The Surgeon's Lethal Mistake

I accompanied my pregnant best friend to the hospital for her prenatal checkup and decided to drop by to see my husband, a surgeon who rarely came home because of "overtime." I pushed open the door to the on-call room. There he was. My surgeon husband, pinning a young nurse beneath him on the cot. Hearing the door swing open, he quickly pulled his white coat over the woman's face to shield her. He spun toward me, eyes blazing with fury. "This is a sterile area! Get the hell out of here, and take your trash friend with you!" "Do you still want me to perform your mother's surgery tomorrow? Don't test me, or I'll postpone it! Let's see if she gets operated on then!" My friend went pale, clutching her belly in silence, terrified. I just stood there. Slowly, deliberately, I slid the wedding ring off my finger. And tossed it straight into the biohazard bin beside me. He was indeed the lead surgeon scheduled for tomorrow's operation. Only, the person waiting on that table for her life to be saved was his own mother. The ring hit the edge of the plastic bin with a sharp clatter. Ethan glanced at the trash can, not showing the slightest hint of panic. "Natalie, how much longer are you going to keep up this pathetic act?" "First it was throwing tantrums and threatening your life, and now you're throwing your ring away?" "Let me tell you something: this shit doesn't work on me. Pick it up, wipe it off, and get the hell out." He sounded completely justified, as if I were the one caught cheating. The little nurse hiding in his arms finally poked her head out. It was Chloe. She casually smoothed down her rumpled collar, her cheeks flushed pink. "Oh, Natalie, don't jump to conclusions." "Dr. Miller was just coaching me on clinical procedures. Causing a scene like this is terrible for the department." "Besides, Dr. Miller has a major surgery tomorrow. He needs his rest. Acting so immature... no wonder he never wants to come home." The two of them played off each other seamlessly. I looked at Ethan. This was the man I had loved for three whole years. I had hidden my status as an heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire, played the dutiful housewife, and pulled strings with my family's elite connections behind the scenes to elevate his career. And this was the piece of garbage I got in return. I took a deep breath, giving him one final chance. "Ethan, tomorrow's surgery is critical." "The patient is in extremely dangerous condition. You're the lead surgeon. Now isn't the time to fool around." Ethan scoffed as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. He let go of Chloe, stepped right up to me, and shoved a finger almost into my face. "Dangerous? That hypochondriac mother of yours is always in 'dangerous' condition, isn't she?" "Last time it was dizziness, the time before that was chest tightness, and now it's heart disease?" "Natalie, the two of you will stoop to literally anything just to drag me back home." "Let me make this crystal clear. Either you get on your knees and apologize to me right now, or tomorrow's surgery is off." "Let that old hag rot on the operating table!" I froze. He hadn't even checked the surgical board. He had no idea that the first patient scheduled for tomorrow morning was his own flesh-and-blood mother—the woman who had sacrificed everything to raise him! I stared at him, looking at him as if he were already a corpse. "Ethan, remember every single word you said today." My best friend was shaking with rage, about to lunge forward and tear into the two of them. I caught her arm and held her back. Making a scene in a hospital would only give him leverage to twist the narrative against us. Besides, this room was filthy. Seeing me stay quiet, Ethan assumed I was backing down. He wrapped his arm around Chloe's waist and kissed her right in front of me. "I'm taking Chloe to a 'medical seminar' tonight so I can unwind." "Go home and reflect on your behavior. If I don't see a hot breakfast ready for me tomorrow morning, don't even dream about your mother setting foot in that OR." With that, he brushed roughly past my shoulder, clutching Chloe, and strutted away. I pulled out my phone. I didn't send a pleading text like I used to. Instead, I opened a contact I hadn't messaged in a very long time—the director of St. Jude's Medical Center. [Director Anderson, I'm requesting to immediately remove Dr. Ethan Miller as the lead surgeon for tomorrow morning's first cardiothoracic procedure.] Right as I hit send, a hand darted out and violently snatched the phone from my grip. Ethan had somehow turned back. Without even looking at the screen, he slammed my phone onto the floor. Crack. The glass shattered into spiderwebs. He ground his shoe into the wreckage, crushing the phone and the SIM card beneath his heel. "Running to tell on me again? Natalie, you seriously need to be put in your place." "Stop playing games. If I don't operate tomorrow, your mother is dead." Dropping his vicious