1 The world shattered in a screech of metal and glass. I was driving to my final check-up when suddenly I was rushed into the ER alongside another pregnant woman from the other car. “Her water broke! We need to move — now! Get the husband to sign the forms,” a nurse yelled urgently. As they wheeled me toward the OR, I gasped, “My husband’s busy… I can sign myself!” Just then, the other woman’s husband burst in, his face bloody. “Help her first!” he shouted, pointing to the other gurney. “She has a heart condition — she’s worse!” His face was panicked and dirty, but I knew him. My heart stopped. Alberto. That’s my husband. He turned to the medical team with sudden professional calm. “I’m Dr. Alberto Hayes from Metropolitan General OB/GYN. Trust my judgment.” I reached out, trembling, trying to touch him. He swatted my hand away without looking. “But this patient’s water has broken,” a nurse said, gesturing at me. Alberto gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “She’ll be fine. I’m her husband. I’ll sign a waiver.” … The crash had thrown the hospital into chaos, and doctors were stretched thin. An operating room had been a precious, life-saving lottery ticket, and I had just won it. But because my husband was a respected authority at Metropolitan General, the staff deferred to him. They trusted his "professional judgment." They delayed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Alberto didn't even look at me. His focus was entirely on the other woman, Bella. He held her hand, his touch gentle, all his fear and tenderness laid bare for her. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. "I'll get approval, and I'll perform the surgery myself. I'll make sure you get off that table safely." The raw devotion in his eyes was a spike through my heart. With no available beds, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch the man I married pour his soul out for another woman. All around me, patients were surrounded by family, their hands held, their fears soothed by a loving presence. My own loving presence had just secured permission to personally save his true love. He walked past me on his way to scrub in. He paused for a fraction of a second but never turned his head. His steps were firm, resolute, leaving behind nothing but a cold, clipped sentence that drifted back to me. "You're not going to die. Please, trust my professional judgment." I don't know how long that surgery took. Waiting in the cold, chaotic hallway, I drifted in and out of a pained, hazy sleep. The next time I was jolted awake, it was to the sound of panic. A crowd of scrubs and white coats swarmed around my gurney. "Patient is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism! Now! Get the blood bank on the line!" "Where is Dr. Hayes?! Get him here! He's the only one in the entire city who's successfully treated an AFE! None of us have the experience!" The frantic thud of footsteps echoed around me as several orderlies grabbed my gurney and started running. "It's going to be okay," one of them said, his voice strained with false confidence. "Your husband is the best OB/GYN in the city. He's handled two of these cases before, ninety-nine percent success rate. You're young, you're healthy, your blood type is common. You have a great chance." They burst through the doors of an operating room. The blinding white light seared my eyes. Voices called out my vitals, a strange mix of clinical calm and rising panic. "No! Her O2 stats are dropping too fast! She's not going to make it! Where the hell is Dr. Hayes?" my attending physician yelled, his hand gripping mine, his skin cold and clammy. A nurse nearby answered, her voice trembling. "Dr. Hayes… he left after finishing Bella's surgery. He said she woke up craving the soup he makes, and he went home to cook it for her." "Then call him!" "We did! He's not picking up…" "The baby! Fetal heartbeat is gone! The mother has no will to live, we're losing them both!" My doctor squeezed my hand, his voice firm and close to my ear. "They assigned you to me, and I don't give up on my patients. You hear me? Don't you dare give up on yourself! Get Pediatrics in here for the infant resuscitation! We are saving them both, do you understand?" Okay… I managed a weak flutter of my eyelids. Someone in this world still wanted me to live. I had to try. The interns were still frantically trying to reach Alberto. My doctor and a team of senior surgeons began a desperate, racing battle against time to save me. I watched bags of blood, full and red, being hung, then taken down, empty and pale. I saw the sweat pouring down their faces, their brows furrowed in intense concentration. