My father-in-law was clinging to life after a car accident. The only way he'd survive is if I—a top surgeon—operated on him myself.

I'd just changed into my scrubs when my wife, Clara Stevens, rushed in and grabbed my arm.

"You're not going anywhere. The priority is protecting Rick's face. Not a single scar, you hear me?"

I pulled away. "Dad has minutes left. If we miss the window, he's gone."

Clara didn't even flinch. "That worthless country bumpkin father of yours was born a burden. If he dies, he dies—at least we won't have to take care of him anymore. But if Rick's face gets ruined, I swear you'll pay."

Her first love, Rick Ford, tugged her sleeve with a fake whimper. "Clara, your husband seems pretty upset. You think he's stalling on purpose? Trying to hurt me?"

I was so angry, I just laughed.

So that was the case. All along, Clara thought the one dying… was my father.

I stared at Rick Ford's pathetic, carefully staged expression, and rage shot straight to my head.

"Do you even realize there's a human being dying in that ER? And you expect him to wait around for you?"

Rick flinched, then looked at Clara with wounded eyes, pretending to tremble.

Clara immediately jumped in front of him, blocking him, and jabbed a finger in my face. "Tommy, why are you yelling? Rick's sensitive!

"Besides, your father's old and sick anyway. His life's not exactly worth much. If he can't even hang on for a few minutes, then if he dies, it's just his time."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me, head to toe.

So this was how Clara really saw my father. Worthless. Beneath contempt.

But she forgot—my father was just a farmer, but he'd treated her like his own daughter.

When Clara's family's finances fell apart, and they were drowning in debt, my father emptied his life savings to bail her out. And now she had the nerve to call him worthless. To say he deserved to die.

I looked at her, my voice dry and cracking. "If it were your father lying in there, would you say the same thing? That he's old, worthless, and should just die?"

Before I even finished, Clara slapped me across the face.

Her eyes went wide as saucers, full of poison. "Tommy, how dare you curse my father? What kind of son-in-law are you?"

Rick chimed in softly, pouring gasoline on the fire. "Clara, don't be mad. I'm sure he didn't mean it… It's just… well, people always look out for their own family."

My cheek stung, but my heart turned to ice.

Just then, a young nurse ran in, panicked. "Dr. Connolly! The patient's blood pressure keeps dropping, and his heart rate's falling too. Please, you have to get in there now!"

I started for the door, but Clara blocked me, glaring at the nurse. "He's not going anywhere. Don't you have other doctors? Get someone else."

The nurse was almost in tears. "This surgery is extremely complex. Dr. Connolly is the only one in the hospital who can do it.

"Ms. Stevens, the patient is your father. Don't you want him to live?"

Instead of moving aside, Clara got even angrier. She shoved the nurse to the floor.

"Oh, so now you're making up lies to help Tommy, that fraud? My father's perfectly fine overseas. There's no way he got into a car accident. Let me make this clear—if Tommy takes one step through that door today, I'll break his hands."

I helped the nurse up and told her to wait outside.

Then I turned to Clara, calm and cold, and asked one last time.

"Clara. The person lying in there really is your father. Roger Stevens. Are you absolutely sure you won't let me go in?"

Rick immediately fanned the flames again. "Clara, see? He'd say anything just to get under your skin. That's just cruel."

Clara shot me a venomous glare. "Tommy! I'm giving you an order—today, you're not going anywhere except to fix Rick's face."

I fell silent.

Fine. So be it.

Perhaps this was simply my father-in-law's fate. His own daughter was determined to let him die—what could I, an outsider, possibly do?

I turned, picked up the iodine and a cotton swab from the tray, and walked toward Rick.

The moment the swab touched his face, he sucked in a sharp breath, exaggerating the pain.

Clara exploded instantly, shouting at me, "Be careful! Are you doing this on purpose? Tommy, I'm warning you!"

I didn't even lift my eyes, my voice flat. "Disinfecting stings. If you think I'm doing it on purpose, find someone else to do it."

That shut her up for a moment. After a pause, she gritted her teeth. "Stop wasting time. Treat Rick now."

I looked at the tiny scrape on Rick's face—so minor it was almost invisible. I genuinely couldn't understand what she was so anxious about. The wound wasn't even as big as the nick I'd accidentally given myself while shaving that morning.

A few minutes later, I placed a bandage over it. Done.

But Clara grabbed me again, her face full of suspicion. "That's it? You're calling that treated? Do you even realize Rick is an influencer with millions of followers? Do you know how important his face is? What if it scars? Tommy, are you doing this on purpose?"

I was speechless.

"At this rate, if he'd come any later, it would've healed on its own. In a few days, you won't even see a mark."

"Clara, forget it. I trust Tommy. Even if it does leave a scar, it's fine. I won't blame him."

Rick's syrupy, manipulative tone completely ignited Clara's distrust.

She pulled out her phone and dialed her assistant. "Contact the best plastic surgeon in the city immediately. Hurry! I don't trust Tommy's skills!"

No sooner had she finished speaking than the same young nurse rushed back in—this time with our family's old steward.

