Both in Two Lives, the Result Was the Same

Nydia's POV

Sitting in the borrowed wheelchair, I slowly wheeled myself forward until I heard two voices.

“Ah, Hadden, it’s fine! I don’t need it!”

“No way. You must drink this bird’s nest soup.”

I could hear Cynthia’s soft and coy voice, like a kitten’s, as she lay on the hospital bed, pretending to push Hadden away.

The two of them were shamelessly affectionate, their behavior completely unrestrained. She kept protesting with her words, but her body pressed closer to his, teasing that she wouldn’t drink unless he fed her with his mouth.

And he actually did it. He leaned in, soup in his mouth, and kissed her.

I couldn’t help but laugh—how ridiculous.

Once, I had been the top student in medical school, and he was just a shy admirer chasing after me. After two years of persistence, he finally wore me down, and I agreed to date him. When we graduated, I even turned down an opportunity to study abroad, choosing instead to work as a nurse at his hospital.

Back then, he really did love me. We spent every waking moment together. At work, we’d grab lunch in the breakroom; after work, we’d shop at the grocery store and go home to cook dinner. He, on the other hand, gave up his social life, devoting himself to patients and me.

And now? Seeing him with Cynthia like this? I didn’t feel jealous or even surprised. After what he did in my last life—laying his hands on our child—he was already dead to me.

“You’ve got the nerve to show up here?” A sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts just as I was about to leave.

“Oh, you should be here,” Hadden sneered. “But don’t think you can just apologize and walk away like it’s nothing.”

He then gestured to the empty urine bag attached to my side. “What’s the deal with this? Trying to gain pity? You really think I’m the same fool who used to believe your lies?”

Afterward, Hadden stormed toward me and unleashed his fury without holding back.

“Hadden, why are you being so harsh to Nydia?” Cynthia said weakly, stopping Hadden. “I’ve already let it go. Why can’t you?”

“Cynthia, you’re too kind. Look at you—you’re still taking all those antibiotics!”

“I’m fine,” Cynthia said but then coughed afterward.

“See?!” His voice rose, his anger instantly redirected. In a fit of frustration, he kicked my wheelchair hard enough to nearly topple it.

“Let me tell you something, Nydia,” he spat. “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d have no problem kicking your insides out.”

I clung to the wall to steady myself, managing to keep the wheelchair from completely flipping over.

“Hadden,” I said, my voice cold and calm. “Let’s get a divorce.”

“Oh, playing hard to get now?” Hadden smirked, his eyes narrowing. “What, you think I’m afraid of you asking for a divorce? You really think I’m still that idiot who followed you around like a lovesick puppy?”

He scoffed and continued, “Wake up, Nydia! I’m done falling for your games. Fine, you want a divorce? Have the baby first, and then get the hell out of my life.”

I didn’t bother wasting another word on him. I turned the wheelchair around and left.

Back at the ward, the staff were still busy sterilizing everything. The intern had been sent off to clinical training, while the other coworkers openly gossiped about how I’d disgraced the department.

“She’s supposed to be the head nurse, but she can’t even do her job,” one of them muttered.

Meanwhile, others were discussing how perfect Hadden and Cynthia were as a couple.

“I don’t get it. Why did Dr. Fletcher ever choose her in the first place?”

Just then, one of the nurses who’d been working with Hadden for years flung a memo in my face.

Apparently, because of the recent medical incident, the higher-ups were demanding an investigation. Both the department and I had to submit individual reports.

No surprise there. I could imagine how furious they were. This was the hospital’s first collaboration with the biotech research lab, and I had ruined it. The one and only vial of the antiviral serum—still unapproved for clinical trials—had been wasted on Cynthia.

Now, both my department and my name were publicly criticized throughout the hospital.

Since I’d asked for a divorce, Cynthia had taken every opportunity to talk about her and Hadden’s childhood memories, painting a picture of how they were always meant to be. Somehow, rumors started spreading that I had only married Hadden by manipulating him—using my pregnancy to “climb the social ladder.”

Wherever I went, I was met with whispers and scorn. Even patients, overhearing the gossip, would join in on the insults without knowing the full story.

Some of the more extreme ones—those who idolized Hadden and Cynthia as the perfect “couple”—even threw urine bags at me in protest.

Not even a trip to the bathroom spared me from their hostility. Everywhere I went, their malice followed me.

Yet, they ignored one crucial fact—I was infected too.

My symptoms worsened day by day. I was losing control of my bladder and bowels, and dizziness hit me more frequently. At first, I thought I could manage without the wheelchair, but now I couldn’t even imagine standing without it.

“What are you doing in a wheelchair? You haven't given birth yet. Don't tell me you're working like that? You have a chair in our department, Cynthia. Or, are you just trying to make us look bad? What, do you think we’re mistreating you? Get up!”

Hadden’s voice was laced with irritation. He couldn’t even look at me without growing impatient.

Before I could respond, he grabbed me and yanked me out of the wheelchair. The sudden force sent me crumpling to the ground and my vision spun.

The blanket I had been using to cover my belly also fell to the side, leaving me exposed.