Our Anniversary, His Big Betrayal

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.