We Rescued Monsters Instead Of Boys

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I lay immobilized on the sterile mattress, a prisoner in my own body, stripped of even the simple dignity of rolling onto my side.

My father was an internet-famous animal rescue influencer. His videos, always stamped with the heartwarming catchphrase Every Life Deserves Saving, had amassed an audience of over ten million followers.

Until the day he brought his old army buddys twin boys into our house, claiming he wanted to give these orphaned children a home overflowing with love.

While I was fast asleep, those two boys took my sweet, gentle golden retriever of five years and swapped him with two rabid, aggressive mutts they had spray-painted in neon colors.

I was savagely mauled. There wasn't a single patch of intact skin left on my body. A chunk of muscle was brutally torn from my calf, and I had to endure a grueling regimen of rabies shots in the aftermath.

My mother, weeping, pulled my hand away from my phone when I tried to call the police. "Just apologize to your brothers, Bertha," she pleaded. "They were just curious to see what the dogs would look like in color. How were they supposed to know the dogs were sick?"

The twins stood there, sticking their tongues out at me with bright, unrepentant smiles. "Sorry, Bertha. We just thought colorful dogs matched your vibe better."

The attack left me with a permanent disability, forcing me to drag myself around on crutches.

Then, they announced they wanted to help me with "holistic acupuncture rehab." While I was lying face-down on my bed, they took dozens of rusted sewing needles and drove them straight into the gaps of my vertebrae.

The result was permanent paralysis from the waist down. The doctors said the bacteria on the rusted needles triggered a severe case of osteomyelitis.

The twins defense? "We saw a holistic healing channel on YouTube that said dry needling cures leg problems. We genuinely just wanted Bertha to walk again."

Outside the operating room, my father wept until he passed out. He even dropped to his knees, begging the surgeons to save me. A bystander filmed it, the video went viral, and millions of viewers cried alongside him, crowning him "The Internet's Ultimate Dad."

But when we got home and the front door clicked shut, his only punishment for the boys was: No screen time for a week.

And now, right in front of my eyes, they were pouring an entire bottle of highly concentrated, industrial-grade insecticide into my room's humidifier.

01

"Breathe deep, Bertha. Dads videos always say humidifiers are great for your skin."

Jace shook the empty plastic bottle. A few residual drops of amber liquid clung to the bottom, the skull-and-crossbones warning label tilted off-axis, glaring right at me.

Thick white mist surged from the humidifiers nozzle, wrapping around me with a chemical heat that felt like it could burn a hole straight through my throat.

I opened my mouth to scream, but my vocal cords felt like theyd been force-fed crushed glass. All I managed was a dry, rasping hiss.

I couldn't feel anything below my waist, and my upper half felt like it had been encased in wet cement. Gritting my teeth, I forced my arm out from under the duvet, my fingertips barely grazing the edge of the nightstand.

Connor walked over.

"Don't move around so much, Bertha. If you fall, you'll just have to get more needles."

He casually swiped my cell phone off the table and shoved it into the pocket of his school uniform.

Then he crouched down and clicked the humidifier's dial from low to high.

The white mist thickened instantly. It swallowed me whole, stinging my eyes so fiercely I couldn't keep them open.

"Bertha, why are you crying? Are you moved to tears?"

Jace pulled out his phone and started recording me, the beauty filter already turned on.

"Look, Connor. When she cries, she looks just like that abandoned poodle at Dads shelter."

My chest felt like it was being crushed beneath a sheet of red-hot iron. Every breath I took was like inhaling pure fire.

Then, the sound of a key turning in the front door.

With a speed I had never witnessed, Jace pocketed his phone, and Connor twisted the humidifier dial to off.

Jace shoved the empty poison bottle under my pillow. Connor pulled a small vial of lavender essential oil from his backpack and tipped a few generous drops into the water tank.

Less than ten seconds.

By the time my mother pushed the bedroom door open, they were each holding one of my hands, looking exactly like the perfect, angelic children from a catalog.

"Mom, Berthas been coughing so much today. Were really worried."

Connor looked up, his eyes already brimming with perfectly timed, unshed tears.