threat, he turned on his heel and walked away for good. I crouched down, picking up the mangled SIM card. Watching his receding back, I whispered under my breath: "Ethan, don't you dare regret this."Three in the morning. The hospital corridor was dead quiet, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of cardiac monitors. Suddenly, the steady rhythm spiked wildly. Ethan's mother's condition was crashing. The on-duty nurse burst out of the room, shouting, "Bed three family! The patient is in ventricular fibrillation! We need to resuscitate immediately!" I shot up from the bench, my legs numb. "Where's the doctor? Where's the lead surgeon?" I grabbed the nurse's hand. Sweat poured down the nurse's face. "We can't reach Dr. Miller! His phone is turned off!" My heart plunged into an icy abyss. That was Ethan's mother. As much as I despised Ethan, Mrs. Miller was innocent. Over the past three years, she was the only one in that family who had genuinely treated me with warmth and love. Knowing her son neglected me, she would always find ways to cook nourishing stews for me and sneak her pension money into my hands. She would say, "Natalie, Ethan doesn't know how blessed he is. Let Mom make it up to you." I couldn't just stand by and watch her die. I immediately grabbed my friend's phone and dialed Ethan's number. Once, twice, three times. Finally, the call connected. What came through the speaker wasn't hospital noise, but the sound of ocean waves crashing against rocks. Along with a woman's breathless, breathy moans. "Mmh... Dr. Miller... be gentle..." Followed immediately by Ethan's furious, irritated roar: "Natalie! Are you out of your mind?!" "Calling me in the middle of the night from a burner number—what is wrong with you?" I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking and trembling: "Ethan! Your mom is dying!" "She's on the crash cart! Heart failure! You're her lead surgeon, get back here right now!" There was a second of dead silence on the line. Then, a burst of mocking laughter erupted. Chloe's voice chimed in: "Wow, Natalie, you're quite the storyteller." "Inventing sick curses about an elderly woman just to trick Ethan into coming home?" "Mrs. Miller is in great shape! She sent me a SnapChat just two days ago saying she went out line dancing." Ethan scoffed coldly. "Hear that, Natalie? Your pathetic lies make me sick." "Even if something happens to my mother, it'll be because you worked her up!" "Don't you dare call me again, or I swear I'll drag your entire family down to hell with you!" Click. He hung up without hesitation. Right then, my friend's phone buzzed with a notification. Ethan had just updated his Instagram story. [Embracing the ocean, leaving the noise and the crazy woman behind. The moon looks gorgeous tonight, and you happen to be right by my side.] Attached was an intimate photo of him and Chloe at an oceanfront luxury villa. In front of a floor-to-ceiling window, the two of them were draped in bathrobes, their distorted, smug smiles reflected in glasses of red wine. Staring at that picture, the tears wouldn't fall. Instead, I let out a laugh. A laugh born from the absolute depths of despair. Ethan, you just severed your mother's final lifeline with your own two hands. I turned around and sank to my knees outside the operating room, clasping my hands together. But I wasn't praying to any god. I pulled out a backup phone and dialed a number I had kept hidden away for years. "Professor Vance, I'm begging you. Please scrub in." "Save my mother-in-law." That was Professor Vance, the nation's foremost pioneer in cardiothoracic surgery, a legend who had retired his scalpel years ago. He was also my mentor. Ten minutes later, the roar of a helicopter echoed over the hospital's rooftop helipad. The entire medical staff watched in utter shock. They watched in awe as the living legend, flanked by an elite surgical team, stormed into the operating room. The OR lights burned through the dark all night long. And outside, I sat frozen like a stone statue.The OR light finally shut off. Professor Vance pushed the doors open, pulled down his mask, his gray brows tightly furrowed. "Natalie, we did everything we could." "If we had operated two hours earlier, she might have had a fighting chance." "Now... we've only managed to stabilize her temporarily. Her vital organs suffered severe damage. I'm afraid she doesn't have much time left." My vision spun, and I had to lean against the wall just to stay on my feet. "How long?" "Three days. At most." I clenched my jaw, tears brimming in my eyes, refusing to let them spill over. Three days. Ethan had traded his arrogance and selfishness for the final countdown of his mother's life. Mrs. Miller was wheeled back out and placed in a private VIP ICU suite. I had used my family's influence to arrange it. At noon the next day, Mrs. Miller opened her eyes. Looking through clouded vision, her very first words were: "Where's Ethan? Did... did Ethan do the surgery?" A sharp