Chapter 4
“Can’t you just say she’s your classmate? Your wife just survived an amniotic embolism and barely made it, yet you’re here taking care of Lila Whitmore without even checking on her? Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you?” Dr. Mason Wright’s voice was sharp as he tried to push Samuel
Hartley toward my room.
Samuel slammed the door shut, his face cold.
“Afraid? I’d be relieved if she left. She chased me relentlessly for years, holding on like I was her last hope. Now that she’s finally married to
me and has a kid, she won’t go anywhere,” he said with a mocking laugh. “She’s not like Lila. Lila has heart problems, she’s frail. Morgan’s an athlete; an amniotic embolism is serious for most, but to her, it’s nothing.”
“Are you serious? You’re supposed to be an expert in obstetrics! Don’t you know how high the mortality rate for an amniotic embolism is?”
“Remember the athlete who died last year during surgery? She was in perfect health. But she still died from an embolism in under half an hour. Morgan’s just lucky. Maybe fate took pity on her because she married someone like me,” Samuel sneered.
Dr. Wright’s frustration was palpable. Samuel didn’t even step inside the room. Instead, he sent me a transfer of $20,000 with a curt message to take care of myself.
I blocked him and deleted every way to contact him.
Later that night, my attending physician visited to let me know that a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic embolism was rare, with a survival rate of only 1%.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be a brief interview. Executives from Midtown Medical Center and other major hospitals will be present. It’ll be good for you
“Okay.”
I agreed readily.
On the day of the interview, Samuel showed up, dressed in a tailored suit, mingling with the crowd as he recounted how challenging the surgery had been. Dr. Wright stood to the side, looking drained and silent, while several hospital executives looked at Samuel with admiration
and dropped words of praise.
“Operating on your own family is something no doctor should have to do. But Samuel here had to choose between his wife and unborn son. It takes a strong heart to face such pressure and achieve a perfect outcome,” one executive praised, glancing approvingly at Samuel.
Samuel walked up to me.
“You know this is a big chance for my promotion. It’s all set up because of this. Don’t mess it up. Just say I performed the surgery, and don’t mention anyone else,” he said, ruffling my hair like he used to. But he quickly wiped his hand, as if noticing for the first time that I hadn’t washed my hair since giving birth.
The interview began, but my attending physician was blocked from entering by the hospital staff.
A reporter handed me a microphone.
“Ms. Bennett, surviving such a life–threatening condition must have been an incredible ordeal. What would you like to say about it?”
I paused, holding the microphone firmly. “I want to thank the doctors who never gave up on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself.”
The reporter’s eyes lit up, glancing between Samuel and me.
“Which doctor would you say you’re most grateful to?” they asked.
I saw Dr. Wright turning to leave and quickly pointed to the door.
“My attending doctor and the team at Midtown Medical Center…”
All the cameras turned to Samuel, who stood ready with a prepared speech. But I continued, looking elsewhere.
“…and especially Dr. Mason Wright.”
The room erupted in whispers.
Samuel’s eyes widened as he looked at me, fumbling with his phone to text me, only for his face to darken when the message wouldn’t send.
Dr. Wright looked stunned, almost on the verge of tears.
“Anyone else?” the reporter pressed, looking uncertain.
I smiled. “Yes. I also want to thank my husband.”
