“It is very good to see you again in a place that doesn’t smell like strong antiseptics and iodine, Elena,” I said softly, my voice carrying in the quiet room. “Your color is excellent. Is the mitral valve functioning well?”
“It’s perfect,” Elena gasped, a single tear spilling over her eyelashes and cutting a path down her cheek. “You… you saved my life. They told my parents I was gone, and you saved me. I tried to find you when I got back from rehab to thank you, but the hospital said you were promoted and incredibly busy.”
“I am glad to see you thriving,” I replied.
“Elena, what is going on here?”
My mother’s shrill, nervous voice shattered the intimate moment. She pushed her way through the crowd, Tyler and my father trailing closely behind her. Her face was flushed with panic.
“Elena, darling, you must be mistaken,” my mother said, forcing a high-pitched, desperate laugh, trying to play it off as a joke. “You’re confused. This isn’t a doctor. This is just Myra. Tyler’s sister. She just does trivial paperwork and admin stuff at the hospital. She’s not a surgeon.”
Elena whipped her head around to look at my mother. The tears in her eyes vanished, instantly replaced by a look of razor-sharp, freezing confusion.
“Trivial paperwork?” Elena repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Chapter 3: The Sharp Truth
The tension in the ballroom was now a physical, suffocating entity. Guests were whispering to each other, leaning in, their eyes darting between the bride, the groom, and the woman in the shadows.
“Yes, just paperwork,” my father chimed in, trying to assert his patriarchal authority and rescue the narrative he had spent tens of thousands of dollars to construct. “Myra couldn’t handle the pressure of medical school. Tyler is the real medical mind in the family. Let’s get back to the champagne, shall we?”
Elena looked from my father, to my mother, and finally to Tyler, who was standing exceptionally still, his face turning the color of spoiled milk. He was sweating profusely, a dark patch forming under the collar of his bespoke tuxedo.
“Myra Mercer is Dr. Myra Madsen,” Elena said loudly, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. She wasn’t just speaking to my parents; she was addressing the entire room. “A year ago, when every other specialist in this city told my parents I was going to die, she was the only one who dared to take me into the operating room. She is the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery at City General!”
My father’s jaw literally dropped. The glass of Dom Pérignon tilted in his hand, spilling expensive champagne onto his Italian leather shoes.
“Head… Head of Surgery?” he stammered, looking at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head. “That’s impossible. That’s a lie. Tyler is the one who got into med school! We paid for it!”
I stepped out of the shadows, moving into the light of the chandeliers. I didn’t look at my parents. I looked directly at my brother.
I raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of medical school,” I said, my voice crisp, calm, and utterly devastating. It cut through the murmurs of the crowd like a surgical blade. “Dear brother, have you told your lovely fiancée that you passed your board exams yet?”
Tyler took a step back, his eyes wide with absolute, primal panic. He shook his head minutely, a silent, pathetic plea for me to stop.
I didn’t stop.
Lees verder door hieronder op de knop (VOLGENDE 》) te klikken !
