Blood on His Hands, Vengeance in Mine

During a critical heart transplant, my doctor husband insisted his intern assist despite her garish nail art compromising the sterile field.

When I called her out, he abandoned the patient mid-surgery to comfort her.

I begged him to return, but he snapped, "Giselle is upset. Can't you wait? This is nothing compared to her feelings."

40 minutes later, the patient bled out and died.

Later, they discovered that he was our highly respected mayor and placed the blame on me.

"If it weren't for you causing a scene and kicking us out of the operating room, the mayor wouldn't have bled to death. This is all your fault!"

Defenseless, I was sentenced to life in prison, tortured, and died in agony.

My husband and his intern walked down the aisle, enjoying their happy life.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of that fateful surgery.

...

"Herman is the attending doctor. He said I can wear nail art during the surgery. What right do you, as an assistant doctor, have to tell me what to do?"

I opened my eyes to a familiar voice. Without thinking, I glanced around and saw Giselle Atkins' smug face.

I quickly took in my surroundings. This was the operating room where a heart transplant surgery was being performed.

Everyone was suited up, ensuring a sterile environment. But Giselle was different. Not only were her hands adorned with diamonds, but she wasn't even wearing a mask.

That was when I realized something shocking. I had been sent back to the day the mayor was having surgery in our hospital.

In my previous life, Herman Fisher had insisted on letting Giselle assist during the heart transplant. She made mistakes with the instruments, and ignored basic surgical protocol, even almost letting a piece of her nail art fall into the patient's body.

I couldn't hold back my frustration and scolded her.

She left the operating room angrily, and Herman followed her out, abandoning the patient on the table.

I begged him to return and finish the surgery, but he sulked, "Giselle is upset. Can't you wait? This is nothing compared to her feelings."

The patient was neglected for 40 minutes and died in agony.

Later, they learned he was our highly respected mayor and placed the blame on me.

I was defenseless and sentenced to life in prison, where I was tortured and eventually died.

Meanwhile, Herman married Giselle and went on to become the youngest hospital director in history.

Herman's angry voice rang out, bringing me back to reality.

"This is the operating room, not a place for you to get jealous. I approved Giselle's nail art, and you should apologize to her."

I looked at Giselle's smug face and barely restrained my anger. "Why should I apologize? Nail art is prohibited here. Am I wrong?"

She scowled. "You're just targeting me on purpose, aren't you? Fine, I'll leave."

She threw a scalpel onto the table, narrowly missing the patient's artery.

I was both frantic and furious. Just as I picked up the scalpel, I saw Herman trying to chase after Giselle.

I stopped him. "The patient's chest cavity is open. The heart transplant needs to happen immediately, or he could be in grave danger. As a doctor, can you just stand by and watch him die?"

Herman looked in the direction where Giselle had left, then at the patient on the operating table. He gritted his teeth and picked up the scalpel again.

Just as I sighed in relief, his phone rang with a call from Giselle.