Voices in the Ward

With a sharp shout from Conrad Clark, a fellow department head, the ward fell dead silent. John's fist froze halfway through the air.

In the next second, Conrad strode to the middle of the room and shoved his phone screen right in front of John's face.

"Look carefully! The security footage is crystal clear. From the moment Dr. Strickland entered the room to when your mother broke down, she never even touched the bedside table."

He suddenly turned his head, his gaze locking onto Sonya, who was shrinking into the corner.

"But you, Sonya. The cameras clearly show that you deliberately opened the medical chart while things were chaotic!"

The moment John heard that, his eyes turned bloodshot as he stared viciously at Sonya.

"So it was you! I'll kill you!" he roared, spittle spraying across Sonya's face as he clenched his fist and swung toward her.

"N-No, it wasn't me! This has nothing to do with me…"

Sonya, who had never faced anything like this, panicked instantly.

She screamed while clutching her head and bolted out of the ward, even losing one of her shoes along the way.

The incident ended with Sonya being suspended from her internship, issuing an apology to Roberta and her family, and undergoing an internal investigation.

I thought I would finally be free from having to guard against Sonya's deadly inner thoughts.

But just a few quiet days later, on the night of the fall holiday, I was lowering my head in the on-call room, sorting patient charts, when a nurse rushed in, her face pale with panic.

"Dr. Strickland, there's a pregnant woman in the ER with suspected amniotic fluid embolism. Dr. Quinn wants you in the operating room immediately!"

When I heard that, my stomach fell.

In my last life, it was this very surgery that led to me being attacked online, fired, and eventually stabbed to death.

I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue. The sharp pain snapped me fully awake. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and hurried toward the operating room.

The atmosphere inside was suffocatingly tense.

The pregnant woman's face was ashen, her breathing faint. The numbers on the monitor jumped wildly, setting off piercing alarms.

Justine Quinn, the OB attending, spoke at lightning speed. "Thirty-two weeks pregnant. Sudden respiratory and circulatory failure. High suspicion of amniotic fluid embolism. We need an immediate C-section. There's a high chance we'll have to remove the uterus to save her life."

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm. Bloody lessons from my previous life surged through my mind. After a few seconds of thought, I spoke up.

"Dr. Quinn, I have a proposal I'd like to request."

After more than two hours of emergency surgery, the operating light finally went out.

I walked out of the operating room, preparing to explain the situation to the family.

Ford Stokes, the man who had killed me in my previous life, immediately rushed over and grabbed my white coat.

"How's my wife? How's the baby?"

I answered calmly, "The surgery was successful. Both mother and daughter are safe. But because the amniotic fluid embolism was life-threatening, we had no choice but to remove the uterus to save her."

"Remove her uterus?!" Ford's eyes instantly turned red. "Who gave you the right to do that? We still want a son!"

I was about to explain when, at that moment, Sonya appeared out of nowhere, standing not far away. The next second, her vicious inner voice rang out again.

[What amniotic fluid embolism? It was a total misdiagnosis! She was clearly distracted and sneaking looks at her phone earlier, which delayed her judgment. Now she's cut out the woman's uterus. This baby's a girl. This family wanted a son, and now they'll never get one. Gosh, I feel sorry for them.]

Ford's face twisted with rage. He shoved me hard, slamming me against the wall.

"You quack! You were messing with your phone, misdiagnosed her, and you still dared to take out my wife’s uterus? You think we’re poor and can be pushed around like nothing? Our dream of having a son—you destroyed it completely! I’ll kill you!"

As he swung his fist down, the operating room doors suddenly flew open. Isaiah and Justine strode out.

"What do you think you're doing?" Isaiah barked, stepping in front of me.

"This surgery was personally performed by several other specialists and me. Dr. Strickland didn't participate in the operation at all. If we hadn't removed the uterus in time, your wife would already be dead!"