"Dr. Connolly! This is bad! The surgeon who took over isn't steady enough—there's massive bleeding! Please, get in there now! If you're any later, then it'll really—"

Clara's expression turned icy. "If there's bleeding, then there's bleeding. I already said—Tommy isn't going."

The old steward, who had served my father-in-law for thirty years, was now in tears, frantic with desperation.

"Ms. Stevens! What are you saying? Mr. Stevens is waiting to be saved. Please, just let Dr. Connolly go in!"

Clara's eyes brimmed with impatience. "Shut up. You're just a servant—since when do you get to speak here? Say one more word, and you can pack your things and get out!"

The steward had stayed with the Stevens family all these years out of loyalty and decades of shared history. Now, staring at the cold, unrecognizable Clara before him, his disappointment turned instantly into fury.

He pointed at her, his voice trembling. "Unfilial! You are truly an unfilial daughter!"

With that, he refused to look at her again and turned to wait outside the operating room.

As a doctor, my instincts were still struggling inside me. I couldn't help but speak again. "Clara, since you've already called another doctor for Rick, let me go to the operating room. All right?"

Such a reasonable request made her hesitate for a brief moment. Her lips pressed together, as if weighing her options.

At that moment, Rick suddenly covered his face and let out soft sobs.

"Clara… does that mean I'm not important at all? Maybe you should just leave me too… go wait outside the operating room instead."

With that calculated retreat, her fleeting hesitation vanished instantly.

"Tommy, I said—you are not going!"

Rick had achieved his goal, yet he wasn't done. He suddenly let out an exaggerated scream, his fingers trembling as he clutched his face.

"Ah! It hurts so much! Clara, my face—it hurts! Did he put something poisonous on me? Tommy, how vicious can you be? You're trying to disfigure me on purpose!"

Rick's accusation was so absurd it was almost laughable.

But Clara believed him.

"Tommy! You dared to hurt Rick!"

She turned to the two bodyguards at the door and shouted, "Hold him down! Break his hands! Make him pay for what he did to Rick!"

Before I could react, the two burly men had already seized my arms.

"I didn't! Clara! I was just cleaning his wound!"

But she wouldn't listen.

She rushed to the wall, grabbed a decorative blue-and-white porcelain vase, and walked toward me.

"Clara! I'm a surgeon! My hands—"

Before I could finish, she had already raised the vase high above her head.

A surgeon's hands are a second life. They demand absolute precision and sensitivity—there can be no error, not even the slightest.

I couldn't stop myself from pleading, my voice breaking. "I really didn't do anything, Clara. We've been married for years. Don't you trust me at all?"

Her raised hand paused midair for a second.

For that one second, I thought she still had a shred of humanity.

The next moment, she brought the vase crashing down on my right hand with all her strength.

"I only believe what I see! Rick would never lie to me!"

A searing, bone-deep agony exploded from my right hand, ripping through my entire body.

My vision went black. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious.

A scream tore from my throat, barely human. "Stop! Don't hit me anymore! I won't go—I won't go to the operating room! Please!"

Only then did Clara lower the vase.

I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, thinking the torture was finally over.

But she handed the bloodstained vase to one of the bodyguards.

"Keep going. Don't stop until his bones are broken."

I looked up in shock—just in time to meet Rick's eyes, dark with malice and triumph.

In that instant, everything became clear.

The heavy vase came down again and again. My right hand was smashed into a mangled mess of flesh and blood, the bones twisted and exposed in grotesque angles.

At last, I couldn't hold on any longer. The endless pain swallowed me whole, and I blacked out.

When I came to, it was the shock of cold water being splashed over me.

Clara stood in front of me, her face devoid of emotion.

"This is what you get for doing something wrong."

I looked down at my hands—blood and torn flesh fused together, bone faintly visible beneath.

A tidal wave of hatred surged through me.

"Clara… we're getting a divorce!"

She let out a cold snort, as if she'd just heard a joke. "Stop making a scene. It's just a minor injury. We'll have a doctor fix it in a bit."

I laughed in fury, until tears streamed down my face.

"I'm a surgeon! You knew exactly how important my hands are! They require absolute precision and control—there can't be even the slightest mistake! And you—"

My career. My life. She had destroyed them with her own hands.

At that moment, Spencer Shaw rushed in, sobbing, his voice sharp with grief.

"Ms. Stevens! Mr. Stevens… he couldn't be saved!"

Then he saw Rick cowering behind Clara. His eyes widened as if they might split apart.

"It was you! You murderer! Your car hit Mr. Stevens—I saw the surveillance footage! I'm calling the police! You'll be arrested!"

It all came rushing back to him—the hit-and-run vehicle he had seen on the cameras… it was Rick's.

Rick panicked instantly. He clutched Clara's sleeve, his words tumbling over each other. "Clara, I didn't mean to—I really didn't…"

Clara waved Spencer off impatiently. "Get out. This doesn't concern you."

I couldn't be bothered to watch this farce any longer. All I wanted now was to find an orthopedic doctor immediately—to see if my hands could still be saved.

I struggled to my feet, trying to leave.

But once again, Clara stepped in front of me, blocking my path.