Disclaimer: I own no one of the characters mentioned in the story.

A/N: I kept thinking of how I would put the Tudor characters in modern times, but I can't really think how. Because somehow, divorcing your wife just because you don't have a son doesn't really make any sense anymore. Anyhow, my brain did its work and I came up with this. I messed up with the Tudor kids' ages, though. And let's pretend that Arthur doesn't exist, and Henry and Katherine's ages are the same.


I am Mary Tudor, Henry and Katherine Tudor's only daughter. My family owns the most renowned hospital in London – St. Margaret's Hospital. It was named after my great-grandmother, Margaret Beaufort. It's not like she's a saint or saint-like (according to my aunts, she was really strict), she was named after St. Margaret and a hospital named after a saint sounded good – at least, according to my grandfather Henry Tudor. When my paternal grandfather Henry Tudor founded it, it was a mere clinic, and they liked it that way. My paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Plantagenet, a nurse, stood by him.

Together, they have three children, my Aunt Margaret, my father Henry and Aunt Mary. When my father took over the clinic, it grew. And when my father married my mother, Katherine Trastamara, a renowned surgeon from Spain, St. Margaret's hospital became the most prestigious hospital in London.

My mother is from a family of doctors – the best that Spain has. She is the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella Trastamara – a cardiothoracic surgeon and an OB/GNYE respectively. My mother herself is a neurosurgeon. She often bragged to me that she was competing with my father to get into the neuro program when they were interns in Spain, since they only accept one – and she was the one who got in.

My father, just like his father, is a pediatrician. He loves kids, which is why he was disappointed whey he had only me as his child (with my mother, at least). He said that my mother loved being in the OR rather than having a family.

Which is a lie. It was, in my opinion and critical thinking, because of the unfaithfulness of my father to my mother. It was my mother who kept this family together after all these years. My father kept on tearing it apart.

Before they had me, my father had an illegitimate son by Jane Seymour – Edward Seymour. I can't imagine how my mother lived through that. If I were my mother, I would have asked for a divorce then and there, and probably left my father with nothing, not even the hospital. But as she always said, it was still worth it because she had me.

My mother had not seen the last of my father's unfaithfulness and I am unfortunate enough to live to see it. When I was twelve and my bastard half-brother Edward was fifteen, I had another bastard sibling, this time, a sister – Elizabeth. She is the daughter of Anne Boleyn, my mother's secretary. She was fired when my mother found out but just like what my father did to Jane Seymour, she gave Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth a house in the country.

At that point I told my mother that she didn't have to stay with my father for my sake. Some of my friends have divorced parents, I don't mind having one. I don't know why but she didn't ask for a divorce.

Besides my two half-siblings, Henry Tudor is a great father. Despite all he did, he still loves me and my mother. There was never a time when my father prioritized Edward and Elizabeth over me. He never missed any holiday, any recital, any birthday, and he would tolerate our twice a year vacation to Spain. Sometimes, when he said he would be out late, he would enter our home disguised as a bandit, tell us that he just wanted a dance with the beautiful lady and her daughter and later on, reveal himself. My mother would always feign surprise, but when I was in my teenage years (after the Elizabeth incident), I would tell him how ridiculous his idea is before he could ask us to dance with him but he would still go on, dancing with us. I would yell, "Papa, why don't you try your old antic with Anne Boleyn and what's-her-name daughter of yours!" and I would run to my room, and end up being grounded. That was the last time he ever disguised as a bandit.

When I finished my first year of college at Harvard (across the Atlantic, I know), I received the biggest-slap-in-my-face from my father. He will pay for Edward's tuition at Med School. That's the turning point for me. I didn't want to be a doctor but then, I figured that I have to be one – I am destined to be one. I wanted to pursue music but being a doctor is in my blood. I know then that he wanted Edward to take over the hospital and I'm not going to let him do that. St. Margaret's Hospital is not the work of Jane Seymour and Henry Tudor – it is the work of Katherine and Henry Tudor. And I, Mary Tudor, their only daughter, will continue their legacy.


I came home and found an empty house, like I wasn't coming. I took one step and found a familiar smell – my mother cooked.

"What about Mary?" I heard my mother's voice. It was coming from my father's office. My parents argued, but they never wanted me to know that they do argue. I stayed outside the half-open door, listening. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe she wanted to take over the hospital?"

"She wants to pursue her music," my father said. "If you don't know that fact then maybe you don't know our daughter."

"I do know Mary, and I know she will not be happy when she finds out that you want Edward Seymour to take over the hospital someday instead of her," my father didn't say anything. I figured I would have to break their silence.

I knocked softly. "Welcome home Mary," I said with a weak smile. They didn't have to ask if I heard anything, they knew. And it's not like I was shocked or anything, I was fully aware of what my father wanted. I have connections from my father's inner circle.

"Mary, my baby," my mother said, hugging my tightly.

I smiled. I love my mother; she turned the awkward moment into a warm one just by hugging me. "I'm not a baby anymore, mama."

"Mary, my pearl," my father welcomed me as if he is the best father in the world. Well, he is, minus the fact that he has a son named Edward and a daughter named Elizabeth and that the said children are not my mother's. "I miss you so much."

"Come to the kitchen, I cooked your favorite meals," I went after my mother. "I'm sure you miss home-cooked meals."

See what I mean about mama-loves-being-in-the-OR-rather-than-having-a-family-is-a-lie? My mother manages to save people's lives by slicing into their brain and still has time to slice meat, vegetables, and spices. "You have no idea mama."

We ate and I talked and they listened. They wanted to know everything that happened to me at Harvard. I imagined they'd be this eager, especially mama. I told them about my friends, and my favorite professor, Prof. Margaret Pole. "She told me I'd really excel at music but I've done some thinking and I've decided to go to Harvard Med. I want to be a doctor."

My mother smiled at this. I am my mother's daughter; I will fight for what is rightfully mine.

"And besides, we need a Tudor in St. Margaret. We can't just trust some great doctor to run it, right papa?" I won't expect him to come clean with the Edward-is-going-to-Med-school incident.

"Of course," papa gave mama a glance, as if saying, Did you put her up to this?


Once when I was sixteen, I did the sweetest thing a sixteen year old could ever do for her father's birthday. I sneaked in a self-made birthday card in his planner – not.

Well at least I planned to. It was all planned and executed except for the leave-it-in-papa's-planner step. I was already there in his office, where he leaves his planner. I opened it to the current date, and discovered his plans for lunch. At the park with princess E. Oh, so now she's a princess.

I really wanted to grab a marker and ruin his whole planner. I was already thinking of what to write. You're the worst father. I really, really wanted to do it, but I decided not to when I thought about the consequences. My mom would find out (that is if she doesn't know yet), and she would be devastated. She already planned the whole dinner for tonight. I'm not a bad daughter; I won't ruin it for her.

I closed his planner and returned it to his table. I tried not to crumple the card. When I got to my room, I tucked the card away in my bookshelf. Tears are welling up in my eyes that I can't even read the title of the book where I slipped the card in. And that was the first and last time I ever made a birthday card for him.


A/N: I hope that was worth reading. Please tell me what you think, reviews are very much appreciated.