Tessa stood outside the hospital, looking pale. Her nails dug into the reports, eyes clouded over with tears. Doctor Moore’s voice echoed in her ears as she handed her the envelope.
"It’s positive, Miss Tessa. I’m so sorry."
The words didn’t feel real. They spun in her mind like a cruel echo she couldn’t shut off. She pressed the back of her fist to her lips, holding in the sob that clawed at her throat.
Her legs moved before her mind caught up. Down the hospital steps. Across the parking lot. Into her car. She shut the door and just sat there, clutching the paper like it could rewrite itself if she held it tightly enough.
She had HIV.
The words didn’t match her. Not in her mind. Not in her story. She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t the type. That’s what people thought, right? That it only happened to those kinds of people. The promiscuous ones.
But now... people would think she was one of them.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. It was her mom. Again. She’d been texting and calling. She saw Clifford’s engagent news and thought her daughter would be miserable, if not worse. She knew how much Tessa loved the fucker.
God, if she knew... if she ever found out—
Tessa let her head fall back against the seat and stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down her face, running down the sides of her eyes. She sniffed, unwilling to wail, but she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. She dropped her forehead on the steering, sobbing loudly as her shoulders shook miserably.
Clifford was her first real boyfriend. The ones she had in the past, they didn’t cross the line – it was just innocent flings and infatuations.
"I’m just twenty-one," her voice broke between sobs. "I did everything right. I’m–" she choked. "I’m a good girl. God knows I’m a good girl, damn it!" she slapped the steering, weeping so bad that her nose, her lips, and the skin around her eyes turned red.
She waited, keeping herself for the ’right man’. She was careful. She loved him. Clifford made her feel special, made her feel wanted. He promised her forever, painted pictures of a future with her, whispered things into her hair that made her believe him. He treated her like a queen, spoiled her with affection, gifts, and love.
And then he left.
Tessa had cried over the betrayal over the breakup. But this – this was beyond betrayal. This was a life sentence.
She felt dirty. Marked. Ruined.
Her phone buzzed again. Another ssage. This ti, it was her older brother. "You okay, Love? Mom’s worried sick about you. Wanna get ice cream? Where are you at? Send the location. I’ve postponed an important eting for your sake."
Tessa stared at the screen, tears clouding her vision. Biting her lips, she tried to respond, or maybe not. Her fingers trembled, hovering above her screen.
What would she even say? ’I’m at the hospital. I ran so tests and I’m HIV positive.’
God. She couldn’t even say it out loud to herself without flinching.
She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, forcing her body to stop trembling. The hospital bag rustled in her lap. Inside were pamphlets – Living with HIV, Treatnt Options, ntal Health Support. All in neat little fonts, as if this was sothing normal. Manageable.
Her dreams of marrying soone who’d love and care for her seed impossibly far away. Who would want her now? Who would stay, once they knew?
She could no longer donate blood every three months like she used to. Couldn’t volunteer for plasma drives or feel the quiet pride of helping save lives.
She tossed the paper onto the passenger seat and looked at her phone again. Her brother had sent another text:
"If you don’t answer in the next minute, I’ll activate the tracker, make sure your missing person’s report goes live, and I’m calling every damn station in the city."
Tessa let out a strangled sound. Half laugh, half sob. That was so Luke. Dramatic threats wrapped in concern. She could picture him now: pacing his office, tie loosened, jaw clenched, tapping his phone like it owed him money.
She sniffled, wobbling thumb hovering over the keyboard, then finally replied:
"I’m fine. Please don’t freak out. I just needed air. I’ll co by later. Promise."
The three little typing dots appeared almost instantly. Then:
"Mom’s baking that weird banana-cinnamon thing you like. No one else eats it. Don’t be rude and... co ho."
Her chest clenched. That banana-cinnamon bread. She used to love it. Now, even the thought of sweetness felt too much. Too heavy. Too undeserved.
Still, she replied:
"Okay."
Her reflection in the rearview mirror didn’t even look like her anymore. Her eyes were too red, her cheeks too hollow.
She sniffed hard and clenched her phone tightly.
She had to tell soone. Not her mom. Not her brother. But soone...
"Here, call once your test result is out."
Mrs. Anita Blackwood’s voice rang in her mory.
Almost instantly, she reached into her handbag, ransacking it for the card Mrs. Anita had given her during her visit to the hospital. Her fingers shook as she shoved aside her make-up, wipes... everything girly.
Finally, her fingers brushed a card. She pulled out the elegant black and gold business card;
[ Anita Blackwood
Private Investor | Philanthropist
📞 1 555-003-419
Email: ]
The details on the card was simple...scread Anita.
Her thumb brushed hurriedly across her screen as she keyed in the phone number. Before she could stop herself, she dialed.
Ring.
She sucked in a breath. It was barely one ring before the line clicked, and Anita’s calm, yet cold and detached voice sounded.
"Anita," she spoke.
Tessa opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. There was a pause.
"...Hello?" Anita’s voice didn’t waver. She didn’t sound impatient, but a little annoyed.
Tessa’s lips trembled. "Mrs. Anita, It’s... it’s Tessa Lane. From Greenville Hospital. You gave your card."
Another pause. This ti longer. "Yes," Anita said gently. "I rember you."
"I... I got my results. And I – I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I feel like I’m not . Like... I’m a ghost of the girl I was just yesterday..."
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