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Just then, an intern held up my phone, his voice filled with relief. "Dr. Hayes is calling her! He's calling back!" The call was put on speakerphone, his voice echoing through the tense silence of the OR. It wasn't a voice of concern. It was sharp, impatient, and angry. "Lia! Where the hell did you put your hospital go-bag? It’s not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon. I'm taking it for Bella to use." 2 I saw my attending physician’s brow furrow in disbelief. His face hardened as he handed his instrument to another surgeon and strode over to the intern, taking the sterilized, bagged phone. "Dr. Hayes," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Your wife has suffered an acute amniotic fluid embolism and is currently in critical condition. You have experience in this area. We need you at Riverside Community Hospital immediately to assist with saving her life." Beep. Beep. Beep. He had hung up. "What the— Is he insane?!" one of the younger doctors exploded. "His wife is dying, and he's worried about a go-bag for his mistress? Some top doctor! He's nothing but a world-class scumbag!" The outburst was loud enough for everyone to hear. I almost laughed. The attending physician, realizing his colleague's words might affect me, quickly apologized. Through the fog of anesthesia, I tried to move my eyes to show him it was okay. Because he was right. In that single, sharp moment, despair washed over me, a black tide that swallowed the last flicker of my will to fight. "Her O2 is crashing! Get more units from the blood bank!" Riverside Community began making emergency calls to every hospital in the city, pleading for plasma. The news of a woman battling an AFE spread quickly, even making it onto the local news reports. Finally, Metropolitan General sent over another doctor who had previously assisted with an AFE surgery. He rushed in, still breathless. "What a coincidence! Dr. Hayes's wife just gave birth over at our hospital too. I was just stopping by to visit when I heard about your emergency. I got special permission to come over and help." Dr. Hayes's wife? My attending physician shot a quick, confused glance in my direction. But Alberto's colleague, having worked with him on these cases before, was relatively calm. He helped stabilize the situation. As my vitals slowly returned to normal, he tried to lighten the mood with some chatter. "When I was on my way over, I saw the pediatric team had resuscitated the newborn. A healthy, chubby little boy." He chuckled. "But they kept calling for the dad, and no one showed up. Is she a single mom or something?" My doctor cleared his throat loudly. The man didn't catch the hint. "And it's strange, you know? Alberto's wife is in Room 303 right over at Metropolitan, but he didn't come here to help you guys out. He's the authority on this stuff! Did he turn down a chance to save a life because he was too worried about his own wife giving birth?" He kept rambling until an intern couldn't take it anymore. "Dr. Evans," she snapped, "the woman lying in front of you is Dr. Hayes's wife, Lia." Dr. Evans chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous, kid. I've worked with Alberto for years. I think I know who his wife is. It's Bella. Not some Lia." "We're screwed," my doctor muttered, watching my monitor as my once-stable vitals began to plummet again. He turned on Dr. Evans, his voice laced with fury. "Why would we lie to you about that? This is Lia Thorne, Alberto Hayes's wife! He admitted it himself! She had a sliver of a will to live, and now, after what you just said, it's completely gone!" Dr. Evans slapped his forehead. "I thought you were all joking!" At that moment, the faint sound of a baby's cry cut through the tension. "The baby!" my doctor yelled to the pediatricians across the room. "Bring the baby to the mother, let her see him!" I forced my heavy eyelids open. A tiny, purplish infant was brought into my line of sight. A weak smile touched my lips. He was so wrinkled and ugly. He looked just like Alberto. But I loved him. An instinctive, biological mother's love that I couldn't control, even as it disgusted me. After a grueling twenty-four hours and a transfusion of what felt like the city's entire blood supply, I survived. When I was finally moved from the ICU to a regular room, the maternity nurse I’d hired was already there. She looked incredibly awkward, holding a used diaper in her hand. I knew instantly what had happened. "Ma'am," she began, avoiding my eyes. "Mr. Hayes insisted that I go and take care of Miss