My mother wrinkled her nose.

"What is that smell?"

"Essential oils!" Jace held up the little purple vial. "The internet said lavender helps you sleep. We added a little bit for Bertha, but maybe we put in too much?"

She took the vial, sniffed it, and lightly tapped Jace on the back of the head.

"Of course its choking her if you put this much in. Go open a window."

She didnt look at me.

"Mom..."

The sound that left my lips didn't belong to a human anymore. It was a shredded, reedy wheeze, like a cat being strangled.

"Shh, don't try to talk. Just rest."

She tucked the edges of my blanket in tighter.

"I'm taking you in for a spinal check-up tomorrow. The doctor said you need to stay flat on your back."

She unplugged the humidifier and cracked the window open a few inches.

"David, come look at this. Bertha doesn't look so good."

My father strolled in from the hallway. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, scrolling through his backend analytics dashboard.

He threw a passing glance my way.

"She does look a little pale."

His eyes darted back to the screen.

"Probably just caught a chill from the window. Close it a bit, Helen. By the way, that mastiff rescue video just crossed a million views. We've got three new sponsors asking for brand integrations."

"Dad..."

"Hm?" He didn't look up.

"I... I can't... breathe..."

That finally made him frown.

He lowered the phone. Stepped closer.

He leaned his ear down near my mouth and listened for a few seconds.

The color drained from his face.

"Something's wrong. Call 911."

The fluorescent lights in the ER trauma bay were as blindingly white as an interrogation room.

"Severe organophosphate poisoning. Her blood cholinesterase levels are at thirty percent of normal. If you had brought her in an hour later, shed be dead."

The doctor's words came down like a hammer.

My mother clapped a hand over her mouth and stumbled back a step, her eyes welling up.

"How... how could she have organophosphate poisoning?"

My father's knuckles turned stark white as he gripped my medical chart.

He crouched down, getting eye-level with the two boys standing in the hospital corridor.

"What exactly did you pour into that humidifier?"

Connor's bottom lip jutted out in a picture-perfect pout.

"Just essential oils, Dad. The purple bottle."

Jace tugged at my mother's cardigan.

"Do you think Berthas skincare stuff has poison in it? Girls have all those weird bottles and jars. It was probably something she put on herself."

My father stared at them in total silence for a long time.

Then, he stood up.

"Clear out every single cosmetic bottle in Bertha's room. I don't want her using any of that unregulated garbage ever again."

He walked to the end of the hallway and pulled out his phone.

"Hey, is this the producer? Push the livestream back a day. Yeah, my daughter is in the ICU. Chemical poisoning. It's bad. Give me some time to figure out how we're going to spin this to the followers."

02

"Bertha, look at all these tubes. What do you think would happen if one accidentally fell out?"

Jace pointed at the oxygen cannula taped to my nose, his eyes gleaming with a sick, unnamable thrill.

The ICU heart monitor beeped rhythmically in the background. A heavy oxygen mask was strapped over my face, and every inhalation tasted of sterile hospital air and the searing agony of chemically burned alveoli.

I couldn't move.

Not just because of the paralysis.

I was tethered by a web of IV lines and sensor wires, pinned down like a butterfly on a mounting board.

Connor stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on the monitor screen.

"Heart rate 78. O2 stat 94. Are you nervous, Bertha? If you're nervous, the numbers jump. Let me see."

He reached a hand toward the oxygen valve connection.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. He instantly yanked his hand back, his face snapping back into default innocence.

A nurse pushed the door open to swap out an IV bag.

"How did you two sneak back in here? Kids aren't allowed in the ICU."

"We're just so worried about our big sister. Please, can't we stay just a little longer?"

Connor tugged at the hem of the nurse's scrubs, his eyes rimmed with perfect, desperate red.

The nurse sighed, her expression softening.

"Five minutes. Do not touch any of the machines."

The moment the door swung shut behind her, Jace fished a hard candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

"Hospital food sucks, Bertha. Good thing you can't eat anyway."

He mumbled around the candy, the sugar clicking against his teeth.

"Connor, you want to give her one?"

