Chapter 3
The surgery dragged on like forever. Yuna's condition was a mess—and whatever she took had anticoagulants in it.
Every step got harder.
Eventually, it came down to one brutal choice: save the baby or save her.
Everyone looked at me, waiting.
No time.
Her vitals were crashing fast. We had to move—emergency C-section and immediate suturing. No way to keep the pregnancy.
"Get a family consent. Now. Keep going—remove the baby, close her up."
By the time it was over, my own stomach felt like it was tearing apart.
I leaned against the wall, barely breathing.
After a short observation, they wheeled Yuna out.
My team rushed over to steady me.
"We're so sorry... You powered through that whole surgery while pregnant."
"We'll talk to the director—get you a break, maybe even a commendation."
I gave a bitter smile.
Didn't matter. I wasn't planning to keep these twins anyway.
The pain was so sharp, I could barely stay on my feet. Every step felt like a battle just to make it out of the OR.
And there he was.
Jimmy. Fresh off learning the baby didn't make it.
He didn't say a word—just kicked me. Hard.
"You did this on purpose, you WITCH! Didn't want the cash, so you killed MY BABY!"
I hit the floor.
People crowded around, murmuring, frozen.
Jimmy wasn't done. "She was fine before! Then this doctor gets involved, throws my money away, and now my almost full-term baby's dead! She did it on purpose!"
The pain was blinding—I couldn't speak. My hands were scraped raw from the fall.
I reached up, trying to pull off my mask, but Jimmy yanked my hand down.
"Talk! Who gave you the right to kill my kid without my permission? I fought for that baby! We were this close to the due date—I didn't even get to sign anything! Why'd you kill him?!"
Then he slammed me into the wall.
The staff rushed in, trying to pull him off—but Jimmy was a madman, swinging uncontrollably and landing punch after punch right into my abdomen.
The pain, already unbearable, exploded into something vicious—like knives twisting deep inside. I honestly thought I might die right there.
But Jimmy didn't even see it.
He pulled out his phone and shoved it in my face. "I want every patient and their families to see what a baby-killing quack looks like!"
Our eyes met.
And for a second, all I could think was—'Five years in the same bed, and you don't even recognize me behind a mask? Did you ever actually see me?'
The pain kept spreading, sharper, deeper.
I stared at him, barely holding it together, but he just sneered.
"Looking at me won't change anything. You killed my kid. Acting pathetic won't save you."
He ripped the mask off my face. The strap snapped, flicking across his cheek.
And then he froze.
"You?" His voice cracked. "Why are you bleeding so much? Honey, what's wrong with you?"
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