The hospital had finally quieted down, at least on my floor. My office clock ticked softly, reminding me that Saturday afternoons weren’t supposed to feel like Mondays. I leaned back in my chair, a pile of patient files spread open in front of me, and rubbed my temples. My week had been chaos, rounds, paperwork, and the constant nagging weight of Edmund
hovering over me like a storm cloud.
Just as I reached for my
cup of coffee, my phone lit up with an unknown number. For a second, I considered ignoring it, but something in me told me to pick it up and so I did.
“Hello,” I said cautiously, the phone pressed against my car slightly. “Who is this?”
A familiar voice, filled with irritation, cut through the line.
“Today is Saturday, Amelia.”
I frowned, my grip tightening around the phone. “Okay… I know it is. Who am I speaking with?”
“Please tell me why you’ve missed three days of my check–ups,” the voice demanded. “What if something had happened to me?”
My heart stuttered in my chest. Recognition hit like a jolt of lightning. My eyes widened. “Edmund?”
“Finally,” he muttered, almost in disbelief. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’re meant to be my doctor, Amelia. Or have you forgotten? Are you trying to avoid me so much that you’d put my health on the line?”
I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my forehead. Of course, it was him. “How did you get my number?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“Really, Amelia? That’s the issue here?” His snapped, frustration dripped from every word. “I don’t understand you sometimes. Are you so desperate to keep away from me that you would risk my health?”
I sighed, already exhausted by this conversation. “Look, I’m not Amelia, and I’m certainly not a doctor. You have the wrong number.”
“Don’t start that with me,” he gritted, his voice low. “I could recognize your voice more than I recognize my own.”
Heat crept into my cheeks, anger and helplessness mixing in my chest. “Sir, I said you have the wrong-”
Before I could finish, the door to my office burst open. A nurse rushed in, face flushed, breathless.
“Dr. Gracia, there’s an emergency at the A&E.”
I ended the call abruptly as I dropped my phone onto the desk and stood up.
“What’s the situation?” I demanded, already following her out into the hallway.
“Stray bullet victim,” she replied quickly, walking side by side with me as we moved. “a teenage boy, about fifteen, maybe sixteen. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
My stomach tightened. “Where’s the entry point?”
1/3
13:55 pm PPM M
Chapter 20
She handed me a scan as we walked, the black–and–white image making my heart sink. “Bullet entered near the chest. It’s lodged close to the pulmonary artery. Dangerous placement. If it shifts even slightly.”
I nodded, my mind already shifting into surgeon mode. “Is the theater being prepped for immediate surgery?
“Yes, doctor. And the patient is being prepped as well,” she responded.
“Who else is on shift today?”
“Dr. Steven.”
Of course. I bit back a sigh. “Fine. Inform him to scrub up. Fill him in and tell him to meet me inside the OR
“Yes, doctor.” She diverted, walking down the hall to deliver the message while I pushed through the double doors of the operating theater.
The smell of antiseptic hit instantly. The room was ready, lights lowered, equipment lined neatly, stainless steel arranged and disinfected properly. Nurses moved about, sterilizing trays, checking monitors, their faces tight with focus.
I slipped into the gown, tugged on my mask, pulled the net over my hair, and snapped the gloves over my hands. The familiar ritual steadied me, each step felt like a shield between myself and the chaos waiting inside the patient’s chest.
Just as I was adjusting my gloves, the door opened and Dr. Steven strode in, looking almost out of breath.
“You’re here,” I said, relieved. “Good. Right on time.”
He blinked, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Sorry it took a moment. I was… honestly shocked when the nurse said you asked for me specifically.”
My eyes narrowed above the mask. “Really? She told you that?”
He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. I mean, I thought you hated me. I was just… surprised.”
Despite the tension knotting my chest, I found myself laughing softly. “I don’t hate you, Steven. Scrub up quickly, please, the patient’s condition is critical.”
His face sobered immediately. “On it.” He disappeared toward the scrub station.
Minutes later, the patient was wheeled in. A young boy, too young. His face was pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, his breaths shallow and rapid. A nurse called out his vitals. The numbers were too low, and it made the possibility of his survival low as well. But I had no plan to give up.
“Scalpel,” I ordered, trying to keep my voice steady..
The room fell into the rhythm I knew too well. Monitors beeped steadily. Nurses handed instruments before I even asked. Steven stood across from me, gloves ready, his eyes sharp and focused now.
We made the incision, moving quickly but carefully. Blood welled instantly, hot and dangerous. My mind shut out everything but the anatomy in front of me. I traced the path of the bullet, as I reminded myself with each movement that this boy had to come out alive.
“There,” I said, spotting the lodged bullet dangerously close to the artery. “Retractor.”
Steven handed it, steadying the field of vision.
I focused, my breath shallow. And with delicate precision, I worked around the artery, the bullet stubbornly lodged deeper than expected.
2/3
3:55 pm P PM #
Chapter 90
“Clamp” I said, and the instrument was placed in my hand instantly
Time blurred. I struggled to stealy my hand as sweat prickled under my mask. I tuned out everything, the sound of merg care heartbeat, the nagging memory of Edmund’s phone call, the ache in my shoulders. All that mattered was the boy.
Then suddenly.
The monitor let out a sharp, urgent beep. Then another. The steady rhythm of the heart rate began to drop
“His heart rate is decreasing!” Steven shouted, eyes snapping to the monitor. “We’re losing him
“No, no, no,” I muttered, hands moving faster. “He’s lost too much blood. Someone get me a goddamn AB unit from the blood bank, now!”
A nurse bolted from the room. The boy’s chest rose shallowly, the beeping a ringing, reminding me- us how close he was to dying. My heart pounded, but I couldn’t let my hands shake. Not now.
“Come on,” I whispered under my breath, as if the boy could hear me. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”
Steven glanced at me, his face grim. “We’re on the edge here, Amelia.”
“I know,” I snapped, my jaw tight, determination flooding me. “But he’s not dying on my table. Not today.”
The monitor continued to wail, each second stretching into eternity as we waited for the blood to arrive.
And for the first time that day, it wasn’t Edmund’s voice echoing in my mind. It was Scarlett’s. My daughter’s laugh. Her smile. And the thought that this boy’s mother might never get to see his again.
Not if I failed.
3/3
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
