Because of His Mistress’s Lies, My Child and I Died in Operation Table

Tom kicked the items aside as if they were trash, and then immediately pulled out his phone to call Dina.

"Dina, I'm having the driver bring over all those things prepared for the child. Regina and the little bastard in her womb aren't worthy of what I had prepared for them!"

After watching the driver take away those eyesore items, Tom finally let out a sigh of relief.

He poured himself a glass of red wine, turned on the TV, and sank into the sofa. Just as he raised the glass to his lips, the mournful voice of a news anchor came from the television.

[Three days ago, a famous obstetrician-gynecologist in our city died on her beloved operating table, along with her child, due to complications during childbirth. May she rest in peace.]

Tom put down his glass and sprang up from the sofa. His eyes were fixed on the large news headline.

An obstetrician-gynecologist? Difficult labor?

He frowned deeply, but after a dozen or so seconds, his expression relaxed into a smile.

In this vast city, you can find an obstetrician-gynecologist everywhere you look.

Besides, my medical skills have always been top-notch. I definitely wouldn't die on the operating table. Even if I had to get a janitor to assist, I could have delivered the baby successfully.

But the truth was ... I really shouldn't have died that day.

A mother's strength is boundless, even in despair. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, but no one came. So, I had no choice but to grit my teeth and deliver the baby myself.

The baby's head was almost out, but my frantic pushing only worsened the old injury in my spine – the one still held together by more than a dozen steel pins. I simply didn't have any strength left.

Tom sat back down on the sofa, pondered for a long time, seemingly thinking of something, and took out his phone to call his assistant.

"Go and send some money to the family of that deceased obstetrician-gynecologist. It's not an easy job; dying on the operating table … I don't know whether to be happy for her or sad."

The assistant on the other end was silent for a few seconds before speaking hesitantly, "Tom, I heard from a friend that the obstetrician was from our hospital. I think her name was …"

"Tom." Dina's coquettish voice from the courtyard made Tom hang up the phone and walk outside.

The assistant on the phone had almost spoken my name, but his boss was already moving further and further away from the phone, clinging to Dina in the courtyard.

I've been gone from this world for five days.

After returning home drunk one night, Tom looked at the empty house and seemed to finally remember me.

He then called my office, "Tell your Dr. Whitaker to stop fooling around and come back immediately. Even if she doesn't want me as a husband, the child still needs me as a father. And don't try to fool me with any more nonsense about life and death. I left the hospital's five most authoritative specialists with her that day. She would have been fine."

The one who answered the phone was the young nurse he had slapped that day. Her respectful tone carried a hint of impatience. "I already told you that Miss Dawson took away all the specialists you kept!"

Tom paused while lighting his cigarette. "Dina took away the specialists?" he asked.

The nurse on the other end seemed to see a glimmer of hope. "Yes, she took them all! Dr. Whitaker was the only one left in the entire hospital. So … "

"Was it because Dina's back injury flared up? Did she get examined? Is it serious?" Tom interrupted the nurse, his eyes filled with anxiety.

The nurse froze upon hearing his words. After a long pause, she finally spoke again, "Mr. Lynch, Miss Dawson's back wasn't injured at all. It's Dr. Whitaker … "