticulous care.

"Skin from the inner thigh for Zoe's burned instep. She loves wearing high heels. Her feet must be soft and flawless.

"Chest skin for Zoe's back. No more acne there, so she can look stunning in backless gowns.

"Zoe dislikes the birthmark on her waist. Alicia's waist is the most beautiful. It's perfect for Zoe."

...

The last entry was dated for the day after my due date. It was a detailed surgical map of my face, which was brutal and horrifying.

In Zoe's section, drawn in red ink, was a carefully outlined heart labeled "Perfect."

I had always thought of myself as a strong person. I could face the storms without fear and bloom as long as I was alive.

Who would have thought that I was never meant to bloom? I was just someone else's nourishment.

I had no more tears left to shed. I was exhausted. I stepped barefoot out of the ward with no strength to look any further.

I picked up a pen at the reception and signed the do-not-resuscitate agreement.

I had been fainting frequently. Afraid that one day I would become a burden to him, I had prepared this in advance.

I never imagined that it would become my final release.

I hesitated, then signed the Body Donation form. Rather than spend my life feeding Zoe, I would rather give myself to those who truly need it.

"Why are you running around barefoot? What are you signing? Is that your discharge papers?"

Leonard scooped me up with one arm and frowned at the documents in my hand.

"You just focus on getting better. I'll handle everything else at the hospital."

His body was burning with heat, and the lingering effect on his face still did not fade, clearly from seeing Zoe's photos.

The heat in his body expressed his raw desire for her. He had probably defiled her a hundred times in his mind already. His hand wrapped around my foot, trying to warm my icy toes.

The familiar warmth sent a deep chill through me. I pulled away, curling into the blanket.

He paused, momentarily stunned, then gently tucked me in.

A long silence stretched between us before he finally spoke. "Alicia, it's snowing. Let me go with you tomorrow."