My Mother Was Dying, But My Husband Told the Paramedics It Was Just a Dare

Arnold seemed to realize he'd done something catastrophically stupid. He scrambled to backpedal.

"I... I really wasn't thinking. I was just playing along with Doreen. You know how she is—she loves her pranks."

"Enough!"

I screamed.

Sirens wailed outside.

Arnold's face went white.

"Babe, I swear I didn't think it would go this far. Don't worry—I'll drive Mom to the hospital right now."

I sucked in a breath so sharp it burned.

"Arnold Sanchez, you better pray nothing happens to her today."

I turned to Doreen, my voice dropping to something lethal. "And you—don't think just because Arnold spoils you, you can do whatever the hell you want."

Doreen's expression curdled. As the officers led me away, I could still hear her muttering behind me.

"She and her mother faked it to scam the paramedics, and somehow I'm the villain? It was one drink. Lying on the floor playing dead like that—who actually dies from a sip of liquor?"

My nails bit into my palms. But all I could do was watch Arnold scoop my mother into his arms and rush toward the parking garage, repeating the same prayer over and over in my head.

Mom, please be okay. Please.

The moment the police finished with me, I raced to the hospital without stopping. I burst through the doors and found chaos outside the operating room.

Doreen had both hands clamped around Arnold's arm, pulling him back. "Mr. Sanchez, you can't sign that. The hospital is trying to cover themselves. The second you put your name on that form, if anything happens to your wife's mother, it all falls on you."

Arnold hesitated. "But—"

"No 'buts.' I've never heard of anyone needing surgery over one drink. I know you're worried about her mother, but don't let the hospital play you."

A young nurse cut in, her voice tight with urgency. "That's not what's happening. We're not trying to shift responsibility. The patient just had coronary bypass surgery recently. The doctors need to operate to assess her condition."

Doreen let out a cold laugh. "Save it. So she had bypass surgery—so what? My uncle had the same thing done. He still drinks, still smokes, and there's not a damn thing wrong with him."

The nurse looked close to tears. "Every patient is different. You can't compare—"

"Spare me the lecture. The patient was brought to your hospital. If something goes wrong, that's on you."

I couldn't listen to another word.

I shoved through the crowd and slammed my palm across Doreen's face so hard her head snapped sideways.

"Shut your mouth!"

Doreen froze for half a second, then grabbed my wrist, screeching like an alley cat. "How dare you hit me? You—"

"Get off me!"

I wrenched free and turned to the nurse, my voice cracking. "I'm her daughter. Give me the form. I'll sign it."

The nurse thrust the surgical consent form toward me. Doreen snatched it out of the air.

"Give it to me!"

My vision blurred red as I lunged for it.

"Are you done?"

Arnold seized my arm, his voice cutting and cold. "Hitting people without even knowing what's going on. Doreen's right—I've let you get away with too much. Apologize to her. Now."

Apologize to Doreen?

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

If it weren't for her, my mother would never have needed an ambulance.

If it weren't for her, my mother wouldn't still be lying in there without surgery.

Everything I'd swallowed for years—every slight, every humiliation, every time I'd bitten my tongue—erupted all at once. I swung my hand and cracked it across Arnold's face.

"Get out! Get the hell away from me!"

Arnold stood there, stunned.

The operating room doors swung open.

The surgical team filed out. One by one, they bowed their heads to me.

"We're sorry for your loss."