Chapter 4
841 Words
The needle pierced her vein, and the numbing, stinging pain made Rowan tremble uncontrollably.
She broke down into desperate pleas. "Let me go. Spare my baby… I'll give you anything you want!"
The doctor ignored her completely.
Rowan watched him pick up a scalpel, her voice cracking with utter despair. "You can't operate on me without my consent! Let me go! Let me out of here!"
She strained every ounce of her strength to break free, but the doctor merely glanced at her and said calmly, "You never consented to the surgery."
A flicker of desperate hope ignited in Rowan's eyes.
"Then let me leave…"
"But your husband signed the official admission and medical agreement," the doctor continued coldly. "He authorized us to perform any and all procedures, to use any treatment method we deem necessary."
What?
Rowan froze stiff in shock.
The doctor nodded toward the nurses, who immediately stepped forward and held a surgical consent form up before Rowan's eyes.
She stared at the paper in disbelief, her gaze falling finally on the signature at the bottom.
Miles's name.
It was real.
It was all true.
As her legal husband, Miles had given them full permission to do anything they wanted to her.
Including hurting their unborn child.
The doctor let out a mocking scoff. "Do you honestly think Mr. Chase is unaware of our hospital's treatment protocols? He knows everything. He simply doesn't want to deal with you, a burden anymore. All he needs is an obedient, compliant wife."
Rowan's heart turned to ash. Yet for the sake of her baby, she still thrashed and struggled with every last bit of strength she had.
She had to protect her child.
But as the anesthesia flooded her system, her body went completely limp. Helpless and paralyzed, she could only watch as the doctor's scalpel cut into her abdomen, removing a palm-sized mass of tissue from her womb.
"It already had a heartbeat."
The doctor tossed the tiny mass onto the surgical tray, his tone indifferent. Splatters of fresh blood flecked Rowan's cheek.
She turned her head weakly, watching the tiny tissue twitch faintly—once, twice—before falling completely still.
Her baby… was gone.
Tears streamed down her face, and the last glimmers of light in her eyes faded away little by little.
Beneath the harsh glare of the surgical lights, she was no different from a dissected animal. The doctor cut through her skin and flesh with precise movements before stitching her wound closed.
Another needle pierced her arm, pumping more medication into her bloodstream. Overwhelmed by crippling agony, Rowan slipped into unconsciousness.
When she woke again, she was no longer in the operating room. The nurses had moved her to a stark, pure-white ward.
Every corner in the room was rounded and padded with thick cotton. The doors and windows were tightly sealed, only faint streaks of light seeping through the narrow gaps.
"You're awake."
The doctor walked in, a tray of pills and syringes held in his hands.
"What are you going to do?"
Before she could even grieve her dead child, sharp alertness flared up in her heart.
She tried to shrink back, but she could not even sit up. Her limbs were fastened to the bed frame with heavy iron chains.
"Simply treating your illness."
The doctor approached her with a smile, forcing the pills into her mouth.
Rowan tried to spit them out, but her restrained body left her powerless.
On top of that, the sedatives and psychotropic drugs injected into her system left her feeble and drained, her memories growing foggy and fragmented.
In the blink of an eye, a week passed. Dulled by the constant medication, Rowan lost all sense of self-will. She wasted away rapidly, nothing more than a walking corpse.
There were moments she almost forgot she was even alive.
What filled her with even greater rage and terror was a conversation she accidentally overheard between the doctor and a nurse.
The patient in bed 42 is scheduled for brain surgery the day after tomorrow. Get everything prepped. Keep the dosage low for now to avoid any complications."
Brain surgery?
Rowan's blood ran cold.
"Mr. Chase wants the patient in bed 42 to forget everything about her past…"
The doctor smiled meaningfully. "Truly devoted of him. After the surgery, she'll be as innocent and harmless as a newborn baby, stuck permanently with the mental capacity of a three-year-old child."
Rowan's heart nearly stopped beating on the spot.
She clenched her fists tightly, pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs, and forced back all her tears. Only after the doctor and nurse left did she snap her eyes open, filled with raging resolve.
No. She would not end up as a mindless, hollow fool.
Not even Miles had the right to control her life and destroy her completely.
That night, the alarms blared across Westshire Psychiatric Hospital.
Their high-risk patient, Rowan Dye from bed 42, had bitten through her own wrist and taken her own life.
- Writer
