My Brother's Plaything

Chapter 1

I had just finished signing the papers in Dr. Jethro’s office and was turning to head back to the Casualty department where my dad was.

As I handed the pen back, my eyes caught the words high risk, low risk, complications. My chest tightened. I looked away immediately, clinging to the little hope I had left.

I moved to follow the doctor when a nurse burst into the office, panic written all over her face.

“Doctor, we need you now! The patient just admitted in the ER is crashing. We’re taking him to the theatre immediately!”

My breath hitched.

“What… what’s happening?” I whispered, but they were already rushing past me.

I ran after them.

“Wait! Please—what does that mean?” I cried

They didn’t stop. At the theatre entrance, the nurse turned and gently blocked my way.

“Ma’am, you can’t come in. We’ll do everything we can,” she said, trying to calm me.

I watched helplessly as my dad’s stretcher was wheeled inside. His face was barely recognizable beneath the bruises. He turned his eyes toward me, and the pain in them shattered me.

“DADDY!” I screamed as the doors closed.

The nurse held me as I struggled. She led me to the waiting room and asked me to sit.

The room felt unbearably cold. I clasped my hands together, my knees bouncing as I stared at the closed doors.

Time blurred. I prayed without stopping.

When the doors finally opened, Dr. Jethro stepped out, removing his mask.

For a moment, I couldn’t read his face.

Then he smiled softly.

“The surgery went well,” he said.

The words hit me like a wave. I clutched the arm of the chair to steady myself, tears spilling freely now.

“He’s stable,” Dr. Jethro continued. “He’s sleeping at the moment. We’ll be moving him back to the ER shortly. You can stay with him for a few hours, but he needs rest.”

“Thank you,” I whispered

He gave a gentle nod, then stepped away.

When they finally wheeled my dad into his ward, he was swallowed by the white sheets. His chest rose and fell steadily. I sat beside him, holding his hand, afraid that even my touch might disturb him.

For hours, I stayed there. I watched him breathe. I wanted to say thank you, wanted to tell him how much I loved him, but the words stayed trapped in my throat, waiting for when he woke up.

Eventually, a nurse gently reminded me that visiting hours were over.

“He’s resting well,” she said kindly. “Go home and get some rest. We’ll call you if anything changes.”

I hesitated, brushing my thumb over my dad’s hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear me.

The call came early the next morning.

“Miss, your father has regained consciousness,” the nurse said over the phone.

I didn’t even hang up, I grabbed my bag and rushed out.

When I reached the ward, my dad’s eyes were weak but open.

“Daddy,” I breathed

He looked at me and tried to smile. “You came?”

“Of course I did,” I said, gripping his hand.

We didn’t talk much. He was tired, his voice faint. After a few minutes, I stood up reluctantly.

“I’m going to get you something light to eat,” I told him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded slowly.

***

The dizziness came suddenly on Mr. George. The room spun, the machines humming louder. He pressed the call button weakly. A nurse rushed in, concern flickering across her face.

“I need… a pen,” he said, struggling to breathe evenly. “And paper.”

The nurse hesitated but handed them to him. He wrote slowly, his hands trembling.

When he was done, he folded the paper carefully and placed it beside him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Make sure my daughter gets this.”

***

I returned few minutes later, a small bag of food in my hand, calling his name softly as I entered the room.

“Daddy?”

The room was too quiet.

A nurse stood near the bed, her expression telling me everything before her mouth did.

“I’m so sorry,” she said gently.

The bag slipped from my fingers. I stumbled forward, my knees giving way as I reached his bedside. His eyes were closed again, his face peaceful in a way that shattered me.

Then the nurse handed me the paper.

My hands shook as I unfolded it, my vision blurring as I read.

He had written about his debts, two of them. One from the casino, instructions on where to find his insurance to cover it. And the other? the loan sharks. Money he had borrowed in secret. For me. For my college fees. My final exams. My graduation.

At the bottom, his handwriting wavered.

I’m sorry for failing you. I tried my best. Please forgive me. I'm gone now to be with your mother and sister. We'll watch over you from heaven.

A sound tore out of my chest, raw and broken. I sank into the chair beside his bed, clutching the letter to my heart.

“I should have said thank you,” I sobbed. “you should have allowed me to appreciate your sacrifice…” I lost my voice in my words.

Regrets filled my heart. All this while, I've seen my Dad as the most uncaring man, though I had hoped he'll someday come back to his true self. I never knew he could go this far for my education and I didn't have the opportunity to say Thank you?

