My Husband Let His Mistress Kill His Own Mother

But Dominic encouraged her with endless patience, reassuring her every step of the way.

Thankfully, he'd handled the most critical part himself—otherwise the surgery would've been a disaster.

When it came time to suture, he cleared the room again. Just him and Victoria, so she could practice her stitches.

I waited outside for hours, anxiety clawing at my chest. Finally, the surgical light went dark. The doors swung open.

Victoria and Dominic stood shoulder to shoulder, pumping their fists in unison.

"Oh yeah! I did it!"

"I'm amazing!"

I rushed forward.

"Dominic, how is she? Did Mom's surgery go okay?"

He glanced at me, eyes cold.

"You should be thanking Victoria. She performed the operation. She saved your mother's life."

I froze.

Victoria performed the operation?

She was an intern. Fresh out of school.

Before I could process it, a nurse burst out of the OR, face white as a sheet.

"Dr. Harding, something's wrong! The patient's abdomen is distended, blood pressure's crashing—she's critical!"

My heart, which had just started to settle, shot back into my throat.

The nurse was shaking.

"During instrument count, we found a veterinary scalpel."

"The missing blade—it's still inside her."

My legs buckled. I hit the floor.

Victoria stuck out her tongue like a child caught sneaking candy.

"Oops! I was wondering where my scalpel went. Must've gotten mixed in during surgery!"

Dominic's jaw tightened. He knew exactly what this meant—a catastrophic malpractice incident.

"Prep the OR. I'll do it myself."

No more excuses about conflict of interest.

Mom crashed twice on the table.

Two more hours. Finally, it was over.

But when he walked out, his instructions to the nurse were ice-cold.

"Patient's stable. Transfer her out of the ICU immediately."

The nurse hesitated.

"But... she just had two major surgeries. Multiple resuscitations..."

"Protocol."

His tone left no room for argument.

"She already jumped the queue once. Now she goes to the hallway."

I stood frozen, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Dominic, that's your mother!"

"She just came back from the brink of death, and you're putting her in the hallway!"

He scoffed.

"If every doctor gave special treatment to family, what about regular patients?"

"If you hadn't insisted on cutting the line, Victoria wouldn't be exhausted from assisting two back-to-back surgeries!"

"Your mother staying in the hallway is her punishment for queue-jumping."

"You'll kill her!"

I screamed, completely unraveling.

He had her moved anyway.

It was past midnight. The hallway had no monitors. No nurses standing by.

I knelt beside her bed, gripping her hand.

"Mom, hold on. I'm going to find another doctor. I'll get you a room."

I ran through the hospital like a madwoman, begging anyone who would listen.

When I came back, a crowd had gathered around her bed. CPR in progress.

It was too late.

Mom didn't die on the operating table.

She died by her own son's hand.

Dominic stood there in his surgical mask, barely registering who the body belonged to.

Expressionless, he took the organ donation form Victoria handed him and signed his name.

Victoria's eyes were red, tears streaming.

"I can't believe my first surgery failed. Will this go on my record?"

I almost laughed from the sheer rage.

Someone was dead. And all she cared about was her spotless résumé.

Dominic held Victoria, his voice soft:

"It's not your fault. If someone hadn't broken the rules and cut in line, the patient wouldn't have died."

He turned to me, his gaze cold.

"Sara, you killed your mom. Since she's dead, let her die with some value. Let them harvest her heart and liver—consider it atonement for your selfishness."

I laughed.

I reached over and pulled off Mother-in-law's oxygen mask, exposing her face.

"Dominic, open your damn eyes and look. Your mom is the one who's dead."