Chapter 18
But in the end, Timothy never got to have that meal. The dishes were just ordered when Rita got called for an emer-
gency.
The original on–duty doctor was unavailable, so they’d asked her to fill in last minute. Without a word, Rita rushed back to the hospital.
Timothy sighed, staring at the empty seat. He should’ve convinced her to change careers back then.
He couldn’t bear imagining future meals interrupted mid–bite, sleep cut short–her always one phone call away from leaving.
Resigned, Timothy pulled out his phone and called the housekeeper: “Bring some clam chowder to the hospital. She likes it.”
The scent of disinfectant still hung in the air as Rita massaged her throbbing temples. She’d just stepped into the ER when chaotic shouting erupted from the end of the hallway.
Before she could locate the source, a man in a dark jacket shoved through the crowd, charging forward with a sharp- ened metal cane held high. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared, “Get outta my way! Where’s that quack?!”
It was the family member of last week’s patient who’d refused hospitalization–the one whose relatives had signed the DNR.
People scattered with screams. The man’s gaze swept the corridor like a venomous snake before locking onto Rita in her white coat nearby.
He lunged like a madman, the cane whistling through the air toward her head.
The metal tip glinted coldly, inches from her face. Rita’s breath hitched. Her mind screamed run, but her legs felt leaden, rooted to the spot.
Her thoughts blanked.
Until someone slammed into her, shielding her as they stumbled backward.
A riiiip of fabric tore through the air, mingling with a pained grunt.
She looked up to see Timothy’s other arm slashed open–a deep gash running down to his hand. Blood dripped onto the white tiles, forming a crimson halo.
“What’re you all staring at? Call the police!” Timothy barked through gritted teeth, his voice trembling.
The attacker struggled against security and bystanders, his cane clattering to the floor.
Rita finally snapped back to reality, pushing Timothy into the treatment room. Her hands shook violently.
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Chapter 18
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She took a steadying breath, forcing down the panic. Cutting away his sleeve revealed the wound–deep and jagged, like a writhing bloodworm, pulsing red.
Her heart clenched. Muscle memory took over as she staunched the bleeding.
When the iodine swab grazed raw flesh, he stifled a groan, biting back the pain.
“Sis, why the shaky hands?” His raspy chuckle broke the tension. “Afraid I’ll tell people the hospital’s stoic medical saint gets nervous suturing?”
Her needle nearly slipped.
“Shut up,” she snapped, though her touch unconsciously gentled.
The soft sound of needle and thread through flesh echoed loudly in the stillness. By the final stitch, sweat beaded her forehead.
Cool fingertips brushed her brow. She jerked away, meeting his gaze with icy detachment.
“Timothy, don’t do this again.”
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Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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