"Pregnant patient, corpus luteum rupture, heavy bleeding! We need a consent form signed—now!"

I stood there holding the clipboard, waiting, when a voice I knew way too well cut through the chaos.

"I'm here!"

Jimmy.

My husband. The same guy who vanished on our anniversary—now signing off on emergency surgery for another woman.

He didn't even blink before writing "husband" on the form. Still had our wedding ring on, too.

He didn't recognize me behind the mask. Just grabbed my hand and begged.

"Please save her. It's my fault. She's pregnant. I messed up. I love her. I can't lose her."

His grip tightened. My wedding ring slipped off and hit the floor.

I didn't say a word. Just turned and walked into the OR.

A doctor beside me, totally clueless, beamed and said,

"Dr. Meyer, your test results came back—twins! Your husband's gonna be so happy. Congrats!"

I smiled, barely.

"Schedule the termination after surgery."

Everyone froze.

I realized who was on the operating table—Yuna Cate.

Checked the chart again. Still her.

A cold laugh slipped out.

Jimmy Ley, my husband—MIA on our anniversary—hadn't just disappeared. He'd been busy shacking up with his buddy's fiancée. And now she was in my OR because they hooked up while she was pregnant and triggered a full-blown medical emergency.

Straight-up tabloid trash. Only this time, it was real—and it was mine.

Five years married, and this was where we landed.

Yuna looked like she wanted to vanish, but still wailed, "Jimmy! I want Jimmy! Please, let my husband stay—I'm scared!"

I shoved her hand away. "That's against protocol."

She snapped, shoved the anesthesiologist. "Then I'm not doing it! I'll die right here! Let's see who freaks out first."

Everyone went stiff. No one moved.

Eventually, the department head gave in. Jimmy was allowed in—after he scrubbed up.

He rushed in, didn't even blink, just grabbed her hand like they were some tragic love story. "This is my fault. I shouldn't've been so rough. I forgot you're pregnant."

Yuna, all teary, shook her head. "I wanted to. It's not your fault."

Jimmy smirked. "Nah—it's your fault. You're just too irresistible."

My grip on the scalpel faltered. Just a little.

Jimmy pounced. "What kind of surgeon lets her hands shake like that? Who even approved this?"

I looked up.

Our eyes locked—and for a second, the whole room felt like it flatlined.

He didn't recognize me.

Didn't blink when he jabbed a finger at me. "If anything happens to my wife, I'll sue you into the ground."

Your wife?

You picked this hospital miles away from home just to dodge me. Joke's on you—I was here for one day. Just one exchange rotation. And bam—walked right into your little soap opera.

No one here knew he was mine. So he put on the devoted-husband act—for someone else—like it was nothing.

I laughed. Real quiet, real cold. Jimmy caught it. Hated it. But with all eyes on him, he swallowed whatever tantrum he was brewing and just stared me down.

After surgery, I stepped off the platform—and there he was in the hallway, making a call.

"Andy, just grab something for my wife. Tell her I'm out on business, can't make it back. She'll get over it. Oh, and say I'll be off the grid for a few days—don't let her blow up my phone."

Click.

Not two seconds later, his assistant's message dropped.

[Bouquet's ordered. Dinner for two booked. Happy anniversary.]

Andy called. "Mr. Ley's on a business trip, swamped with meetings, can't take any calls. It'll be okay if you still want to celebrate. He booked a restaurant for you."

"Okay, thank you."

He froze. I could hear it.

No questions. No drama. No hurt puppy routine. Just a clean, flat reply—and I hung up.

I was almost out the door when a nurse burst in, breathless. "Dr. Meyer! Something's wrong!"

Her hands were covered in blood.

"The patient's bleeding again?" I asked.

She nodded.

While grabbing my things, I pulled up Yuna's records on the hospital system—prenatal reports, bloodwork, anything.

Nothing. Just her name. No history, no lab files.

"She came through the ER," the nurse said. "Most of her records are at Central Hospital. We've got barely anything on her."

"Run a blood test. Now."

I threw on new scrubs, grabbed a mask, and bolted.

The second I hit the ward, Jimmy stormed over and slapped me.

His face was flushed, eyes blazing. "You quack! If you knew what you were doing, this wouldn't be happening right after surgery!"

The staff jumped between us, but he wasn't done. He yanked my wrist. "If anything happens to her, I swear—you'll pay."

