Back in college, when I lost both my parents in a car accident, it was Aunt Hannah who stepped in and paid my tuition. She made sure I graduated from med school.
But that generosity came at a price.
Aunt Hannah wasn’t a saint. She used to be the mistress of a powerful businessman, hoping to lock down her place in the elite by giving him a son. But life played a cruel joke on her: she gave birth to Alison—intersex, sterile and entirely useless to her dreams of marrying up.
So, she took the hush money, raised Alison alone and never gave up on the fantasy of trading her daughter for a shot at high society.
When I became a doctor—an OBGYN, no less—she saw her chance.
She wanted me to operate. Clear the canal. Stitch on a fake hymen. Make Alison look like a blushing virgin so some rich man would never know the difference. And since post-op care would be an ongoing thing—hormones, maintenance, therapy—I’d be the perfect built-in solution.
But she didn’t know was that her daughter’s been actively destroying herself.
Of all the wild things my cousin had bragged about, two of her "tricks" left me horrified.
As a gynecologist, I knew the dangers better than anyone. We’re not just talking about STDs—this stuff could tear muscle, leave long-term damage, even cause internal scarring. When I warned her about the risks, she just laughed at me like I was some prude.
“Relax. We used protection,” she said with a roll of her eyes, like that magically made it safe.
Not long after she and Owen got involved, Aunt Hannah introduced her to some rich heir she’d been grooming her for.
He had one requirement—his future wife had to be a “pure” woman. In other words, untouched.
Aunt Hannah practically begged me to perform the surgery. She wanted me to “fix” Alison. Create the illusion of virginity. I tried to explain the risks—loss of sensation, scarring, complications—but she didn’t care. She saw a golden ticket and I was the tool to get it.
I pulled Alison aside and told her the truth. Every detail.
Surprisingly, she backed off. She was convinced her seduction skills alone could land her the guy. Said rich people didn’t care about natural births anyway—most of them hired surrogates. This way, she could keep her figure and still lock down the bag. A win-win.
Or so she thought.