Fear followed close behind, fear of the debts, of the loan sharks, of a future I suddenly had to face alone, with no money and no father to lean on.

I stayed there, holding his hand long after it had gone cold, the letter crumpled in my fist.

For the first time, I understood how love could be both a gift and a burden, and how some sacrifices are only revealed when it’s already too late.

I was still sitting beside my father’s bed when Dr. Jethro appeared.

I hadn’t heard him approach. He just stood there, arms folded, white coat hanging loosely from his shoulders, watching me cry.

“I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but you shouldn’t be here alone,” he said flatly.

I looked up, my eyes swollen, my face wet and broken. I didn’t answer.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Come with me.”

I didn’t have the strength to argue. I followed him down the corridor, into his office, the same room where I had signed papers that morning, believing my father would live.

The door shut behind us.

I sank into the chair, my body folding in on itself as another wave of sobs broke loose. Dr. Jethro stood by the desk, awkward, impatient, as if emotions were an inconvenience.

“This won’t bring him back,” he said. “Crying never does.”

I flinched at his bluntness. Then I tiredly dropped my hands on his desk, dropping the paper that contained the letter on the table.

I hadn’t even realized I just dropped the letter that had my dad's debt, reckless living and the beginning of my misery on his desk. He picked it up without asking.

“Don’t…” I started, but my voice failed.

He read it.

Silently. Carefully.

I watched his face change. Not to sympathy. Not to sadness, but to something calculating. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” he said at last.

My heart stopped. The mention of that amount brought some kind of fear to my existence. How will I pay back?

He folded the paper neatly and placed it down. “Loan sharks are not forgiving people.”

I nodded weakly. “I’ll find a way. I don’t know how, but I will.”

He leaned against the desk. “You won’t.”

I looked up at him.

“They’ll come,” he continued calmly. “And when they do, they won’t care that you’re young or grieving or poor.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“I can clear it,” he said suddenly.

The words didn’t register at first.

“What?”

“I can pay them off. Every cent.”

My breath hitched. “Why would you—”

“Because,” he interrupted, “I don’t like unfinished business.”

Hope surged before fear could stop it. “I’ll work,” I said quickly. “Anything. I’ll repay you, I promise.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not kind. Not warm.

“No,” he said. “Not now.”

I froze.

“You’ll graduate,” he continued. “Finish college. Then you’ll come back and honor a deal.”

My stomach twisted. “What kind of deal?”

“One you’ll sign later. You don’t have a choice, and this is the best way out Miss” he said quietly.

The room felt smaller. Colder.

Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

“This is not the deal,” he said. “This is a promise, to return and sign it.” He said nonchalantly and with a serious look like he was in business.

I stared at the paper, many thoughts running through my mind at the same time. I pretty much need this if I don't want the trouble of the so-called loan sharks. It's my final year in college, and I need every focus possible.

Another thought crossed my mind, the thought that my lifeless Dad was beaten by the same loan sharks. I couldn't risk that for my life, but somehow, I found my voice and the courage to ask.

“I don’t even know what you’ll ask of me,” I whispered.

“You don’t need to,” he replied. “Only that you’ll belong to the agreement when the time comes.”

My mind screamed, RUN.

But all I saw was my father’s handwriting. His apology. His sacrifice. Seventy-five thousand dollars.

Then, I realise the worst that could happen will be being his s*x toy, and that, at least, was better than being beaten to death.

I signed.

***

The day we buried my father, the sky was heavy with clouds, like it was struggling to hold itself together, just like me.

The cemetery smelled of wet earth and wilted flowers. People murmured condolences I couldn’t hear. My hands were numb. My heart, hollow.

When the coffin was lowered, something inside me broke permanently.

He was gone.

As the crowd began to thin, a familiar figure stood at a distance.

Dr. Jethro.

Black coat. No emotion.

He waited until I was alone.

“I said I’d give it to you tonight,” he said, extending an envelope.

My fingers trembled as I took it.

Inside was the paper.

The same promise. My signature already there. He has settled the loan sharks and it was time for me to play my part.

For some seconds, I thought of what possible worst could be his wants. Then his voice got me back to the present

“This doesn’t define you,” he said casually. “It just owns your future.”

I wanted to ask more, I wanted to call it all off, but it was already too late. He had played his part just like he promised, it was time for me to do mine.

I looked up and stared into his eyes. His face remained cold and emotionless. Slowly, I folded the envelope and held it firmly.

I had already lost everything. And there's no worst that could outweigh my current losses except death.