Chapter 7 - The Final Cut
The elevator ride up to the fourth floor felt like it took an eternity. Jonathan stayed downstairs with the police, who had arrived to take Marcus into custody, while I rushed to the VIP wing.
When I burst into Room 402, the scene was chaotic. The crash cart was active, and the on-call resident was preparing the defibrillator paddles. On the bed, Richard Mercer lay pale and motionless, his heart monitor flatlining.
Beside the bed, wearing her torn, stained wedding dress, sat Camille. She was crying hysterically, but there were no tears in her eyes—only panic. Grant was handcuffed to a chair in the corner of the room, two police officers watching him as he yelled at the doctors to do something.
"Step aside," I commanded, my voice cutting through the panic.
The resident looked up, relieved. "Dr. Cross! His heart just stopped. Massive myocardial infarction."
I walked to the bedside. I looked down at Richard Mercer, the man who had tried to steal an eight-year-old boy's heart to save his own pocketbook. The man who had ruined my wedding, my family’s reputation, and tried to destroy my life.
"Evelyn!" Grant screamed from the corner. "Save him! You have to save him! If he dies, the company assets are locked in probate forever! I won't get a dime!"
"He's your father, Grant," I said, not looking at him as I took the defibrillator paddles. "And that's all you care about."
"Please, Evelyn!" Camille cried, grabbing my arm. "If he dies, Grant goes to prison for life! They told me if Richard lives, he can take the blame! You have to save him!"
I shook her hand off my arm, my eyes cold. "I am a doctor, Camille. I don't choose who lives or dies based on their sins. I do my job."
I charged the paddles. "Clear!"
I applied the paddles to Richard’s chest. His body jolted.
Nothing. The monitor remained a flat, agonizing line.
"Charging to 200," I said. "Clear!"
Again, his body jolted. The line stayed flat.
"Evelyn, do something!" Grant yelled, thrashing against his handcuffs. "You're the best surgeon in the state! Fix him!"
I looked at the monitor. I looked at the man on the bed. And then, I looked at my hands.
The hands that had saved Noah Reed.
I knew exactly what was happening. Richard’s main coronary artery was completely blocked—a massive "widowmaker" heart attack. The only way to save him was an immediate, emergency open-heart bypass right here in the room.
I had the scalpel in my hand. I could do it. I had done it a hundred times.
But as I looked at Richard’s face, I remembered the server logs. I remembered the little boy, Noah, who had been minutes away from death because this man wanted to sell his heart.
I stood there for three seconds. The exact three seconds of silence Grant had given me on the phone when I told him a child was dying.
"Dr. Cross?" the resident asked, holding his breath, waiting for my instruction to cut.
I slowly set the scalpel down on the tray.
"Time of death," I said, my voice calm, steady, and devoid of any emotion. "4:12 a.m."
Grant let out a pathetic, animalistic howl of despair. Camille fell to her knees, her dirty wedding dress pooling around her as she realized her dream of wealth and status was gone forever.
I turned my back on them, walking out of the room and into the quiet hallway.
The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the city, casting a warm, golden glow through the hospital windows. I looked out at the horizon, feeling the cool morning air against my face.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from the pediatric ICU.
Noah is awake. He’s asking for his doctor.
I smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached my eyes for the first time in years.
My wedding was over. My fiancé was in chains. My best friend was ruined. But as I walked down the hall toward the ICU, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
May you like
I didn't choose work over love.
I chose life. And life had finally chosen me.