Bella first. I… I couldn't really say no." 3 Before I could respond, Alberto's voice boomed from the doorway. "Maria, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Bella is too weak to hold him." He pushed the door open and froze, clearly surprised to see me there, awake and alive. Our eyes met for a moment before he adopted an air of nonchalant dismissal. "Our son is still in the NICU, so Maria isn't needed here yet," he stated, not asked. "I'm just borrowing her for Bella. I'm sure you don't mind." He didn't wait for an answer. "Oh, by the way, I called your parents. They're on their way. I'm exhausted from taking care of Bella, so I really don't have the energy to look after you too. Hope you understand." Just then, a group of his colleagues arrived, their arms laden with gift baskets and flowers. "Alberto, what are you doing in here?" one of them asked. "Your wife is looking for you!" "Bella needs something?" he asked, his immediate assumption that "wife" meant Bella sending another pang through me. He rushed out to her. His colleagues followed, leaving only Maria standing there, utterly bewildered. "But you're Dr. Hayes's wife, aren't you?" she whispered. "I thought Bella was just his friend. Why does everyone call her Mrs. Hayes?" I managed a weak, bitter smile. "I guess it's just a misunderstanding." Maria tossed a washcloth onto the counter in frustration. "Doesn't he have a mouth? Can't he correct them when they're 'misunderstood'? It seems to me Dr. Hayes has a wandering eye and is more than happy to let everyone think Bella is his wife." Even a stranger could see Alberto’s intentions so clearly. Bella was his high school crush, the goddess he never had the guts to ask out but whose pedestal he worshipped at from afar, very publicly. I wouldn't have known the depths of his obsession if he hadn't dragged me to a class reunion once. I saw a side of him I never knew existed—this proud, arrogant man, so subservient and meek in her presence. Facing Bella, he was always looking down, like a scolded puppy. His old roommates had joked with the newly divorced Bella, "You really have bad luck, goddess. If you'd just said yes to Alberto back then, you'd be Mrs. Dr. Hayes, the wife of Metropolitan General's top specialist. Someone else wouldn't have gotten the chance." And I was that "someone else," sitting right there, trying to saw through a tough piece of steak. None of his friends liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between Alberto and Bella. Without me, their goddess would have had her rightful place. And Alberto believed it, too. After that reunion, he started giving me the silent treatment. He used work as an excuse, coming home once a week at most and refusing to accompany me to a single prenatal appointment. Meanwhile, he became a fixture in Bella's social media posts, lauded as her "amazing male friend." Bella, for her part, never corrected the assumptions about their relationship. She'd just smile, a silent, all-accepting refusal to clarify. Alberto was the same. He basked in the glory of people thinking the vibrant, beautiful Bella was his wife. We fought about it once. He told me the "truth would speak for itself" and there was no need to prove anything. He told me to respect his right to have friends. When it came to Bella, his confidence evaporated. The slightest hint of affection from her, and he'd come running like a dog. But with me, he was always so sure. He thought I was his for the taking. If I couldn't leave him before we had a child, I certainly wouldn't leave him now. That certainty made him reckless. He forgot one crucial thing. Unlike him, I wasn't a dog who would keep coming back for scraps. Bella's room was right next to mine. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out—Alberto's colleagues, his old classmates, and even Dr. Evans, the surgeon from my operation. "Alberto, what you're doing is disgusting!" I heard Dr. Evans's voice, sharp and clear even through the wall. "Bella isn't your wife, but you never correct anyone! You let all of us colleagues make fools of ourselves, calling her 'Mrs. Hayes' day in and day out! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was during your real wife's surgery?" There was a long pause before Alberto finally replied, his voice flat. "I told you all to just call her Bella. You were the ones who insisted on calling her 'Mrs. Hayes.'" 