How Can I Kill Them with My Broken Arm?

I was the most renowned OB-GYN in the state, with ten consecutive years of deliveries and not a single complication to my name. That changed the day I was accused of a surgical error that killed a mother and her unborn child. However, by the time I arrived, the patient was already dead. With witnesses, physical evidence and surveillance footage all stacked against me, I had no way to defend myself. Overnight, my name was ruined and I was sentenced to death. The harassment drove my parents to throw themselves off a building. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back behind the wheel, driving toward the hospital. Up ahead, a traffic officer was directing cars away from the intersection. I gritted my teeth and slammed my arm into the steering wheel. A sharp crack echoed through the car. I felt it in my right arm immediately. It was broken. I would rather break my own bones than wait around to die. One hand was a small price to pay for a chance at survival. Chapter 1 The moment they carried out my sentence, only one thought filled my mind. I was innocent. My name was Vera Stanton. I was 34 years old, chief of obstetrics and gynecology at the state Women & Infants Hospital, and a candidate for deputy director. I had gone ten consecutive years without a single complication in the delivery room. Even my fiancé was recognized as the top surgeon in the entire hospital. Everyone said I was blessed. I had it all… career, love and a bright future. I believed that too. I thought my life was charmed. None of that mattered now. My perfect life was over. I had not made a surgical error. The patient was already dead by the time I arrived. Still, no one believed me. They had witnesses, physical evidence and surveillance footage. Every piece of it pointed at me. The investigation determined that I had administered a lethal overdose of anesthesia, and my fingerprints were somehow on the syringe. Even security cameras showed me entering the operating room. Even my fiancé, Cole Barrett, took the stand and testified against me. "Vera was desperate to lock down the deputy director title. She was grabbing every surgery she could get her hands on during that stretch. "The day it happened, she was already in rough shape. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen. She told me that once she finished that surgery, the position was as good as hers. "I never thought it'd come to this... I thought she was at the very least a doctor with some integrity." I fought back with everything I had, but his testimony was too convincing. Everyone believed him. They praised him for having the courage to turn in his own fiancée and called me a monster. It was not until after my death that I learned the truth. The surgery had been performed by his junior from medical school, Nina Foster. The patient had been Nina's. She was the one who administered the anesthesia and she was the one who made the fatal mistake. Cole had called me in at the last minute to take the fall for her. He tampered with the surveillance footage and swapped the syringe so my fingerprints would be on it. Every last piece of it was a trap he had set just to shield the woman he truly cared about. The day the verdict was announced, my parents were ambushed by reporters and the victim's family outside the courthouse. The weight of it broke them. Three days after my execution, they threw themselves off a building. I watched it happen as a spirit, powerless to stop it. I was consumed by hatred. I refused to accept it. Even in death, I could not rest. The fury swallowed me whole and, in that same instant, my eyes snapped open. Dim streetlight filtered through a car window and I grabbed my phone. It was March 29, 2026, 9:22 pm. I had come back, dropped right into the driver's seat 30 minutes before the surgery, already on my way to the hospital. I sat in the driver's seat, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. My phone buzzed, and Cole's name flashed across the screen. "Vera, where are you? "The patient's about to deliver. The family asked for you by name. They came here specifically for your reputation. "Everything's prepped on this end. We're just waiting on you!" His voice was strained and urgent, nothing like the calm, collected surgeon everyone knew him to be. Chapter 2 I knew exactly why he sounded like that. The patient was already dead, killed by the hands of his precious junior, Nina. He was rushing to get me there so I could take the blame. "Traffic," I said. My voice came out so flat it sounded foreign even to me. "Then hurry up! This is the moment that matters. You finish this surgery and your deputy director nomination will be locked in. "Once that happens, my parents won't fight the engagement anymore. Just get here. Fast!" He had dropped his voice low, like he was dangling a reward. In my last life, that was the exact line that had fooled me. I had rushed to the hospital like an idiot, straight into the trap he had dug for me. I hung up and checked the time. It was 9:26 pm, 26 minutes until the surgery that had killed me. I sat in the driver's seat, my fingers trembling beyond my control. The final images from my last life were still cycling through my head. I could still see the needle sliding into a vein, my parents falling from the rooftop, Cole on the witness stand telling the court I had been snatching up surgeries like a woman possessed, all for a title. The moment I stepped into that operating room before 9:52 pm, every last piece of evidence would lock around me like a cage. No. Not this time. I would not make the same mistake twice. The question was what to do now. I could not go to the hospital. I could not enter the operating room. I could not go anywhere near that surgery. They had accounted for every step. The moment I showed up, I would be walking into the net myself. The chain of evidence would close on its own, and I would not even have room to struggle. I drew a long breath and forced myself to think clearly. I needed an airtight alibi for 9:52 pm, something ironclad that could withstand any attempt to frame me and make every piece of his careful planning collapse into nothing. I looked up through the windshield. A traffic officer was directing cars away from