I won't wait for you anymore

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor finally slowed. Anna's tense shoulders relaxed against the thin mattress. The heavy sedatives pulled her under, granting her a temporary escape from the pain.

A soft knock broke the quiet.

A young nurse stepped into the room. She avoided eye contact, clutching a digital tablet to her chest like a shield.

"Mrs. Miller?" she whispered.

I stood up from the plastic chair. "Is it time for the prep?"

"No." The nurse shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I need you to gather Anna's things. We have to move her to the general ward on the third floor."

I stared at her, certain I had misunderstood. "Anna is scheduled for a bone marrow transplant today. She needs a sterile VIP suite. Dr. Evans approved this room specifically for her compromised immune system."

"Mr. Miller requested the transfer." The nurse swallowed hard, her knuckles turning white around the tablet. "He's a board shareholder. He authorized VIP Room 412 for another pediatric patient. A boy named Richard."

My hands fell to my sides. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum louder. "Richard has a common cold."

"Mr. Miller stated the boy requires a premium recovery environment."

A strange, hollow laugh escaped my throat. I didn't scream. I didn't throw anything. The absolute absurdity of the situation stripped away my anger, leaving only cold, diamond-hard clarity.

"Tell Anson to say that to me himself," I replied.

"Ma'am, I have orders from the administration—"

"If my husband wants to drag his dying daughter out of her surgical room so his mistress's son can sneeze in luxury, he can look me in the eye and do it." I pointed a rigid finger at the door. "Bring him here."

The nurse didn't argue. She turned and hurried out.

Five minutes later, the heavy door swung open. Anson marched inside. His jaw was set, his designer suit unwrinkled, and his expression radiated pure irritation.

"Helen, stop terrorizing the hospital staff," he ordered, stopping at the foot of Anna's bed.

I crossed my arms. "You want Anna's room."

"Richard's fever spiked again." Anson gestured vaguely down the hall. "He needs the extra space for the monitoring equipment. Anna is just going to sleep until the surgery anyway. A standard room is fine."

"A standard room exposes her to infections."

"You're being dramatic."

I pulled my phone from my pocket. I unlocked the screen and opened the photo gallery. I had spent the entire night scrolling through these images, torturing myself with the reality of our marriage.

"August 14th," I read aloud, holding the screen up. "Anna’s first day of kindergarten. You weren't there. You were helping Dora pick out a new transmission for her sedan."

Anson swatted at the air, dismissing the screen. "I paid for the mechanic!"

"December 2nd." I swiped to the next image. "Anna's first round of chemotherapy. You missed the oncology appointment. You were at the winter carnival, winning a stuffed bear for Richard."

"He had a panic attack in the crowd! He needed a familiar face to calm him down."

"March 10th. May 5th. Yesterday." I dropped the phone onto the bedside table. It landed with a sharp clack. "Every single time, you choose them. You choose another woman's child over your own flesh and blood."

"I provide for this family," he growled, stepping closer until he loomed over me. "I am here to donate my marrow. I love my daughter!"

I didn't flinch. I tilted my head, studying the man I had married. His handsome features meant nothing to me now. He looked like a stranger.

"You love her?" I asked softly.

"Of course I do."

"What is her favorite color?"

Anson blinked. The aggression in his posture faltered, replaced by sudden confusion. "What?"

"If you love her, you know her. What is her favorite color, Anson?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from mine. "Pink. She wears that pink crown all the time."

"Yellow," I corrected. "She wears the pink crown because a nurse gave it to her after her hair fell out. What is she allergic to?"

Silence stretched between us. The heart monitor beeped steadily in the background.

"Helen, this is ridiculous. I'm not playing trivia right now."

"What is her allergy, Anson?"

His eyes darted to the sleeping girl, then back to me. "Strawberries."

"Penicillin." My voice dropped to a dead, flat whisper. "A strawberry is a fruit. Penicillin is a drug that could kill her. One last question. What book does she ask for every night?"

He opened his mouth. No words came out. He searched the ceiling for an answer that wasn't there.

"You don't know," I said. "Because you've never read her to sleep."

"I work eighty hours a week!"

"You spent three hours building Legos with Richard last Tuesday." I turned my back to him. The last shred of hope I held for our marriage evaporated entirely. "Get out of this room. And if you try to move my daughter, I will call the local news and tell them exactly how a hospital shareholder treats pediatric cancer patients."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Heavy footsteps approached from the corridor, cutting through the tension.

A tall man in a crisp white coat stopped in the doorway. He held a thick medical file under one arm. Silver lined his dark hair, but his sharp, intelligent features were instantly recognizable.

"Helen," he said.

I turned toward the voice. A wave of relief washed over me. "Bob."

"It's been a long time since graduation," Bob said, stepping fully into the room. "I wish we were catching up under better circumstances."

Anson frowned, his authoritative presence challenged. "Who the hell are you?"

Bob didn't look at my husband. He kept his focus entirely on me.

"I flew in from Switzerland last night to take over as Anna's lead surgeon," Bob explained. He pushed the door shut, sealing the three of us inside. The casual alumni warmth vanished from his face, replaced by grim professionalism.

"Is something wrong with the prep?" I asked. My stomach tightened into a knot.

Bob stepped closer to the bed. He glanced down at Anna's pale, sleeping face, then fixed his intense gaze on me.

"I was just checking the surgical medications," Bob said.

"Are we delayed?" Anson demanded, checking his expensive watch. "Because I have places to be this afternoon."

Bob ignored him completely. He took a step closer to me, lowering his voice.

"Helen," Bob continued, his tone dangerously serious. "The targeted therapy drug Anna needs to take has been swapped out."

The room spun. The floor seemed to drop out from under my feet. "Swapped out?"

"The vial in her prep kit isn't the cancer medication," Bob said. "It's a high-dose immunosuppressant. If the nurses had administered it during the procedure, her organs would have failed within the hour."

My blood turned to ice.

Someone was trying to kill my daughter.