His Sister's Scattered Ashes
My sister was in a serious car accident, so I called my husband, Julian, a top cardiac surgeon.
He promised to perform the surgery himself.
Instead, he tasked a medical intern, Ava, with a high-risk, experimental procedure.
Meanwhile, he was off editing a research paper she was about to publish.
"Julian… The valve repair… I messed up. The patient's aorta ruptured."
"Her heart… it stopped," Ava sobbed, collapsing into Julian's arms.
Julian glanced at the flatline on the monitor.
He simply embraced her, his voice a low, steady murmur.
"Don't be afraid. I'll handle it."
Then, Julian strode out of the operating room and informed me, his voice devoid of emotion.
"The surgery failed. Go make the arrangements."
"How could it have failed? She was conscious when she came in!"
A tidal wave of grief and rage crashed over me, and I lunged for the operating room doors.
But Julian shoved me back.
"I said it failed. It's over. Her injuries were too severe."
He impatiently straightened his white coat.
"She was so badly hurt, there was never much hope. Chloe, stop making a scene."
With that, he walked away, his arm wrapped around Ava.
I stared as they walked away, clinging to each other.
Ava glanced back, giving me a triumphant, taunting smirk.
I couldn't help but smile.
Did he really think that was my sister on the operating table?