the intersection ahead. An idea took shape in my mind. I would injure myself and be taken to the emergency room. Then I would be lying on someone else's operating table. That was the only way. At 9:52 pm, doctors, nurses, and security cameras would all have me recorded in the ER, not in an operating room where someone could pin a murder on me. One hand in exchange for my life. It was the only way out. I did not hesitate. I gritted my teeth and slammed my right arm into the steering wheel. A sharp crack filled the car. I felt the bone snap. Pain exploded through my arm all at once, and cold sweat poured out of every pore. My vision went black and I nearly passed out. I fought through the agony, reaching over with my left hand to slam the horn twice. A broken arm made me a patient. There was no way I could scrub in to deliver a baby. The traffic officer noticed immediately and jogged over to my window. "What happened? Do you need help?" I was beyond words. My face had gone white and sweat covered my forehead. All I could manage was to point at my right arm with my left hand. The officer took one look at the unnatural angle and his expression shifted. "Is that broken? How did that happen?" I could not answer. I just shook my head through the pain. He did not waste another second. He grabbed his radio and called it in. "Injured driver at the intersection. Right arm fracture. Requesting emergency response." The ambulance arrived quickly. I was lifted onto a stretcher and rushed toward the hospital, red and blue lights flashing overhead, sirens blaring the entire way. I lay on the stretcher drenched in cold sweat, my right arm burning like it was on fire. However, the weight that had been crushing my chest finally lifted. At 9:52 pm, I would be in the emergency room myself. No matter how perfectly they had staged everything, they could not put me in two places at once. Ten minutes later, I was wheeled into a treatment room. Doctors and nurses crowded around me and cut my sleeve open. They took X-rays, administered anesthesia and began setting the bone. People moved in and out of the room the entire time. The pain had me shaking from head to toe, but I stayed conscious through every second of it. Chapter 3 I glanced up at the clock. It was 9:49 pm, three minutes until the falsified time of death that Cole had fabricated for the patient. In my last life, I had been walking into the operating room at this exact moment, captured perfectly on the surveillance footage. Combined with the fingerprint evidence Cole had planted, I never stood a chance. This time, I was in a treatment room. Two police officers, three medical staff, and seven security cameras could all confirm exactly where I was. "Sign here," the nurse said, handing me the hospital admission form. I stole a glance at the clock on the wall. It read 9:52 pm, the precise moment Cole had fabricated as the patient's time of death in my last life. I signed my name and submitted the form. The timestamp read 9:52 pm. It was done. At the exact minute the patient died, I was in the treatment room with surveillance footage, medical records and a full staff of witnesses documenting every second. Cole could talk until he lost his voice and it would not matter. He could not put me in two places at once. I was about to let out a breath of relief when my phone rang. It was Cole. I glanced at the screen and let it ring. He had to be losing his mind right about now. His precious junior had botched the surgery and killed a mother along with her unborn child, and the woman he had lined up to take the fall was nowhere to be found. He deserved every second of it. I turned my phone off. By the time they finished setting the bone and putting on the cast, it was past 10:00 pm. I leaned back against the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling. In my last life, the police had already taken me away by now and the news had already broken, with headlines screaming that the state hospital's OB-GYN chief had caused a fatal surgical error. This time around, I had never set foot in that operating room. I was alive and I was clean. My parents were not going to die. I closed my eyes. I had no idea what was happening on the surgical floor, but I could guess. Cole was not sitting idle. He had almost certainly shifted his plan and was already trying to pin the malpractice charge on me. Sure enough, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway moments later. The door swung open and a uniformed officer stepped in at the front of the group. "Vera Stanton?" He flashed his badge. "Criminal investigation division, city police. We just received a report of a medical incident at this hospital resulting in a patient's death. You've been named as the surgeon responsible for the procedural violation. We need you to come with us." Every nurse in the room froze. I did not. If anything, I felt an unusual calm settle over me, because I had already been through this once. The only difference was that this time, I had never gone near the operating room, and I had every piece of proof I needed to show it. "A medical incident?" I put on a look of genuine confusion. "What medical incident?" "One hour ago, at 9:52 pm, a patient died on your operating table during a surgery you performed. The cause of death was cardiac arrest triggered by an anesthetic overdose." The detective delivered every word without inflection. "The attending surgeon, Cole Barrett, has identified you as the one who performed the procedure. Your fingerprints were also found on the syringe used to administer the anesthesia." I listened to every word without interrupting. It was identical to my last life, down to the smallest detail. Back then, this was the moment I had fallen apart. I would have been scrambling to explain myself, desperate and frantic. This time, I just looked up at him. "You said the patient's time of death was when, exactly?" The detective paused, caught slightly off guard. "Surgical records indicate 9:52 pm." I nearly laughed. That was the exact minute I had signed my admission form. The detective did not wait for a response. He gestured to the officers behind him. "Take her to headquarters for questioning." Just then, one of the nurses stepped forward and blocked their path. "Hold on."