"Shes on a liquid diet." Connors tone was clinical, like he was reciting lab results. "But that's okay. Once she's in a regular room, we can just add a little something to her liquid food"

The door opened again.

Dad.

He had his phone held up high, the red recording light of the front-facing camera glowing steadily.

He was live.

"Hey guys, this is what my daughter looks like right now."

He panned the camera down to my face, his voice breaking with masterfully crafted grief.

"Chemical poisoning. Both lungs severely burned. The doctors said it's an absolute miracle she survived."

The chat on his screen was scrolling at warp speed.

Stay strong, David!

Every life matters! Were praying for Bertha!

Who pours a whole bottle of essential oil into a humidifier? That kid has zero common sense.

I stared into that glowing red lens.

He told his followers it was essential oils. Not insecticide.

"And these two boys"

He swept the camera over to Connor and Jace. They immediately flanked my bed, each grabbing one of my hands.

Connor looked dead into the lens. "Don't worry, everyone. We promise we're gonna take really good care of our sister."

Jace wiped furiously at his dry eyes, his voice trembling with a flawless sob. "Bertha is the bravest person I know. I had a dream last night that she could walk again."

The chat exploded.

Actual angels.

My heart is breaking for this family.

David, can you pin a Venmo link? I want to chip in for her medical bills.

My father let a thick, tragic silence hang in the air for exactly two seconds.

"Guys, you don't need to donate money. If you really want to help, just head over to the David's Haven Foundation page. Every single dollar goes toward saving lives."

He paused, lowering the phone slightly.

"Whether it's the life of a helpless animal, or the life of my little girl."

The screen was instantly flooded with donation animations, drowning out the video feed.

The second he tapped "End Live," the profound sorrow washed off his face like cheap stage makeup.

"Helen, we had triple our usual concurrent viewership today."

My mother walked in from the corridor, carrying an insulated soup thermos.

"You shouldn't keep using Bertha for content."

Her voice carried a trace of hesitation, but she lacked the spine to actually stop him.

"I'm not using her." My father's tone was entirely detached. "Do you have any idea what a day in the ICU costs? Ten grand. The shelter's funds alone won't cover this for two months. Higher engagement means stronger leverage for brand deals. I'm doing all of this for her."

My mother didn't say another word.

She set the thermos down on the bedside table.

"Bertha, I made you pear soup. It's supposed to be soothing for your lungs. I'll save it for when you can swallow."

She gently touched my forehead.

Then, she looked down and froze.

There was a fresh, angry red crescent mark on my wristwhere Connor had dug his fingernail in while forcing my hand open for the camera.

"What happened here?"

Jace leaned in closely. "Must be from the IV tape being too tight. Bertha's skin is so sensitive."

Beneath the oxygen mask, my mouth moved frantically. My eyes begged her to look closer.

"Yeah, I'll ask the nurse to loosen the tape a bit."

My mother patted Jace on the head.

"You boys were so good today. What do you want for dinner?"

Jace tilted his head, pretending to think hard.

"No screen-time is over, right? Can we get pizza?"

My mother smiled, a tired, relieved thing.

"Yes. You can."

She walked to the door, pausing for one final glance over her shoulder.

"Get some rest, Bertha. When you're out of the ICU, I'll get them to move you to a big room with a window."

The heavy door clicked shut.

Harsh white light bouncing off a harsh white ceiling.

The heart monitor beeped on, and on, and on, like a countdown clock ticking down to zero.

And resting right on the edge of my pillow was the bright pink smiley-face candy wrapper Jace had discarded.

03

"Do you know why Dad never actually punishes us, Bertha?"

Connor sat cross-legged on the window sill of my new room, the late afternoon sun stretching his shadow across the floorboards.

I had been stepped down from the ICU. The heavy oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal cannula. I could speak now, though my voice sounded like it was scraping against sandpaper.

The chemical burns in my lungs turned every breath into an inhalation of hot ash.

Jace was sitting on the floor, ripping open care packages sent by my father's followers, breaking the contents and tossing them aside.

"Because he has cameras," Connor said softly, like he was sharing a ghost story.