One of the nurses shot back, "Don't blame the doctor. No one wanted this. If it was that serious, why not go to Central Hospital in the first place?"

"Exactly! If you don't trust us, transfer her. Do it now."

People were buzzing. Tension thick.

Jimmy flinched at the mention of Central Hospital. "The problem started HERE. So fix it!"

I laughed to myself.

Right. Forgot I'm the head of OB-GYN at Central.

"Enough," someone shouted. "She's dying!"

I shoved Jimmy aside just as the bloodwork came in.

One look at the numbers, and disgust punched me straight in the chest.

"You knew she was pregnant, right? Late-term pregnancies can't take rough handling—let alone whatever garbage you gave her to 'spice things up.' Get the OR prepped! Call every available doctor, now!"

Jimmy's face twisted.

"The instructions said no side effects," he muttered.

I didn't even bother hiding my anger. Right then, Yuna, barely conscious, latched onto my wrist.

"It's just husband and wife stuff! Why are you sticking your nose in? You want the drug name, fine—I'll tell you. Women like you, all cold and boring, probably can't even keep a man!"

Before she could spit more venom, she doubled over in pain.

I snapped at the aides to rush her to surgery.

Yuna clung to Jimmy like her life depended on it, sobbing, "Tell me... am I the woman you love most? I'm dying. Can't you say it? Is she still more important to you?"

Her begging finally cracked him.

"Of course I love you most," Jimmy blurted. "Why else would I leave her and be with you?"

"I love you the most," Yuna cried, clinging tighter.

Finally, she let go.

Right before they wheeled her through the OR doors, Jimmy caught my eye—then yanked an envelope from his bag, cash sticking out.

"I don't need it," I said, shoving him off.

He grabbed my wrist again. "Isn't this what you want?"

I laughed, ripped the envelope out of his hand—and slammed it to the ground.

Without a glance back, I strode into the OR.

The surgery dragged on like forever. Yuna's condition was a mess—and whatever she took had anticoagulants in it.

Every step got harder.

Eventually, it came down to one brutal choice: save the baby or save her.

Everyone looked at me, waiting.

No time.

Her vitals were crashing fast. We had to move—emergency C-section and immediate suturing. No way to keep the pregnancy.

"Get a family consent. Now. Keep going—remove the baby, close her up."

By the time it was over, my own stomach felt like it was tearing apart.

I leaned against the wall, barely breathing.

After a short observation, they wheeled Yuna out.

My team rushed over to steady me.

"We're so sorry... You powered through that whole surgery while pregnant."

"We'll talk to the director—get you a break, maybe even a commendation."

I gave a bitter smile.

Didn't matter. I wasn't planning to keep these twins anyway.

The pain was so sharp, I could barely stay on my feet. Every step felt like a battle just to make it out of the OR.

And there he was.

Jimmy. Fresh off learning the baby didn't make it.

He didn't say a word—just kicked me. Hard.

"You did this on purpose, you WITCH! Didn't want the cash, so you killed MY BABY!"

I hit the floor.

People crowded around, murmuring, frozen.

Jimmy wasn't done. "She was fine before! Then this doctor gets involved, throws my money away, and now my almost full-term baby's dead! She did it on purpose!"

The pain was blinding—I couldn't speak. My hands were scraped raw from the fall.

I reached up, trying to pull off my mask, but Jimmy yanked my hand down.

"Talk! Who gave you the right to kill my kid without my permission? I fought for that baby! We were this close to the due date—I didn't even get to sign anything! Why'd you kill him?!"

Then he slammed me into the wall.

The staff rushed in, trying to pull him off—but Jimmy was a madman, swinging uncontrollably and landing punch after punch right into my abdomen.

The pain, already unbearable, exploded into something vicious—like knives twisting deep inside. I honestly thought I might die right there.

But Jimmy didn't even see it.

He pulled out his phone and shoved it in my face. "I want every patient and their families to see what a baby-killing quack looks like!"

Our eyes met.

And for a second, all I could think was—'Five years in the same bed, and you don't even recognize me behind a mask? Did you ever actually see me?'

The pain kept spreading, sharper, deeper.

I stared at him, barely holding it together, but he just sneered.

"Looking at me won't change anything. You killed my kid. Acting pathetic won't save you."

He ripped the mask off my face. The strap snapped, flicking across his cheek.

And then he froze.

"You?" His voice cracked. "Why are you bleeding so much? Honey, what's wrong with you?"