MY SISTER STOPPED SMILING WHEN THE DOCTOR MENTIONED MY BLOOD TYPE
The chill of the exam room air conditioner bit into my bare arm as the doctor tapped the screen, talking quickly.
He said “AB negative” like it was nothing, just a fact on a chart. But Lena froze. Her usually bright smile just… vanished, leaving a strange, tight line. I felt the sudden warmth of blood rushing to my ears, a weird, detached buzzing that drowned out the low hum of the medical equipment.
“Wait,” she cut in, her voice too sharp, almost a whisper, echoing oddly in the tiled room. “Are you sure? Check again.” Her eyes, usually so calm and kind, darted from me to the doctor, then back to me, filled with something I couldn’t quite name. Like panic, but deeper, almost a desperate plea. The air in the small room suddenly felt thick, heavy, hard to breathe.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper, mixed with the faint sweetness of her expensive perfume, a smell I usually found comforting. My heart started thudding, a heavy, slow drum against my ribs. What wasn’t right? It was *my* blood type. I’d known it for years, since my appendectomy when I was nine. Why was she doing this now, making such a scene?
Then the doctor cleared his throat, his expression shifting from routine to curious concern. He leaned in slightly, his voice softer, and said, “Actually, there’s something else here… a discrepancy in the family history notes from your initial intake. It’s quite unusual.”
A new notification flashed on his tablet screen from a name I didn’t recognize.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…My stomach clenched. Discrepancy? What discrepancy? Lena’s eyes, still locked on the doctor, flickered with a strange, almost guilty light. The antiseptic smell intensified, suddenly overwhelming.
“What do you mean, unusual?” I managed, my voice a thin thread.
The doctor tapped the screen again, bringing up another file. “Well, the family history… it lists a different blood type for your father. And, it seems, your biological mother…” He trailed off, glancing at Lena.
Lena’s face crumbled. The carefully constructed facade she’d been wearing shattered, revealing a raw vulnerability I’d never seen before. She reached out, her hand trembling, and clutched my arm. Her touch felt cold, clammy.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s… complicated.”
The doctor, sensing the escalating tension, decided to intervene. “Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private setting,” he suggested, his gaze now fixed on Lena with a mixture of professional curiosity and genuine concern. “Miss, could you perhaps clarify the situation?”
Lena took a shaky breath. “He’s… not who you think he is. Neither of them. Your father… he’s not actually…” she paused, her voice catching, as she looked at me. “You’re not his.”
The world tilted. My own blood, the familiar AB negative, felt suddenly foreign, wrong. The appendectomy, the shared family trips, the stories, the countless hours spent together, suddenly cast into doubt.
The doctor looked between us, seeing the pain that registered in both of our eyes. “I have another appointment in 10 minutes, but this should all be done properly so that we can ensure you’re both aware of what’s been going on. So let’s take this back to my office. Both of you, follow me.”
We followed, my legs heavy, the antiseptic smell clinging to the back of my throat. The fluorescent lights of the hallway seemed to pulse, each blink a reminder of the world that was collapsing around me. Lena, silent and pale, kept her gaze on the floor.
We sat across from the doctor. He took a moment to look over his chart before he spoke. “I think we should conduct another blood test on you, and confirm all of this. It’s highly unlikely, but it’s possible that something was recorded incorrectly. And your father is also not the person to tell us all of this. Let’s start with the new test.”
The doctor was able to perform the blood test and sent it out to the lab in the same building, so it didn’t take long. When the results came back, the doctor cleared his throat, his expression grave.
“The initial results were accurate. Your blood type is, in fact, AB negative. This is not possible if your mother is who she says she is, and if your father is who he claims to be.”
Lena’s face crumbled again. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob, soft and broken.
I looked at her, and the doctor said “There’s something I have to tell you. Miss, I believe that you are not who you think you are. I’m going to have to start looking into what’s been going on in your life.”