"Smart home cameras. In every single room. He uses them to capture 'candid' rescue moments."

"There's one in your room, too."

The blood in my veins turned to ice water, starting from my fingertips.

"He saw it." Connor looked right at me, his mouth curving upward. "He checked the playback. He knows we poured the poison."

"Then why..."

"He deleted it."

Jace ripped the head off a plush teddy bear a fan had sent. White stuffing spilled out from the severed neck.

"Dad said if anyone found out, his channel would be dead. Ten million followers, gone overnight. The sponsors would bail."

He gathered the loose stuffing into a ball and dropped it into the trash can.

"So, it doesn't matter who you tell, Bertha. Dad will just say you did it to yourself in a depressive episode. And he'll cry on camera. He looks so sad when he cries. The whole internet believes him."

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

A single tear slid down the corner of my eye, pooling in my ear.

I didn't believe it.

I couldn't believe my father would

The door swung open.

My father walked in carrying a basket of fruit, trailed closely by a young guy balancing a professional DSLR camera on his shoulder.

"Hey sweetie, feeling a little brighter today?"

He sat on the edge of my bed, smoothing down my hair with infinite tenderness. The red recording light on the camera was on.

"Look guys, our girl is getting some color back."

He picked up an apple and a paring knife, peeling the skin in one long, continuous ribbon, looking like the most patient, devoted father in the world.

"Dad..."

"Yeah, honey?"

"The camera in the house..."

The knife stopped.

"What camera?"

"The one in my room."

He offered me a slice of the apple, the gentle smile practically glued to his face.

"That's just the air quality monitor your mother bought."

He turned and made a swift, subtle cutting motion across his throat to the cameraman. The guy immediately powered down the rig and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The instant the latch clicked, the warmth vanished from my father's face.

He leaned in low, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"Some things are better left unsaid. For your own good."

My heart violently seized.

"You can't say a word about this."

His eyes rimmed with red. He looked like a man in genuine, unspeakable agony.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out? I would go to prison. Your mother can't afford to keep you alive on her own. Every day you spend in this bed, every pill you take, is paid for by the attention of my followers. Do you really think they'll care whether you live or die once the illusion is shattered?"

He grabbed my hand, squeezing it so hard I felt the bones in my fingers grind together.

"Bertha. I am begging you."

He slid off the edge of the mattress and dropped to his knees.

The internet's ultimate dad, the saint of animal rescue, kneeling on the linoleum floor, pressing his forehead against the metal railing of my hospital bed.

"Just give me some time. I will keep them under control."

Connor and Jace were hovering by the door, peeking in.

The corner of Connor's mouth twitched upward.

The door opened wider, bumping into the twins as my mother walked in with her soup thermos.

"What's going on?"

My father scrambled to his feet, quickly swiping a hand over his face.

"Nothing. Just having a heart-to-heart with Bertha."

My mother unscrewed the lid of the thermos. Steam curled into the air.

"Pork rib and lotus root. Good for rebuilding your strength."

She brought a spoonful to her lips and blew on it.

"Perfect. Here."

She fed it to me, spoon by spoon.

The broth was deeply savory.

I didn't cry.

I realized I didn't know who was left in the world to cry to.

When the bowl was empty, my mother packed up the thermos and walked out with my father.

Through the thin drywall, I caught fragments of their conversation in the hallway.

"David, a reporter reached out to me. She wants an interview. About Bertha's poisoning."

A beat of dead silence.

"From where?"

"A local investigative outlet. She said a reader tipped them off. They think the poisoning wasn't an accident."

Another three seconds of silence.

"Decline it. If she reaches out again, tell legal to send a cease and desist."

Their footsteps faded down the corridor.

The room was left with nothing but the rhythmic hum of the EKG monitor and the faint, distant sound of traffic.

At some point, Jace had crept back to the side of my bed. He was loudly crunching on the apple my father had peeled.

"Bertha, if that reporter actually finds out..."

He took another massive bite, chewing with his mouth open.

"Would you rather Dad go to jailor would you rather be out on the street with no one to pay for your meds?"