The Self- Redemption of a Brilliant Doctor

Everyone at the hospital says I look just like my mother did five years ago-the same white coat, the same confident stride through the corridors, the same title: Head of Cardiac Surgery.Only she's not here to see it.I still dream about that car crash. She promised to see my operation, but her car never made it past the hospital gates. Outside the resuscitation room, I heard a nurse say the car belonged to the Deputy Director. Later, the deputy director resigned, and the hospital paid a substantial settlement. And my father refused the money but insisted I take my mother's place. At twenty-eight, I became the hospital's youngest cardiac surgeon. I knew this was his expectation and my mother's unfulfilled dream. "Doctor, the operating theatre is ready," A soft knock from the scrub nurse brought me back to the present. Today marked three months since I met Zach. He'd been wheeled into the ER after a massive heart attack, his pulse flickering in and out. I was so exhausted from another marathon surgery that I could barely keep my eyes open-until I saw his ECG. Myocardial infarction, complicated by cardiac rupture. He was minutes from death. I operated for six hours straight. He lived. "You saved my life." Those were his first words upon waking, as he looked at me with an emotion I couldn't decipher. He said his business dealings involved excessive socialising, which had caused his heart problems. He didn't elaborate on his work, nor did I ask. Three days later he was discharged, but he came back every day after that. Coffee in hand, waiting outside the OR. Lunch together, dinner after shifts. He was always immaculate-tailored suits, understated watch, every movement deliberate, refined. That's how it is when you like someone-even their enigmatic side becomes endearing. A month later, he proposed. When my father found out, he lost his temper with me for the first time: "Amy, do you even know about his job, his family? How much do you really know about him? All these years of education, and it's turned you into a sentimental fool?" "Dad, I trust him." I married him anyway. At the wedding, he promised to treat me well for the rest of our lives. I believed him. But lately, the hospital has been falling apart. The ventilator in ICU malfunctioned, delaying two critical surgeries. The hospital paid a heavy settlement. Then the department head resigned-taking most of the surgical team with him. Rumor has it another hospital tripled their salaries. A few long-term patients complained that I was arrogant, condescending. They said I treated them "like charts, not people." But I've done nothing wrong. Even the pharmacy's supplier suddenly tripled prices overnight. At this rate, our patients won't be able to afford care at all. I often find my father standing alone on the hospital rooftop, cigarette after cigarette, the wind tearing at his coat. His assistant says he's developed stomach ulcers from stress-and that the hospital is drowning in debt.This morning, I was violently sick. One of the ER nurses, a friend, ran a test for me in secret. Two lines. Pregnant.I traced my still-flat belly, planning to surprise him tonight. Lately he's always "busy," coming home late every night. His suit reeks of alcohol, with faint traces of women's perfume. I told myself it was just business dinners. But those late-night calls-he always took them out of my hearing. Sometimes, I could hear a woman's voice on the other end. He said it was all work-related, that I shouldn't overthink it. I chose to believe him. This evening, as I passed his study, I decided to tidy up his desk. Papers were scattered everywhere, the drawers half-open. A folder slipped to the floor, pages fanning out across the carpet. As I bent to gather them, a red corporate seal caught my eye: "Hospital Acquisition Proposal." The letterhead bore a familiar logo-Zachary Group, one of the largest medical equipment conglomerates in the country. So this was his business. My phone buzzed with an unfamiliar text: "Amy, do you know why your husband suffered a sudden heart attack?" My hands began to tremble. "He faked it."