Revenge of the Thorn Rose: The best friend is the Worst Person

When I got home, my thoughts returned to the hospital where I worked. After being stabbed to death there in my previous life, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The security measures were inadequate and the stress on the doctors was immense.

“Honey, I’m thinking about quitting my job and taking some time off,” I said.

Michael paused, looking at me with concern. "Sweetheart, if you’re feeling overwhelmed, just tell me," he replied gently. "We don't need the extra income."

He raised his eyes and continued cautiously. As a doctor, my job was always demanding and he had often encouraged me to take care of my health. But I had always dismissed his concerns, driven by my desire to advance my career.

“Are you hiding something from me, love?” Michael's mind seemed to race through countless scenarios. Eventually, a specific thought crossed his mind and his eyes filled with tears.

"No matter what it is, we'll find a way to cure it," he declared, his voice trembling. "Even if we have to spend every cent we have! I've saved up a lot over the years."

I smiled, raising an eyebrow and handed him the report from the obstetrician.

"I'm going to be a dad?" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with joy. He lifted me into his arms, alternating between laughter and tears.

After a while, he calmed down and promised, "Don't worry, darling. I’ll take the best care of you."

So, I spent the next few weeks at home, focusing on my pregnancy. As I did, my body softened and filled out.

A month later, I saw Amanda again. There was a new, flirtatious air about her. She came over with several gifts, saying, "Hey, Samantha, it's been over a month! You've put on some weight!"

She looked at me with feigned sympathy. "I bought these clothes especially for you—they’re all from high-end brands."

I glanced at them. They were, indeed, designer labels. But the sizes she chose seemed intended to accentuate my fuller figure in the least flattering way.

I knew exactly what she was up to. "Amanda, I can't wear these," I said, deliberately sounding regretful. "It's a waste to give them to me."

Then, with an overly admiring tone, I added, "Not like you—everything looks fabulous on you, even a burlap sack."

Amanda beamed, clearly pleased with the compliment. She patted my hand and said, "It's okay, Samantha. You can wear them once you’ve slimmed down. We've been like sisters since we were little. We should go shopping together more often!"

With that, she strutted out in her trademark high heels, clearly enjoying the chance to flaunt her appearance. As the scent of her perfume lingered in the air, I wrinkled my nose and turned on the air purifier. A hint of a smile tugged at my lips—the perfume had an odd, faintly fishy undertone. It seemed she had developed a mild infection.

I glanced at the expensive clothes she’d brought over, my expression unreadable. Even though I couldn’t wear them, they were still valuable. I took them and decided to hang them up for sale at a local seafood market. Might as well make some use of them.

I guessed Amanda hadn't been seeing her wealthy benefactor recently. If she was so desperate to get back in the game before her body had fully recovered, she was bound to catch something nasty.