4 "Are you f—king kidding me? You couldn't just say 'she's my friend'? Besides, your wife just survived an AFE! She was literally knocking on death's door, and you're in here playing nursemaid to Bella? Aren't you afraid your wife is just going to leave you?" I heard the sound of a hand slapping against my door, as if Dr. Evans was trying to shove Alberto into my room. But the sound was followed by the firm click of Bella's door being shut. "Afraid?" Alberto's laugh was a cold, cruel thing. "I wish she would. She was the one who chased me for years, a pathetic backup plan who finally got lucky. She'd never leave. And now with the baby? She's trapped." The sound of his mocking chuckle sliced through me. "She's not like Bella. Bella has a heart condition; she's fragile. Lia was an athlete. An AFE is a big deal for other people, but for her? It's a minor inconvenience." "Have you lost your mind? You're a damn OB/GYN! Do you not know the mortality rate for an AFE?" Dr. Evans shot back, his voice thick with disbelief. "That patient who died on your table last year was an athlete, in perfect health! An AFE took her in less than thirty minutes. Your wife is just lucky. Maybe Death took one look at her miserable marriage and took pity on her." Dr. Evans argued until he was hoarse, but Alberto never came into my room. Instead, I got a notification on my phone: a wire transfer for twenty thousand dollars with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked his number. I deleted every form of contact. That evening, my attending physician, Dr. Cole, stopped by. He told me that since my recovery was going well, a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic fluid embolism, with its ninety-nine percent mortality rate, was a miracle. "Don't worry, the interview will be quick," he assured me. "Afterward, the heads of Metropolitan General and a few other major hospitals are going to hold a postpartum consultation for you. It's a good thing." "Okay," I agreed without hesitation. On the day of the interview, Alberto showed up. He was dressed in a sharp suit, standing confidently among the hospital administrators. He spoke at length about the challenges he faced performing my surgery, the immense pressure of operating on his own wife. Dr. Evans stood nearby, head down, looking miserable. The leadership from Metropolitan General beamed at Alberto with pride, murmuring words of sympathy. "The hardest thing for a surgeon is to operate on a loved one," his direct supervisor proclaimed for the cameras. "And in this case, Dr. Hayes was faced with the lives of his wife and unborn son. It took incredible strength and a will of iron to achieve such a perfect outcome." The supervisor gave Alberto a pointed look. Alberto strode through the crowd and stopped in front of my bed. "You know I'm up for a promotion," he whispered, his voice low. "This is a huge opportunity." He leaned closer. "Thank God it was you they were saving. If it had been anyone else, this wouldn't have been so easy to arrange. When they ask you questions, don't say the wrong thing. Remember, I was the one who performed your surgery. Just me. My superiors have already taken care of the narrative." He reached out and ruffled my hair, an old gesture of affection. But I hadn't washed it since giving birth, and it was greasy. He quickly wiped his hand on his trousers with a flicker of disgust. The interview began. Dr. Cole arrived late and was blocked from entering the room by staff from Metropolitan General. A reporter pushed a microphone toward my face. "Ms. Thorne, after such a near-death experience, what is the most important thing you want to say?" I paused, gathering my thoughts, then took the microphone. "I want to thank the doctors for their absolute refusal to give up on me, especially when I was about to give up on myself. They never faltered." The reporter, sensing a story, glanced from me to Alberto and back again. "And is there any particular doctor you'd like to thank the most?" I saw Dr. Evans by the door, already turning to leave. I raised my hand and pointed past the crowd. "My attending physician, Dr. Cole, and from Metropolitan General…" Every camera swiveled to Alberto. He puffed out his chest, a prepared speech already on his lips. "...Dr. Evans!" I finished. The room erupted in confused murmurs. Alberto stared at me, his eyes wide with fury. He fumbled for his phone, probably to text me, but the failed delivery notification only made his expression darker. Dr. Evans, singled out, looked utterly stunned, his eyes welling up with tears. The reporter, flustered, tried to regain control. "Is there… anyone else?" I smiled, a wide, bright, unforgiving smile. "Of course. There is one more person. I want to thank my husband most of all."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394300", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel