My Ex-husband Begged me to Save Him

"Greg, save Dr. Lambert now. That concrete slab is about to collapse. It's crushing her right hand."

"Shut up. Rose has claustrophobia. The smoke is so thick here. If we don't get her out soon, she'll go into shock. Ronda is a surgeon. She has strong mental resilience. She can hold on."

The new building site of Cyburris Hospital suddenly collapsed, sending clouds of dust into the air.

Ronda Lambert was pinned beneath the reinforced concrete. A searing pain in her abdomen twisted together with a dead numbness in her right hand. Her body was long since drenched in cold sweat.

She struggled to lift her head and peered through the dust-filled gaps and saw her husband, Greg Riley, the influential hospital director, carrying another woman and rushing towards the light without looking back.

The woman was Rose Lloyd, Greg's junior from the same medical school. She had just returned to the country and joined the hospital yesterday.

"Greg..." Ronda called out.

Her voice was hoarse and broken, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

She wanted to tell him that if the concrete slab wasn't moved now, her right hand would be ruined, and she would never be able to perform surgery again.

She wanted to tell him she was pregnant.

But Greg's retreating figure was unwavering, without so much as a pause for her.

"Boom—" A secondary collapse struck.

The heavy concrete slab bore down again. Amidst the audible crunch of bones, Ronda's vision blackened, and consciousness slipped away.

...

When she woke again, it was in a hospital room filled with the smell of antiseptic.

Ronda moved her fingers, only to find her entire right arm numb. She couldn't feel it at all.

She sat up abruptly and lifted the blanket with her left hand, only to see her right arm wrapped in thick plaster and bandages. A lifeless silence emanated even through the gauze.

The door to the room opened, and Greg walked in, dressed in a crisp dark gray suit. He still looked exhausted.

But upon seeing Ronda awake, his expression quickly turned into his usual cold indifference and impatience.

"Are you awake? Then stop playing dead." Greg walked to the foot of the bed and casually picked up the medical chart hanging at the headboard. He flipped through a few pages and said coldly, "You have a slight concussion and ulnar nerve contusion in the right arm. Ronda, you really went all out to embarrass me in front of the media. You stayed in the debris for hours. Was it fun?"

Ronda looked at him in disbelief. Her pale lips trembled. "Greg, you're a doctor, too. You call this an ulnar nerve contusion? My hand has no feeling at all."

"That is a paralytic illusion caused by prolonged pressure." Greg snapped the medical chart shut and tossed it back onto the headboard. His piercing gaze was as sharp as a knife. "The rescue team arrived five minutes later. You refused to cooperate and chose