pang hit my nose, my throat choking up as if stuffed with cotton. I didn't dare tell her the truth. I was terrified that the truth would snatch away her last breath right then and there. "Mom, Ethan... he was tied up with an emergency patient. Professor Vance performed your surgery. He's the best authority in the country." I lied, trying to give her one last shred of comfort. But paper can never hold fire. The nurse changing her IV didn't realize what was happening and muttered under her breath while adjusting the drip: "Dr. Miller really has no heart. His own mother is in critical condition, yet he's posting photos vacationing at a beach resort." "And that little nurse, too—wearing practically nothing. Doesn't she get cold?" Mrs. Miller's gaze instantly hardened. "What did you just say?" Her hand shook violently, reaching out to grab the nurse's scrub sleeve. The nurse jumped, finally realizing she had slipped up, and clamped her hand over her mouth before scrambling out of the room. Mrs. Miller turned her head, fixing her eyes on me. "Natalie. Phone... let me see it." I shook my head frantically. "Mom, don't look. It's just a misunderstanding—" "Give it to me!" She poured every ounce of strength into that shout, immediately collapsing into a fit of violent, rattling coughs. Unable to bear defying her, my trembling fingers pulled up the screenshot of that post. In the picture, her own son had his arm around that home-wrecker, smiling so brightly. And the words "crazy woman" in the caption stabbed like daggers straight into the heart. "Cough—" Staring at the screen, Mrs. Miller coughed up a dark clot of blood. It splattered across the snow-white sheets. "Monster... ungrateful monster!" Tears streamed down her withered face. "I pinched every penny to put him through school, sent him to medical school, and I raised an ungrateful wolf!" "Natalie, Mom failed you... Mom was blind..." She gripped my hand tight. "A lawyer... call my lawyer..." The last trace of warmth in Mrs. Miller's eyes died, replaced by a cold, resolute fury. It was the chilling clarity of a mother who had completely severed all love for her son. The lawyer arrived quickly. Using every ounce of her fading strength, Mrs. Miller demanded a full video-recorded notarization. Propped against the headboard, her face ashen and gray, her voice rang out with shocking clarity. "I, Martha Miller, of sound mind and disposing memory, declare this my last will and testament." "My two downtown properties, all my savings, and the Miller family heirloom jade bracelet..." She paused, taking a ragged, wheezing breath. "Shall all be bequeathed entirely to my daughter-in-law, Natalie Brooks, and my grandson, Noah Miller." "As for my son, Ethan Miller..." Martha closed her eyes as two streams of clear tears traced her cheeks. From beneath her pillow, she pulled out a single one-dollar bill that she had tucked away earlier. Her trembling hand held it up before the camera lens. "I leave him this one dollar." "Consider it the final buyout of our bond." "From this moment on, he is no son of mine. I never birthed that monster!"Even the lawyer was stunned, repeatedly asking for confirmation. "Mrs. Miller, are you absolutely certain? This completely disinherits your only son." Martha opened her eyes, looking dead into the camera, every word dripping with agony and fury: "I am certain." "For a side chick, he left his own mother to die on the operating table." "He took the money meant to save my life and blew it on luxury vacations." "He doesn't deserve to be called human, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve a cent of my money!" Once the will was finalized, it felt as though the last drop of life was drained from her body. She slumped back onto the mattress, her gaze turning hazy. "Natalie, where's Noah? I want to see my grandson." Noah was my child with Ethan. Because Ethan complained that babies were too loud and ruined his beauty sleep, Noah had been staying with my parents. Ethan had barely ever held his own flesh and blood. I immediately had someone bring Noah over. A two-year-old didn't understand mortality, but he could sense his grandmother's profound sadness. He leaned against the edge of the mattress, patting her tear-stained cheek with his chubby little hand. "Grandma, don't cry. Noah make it all better." Martha's trembling fingers stroked Noah's soft hair, the faintest ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Good boy... always listen to your mama..." "Don't you ever grow up to be like that bastard of a father..." I stood at her bedside, my heart twisting in absolute agony. And at that very moment, Ethan was lounging on a sunny beach, basking in the tropical breeze. He had no idea he had already lost everything. His retribution had only just begun. I took out my phone and blocked Ethan on every platform. Since you love vanishing into thin air, let's make sure you disappear from our lives forever. Martha held on until late into the third night. The monitors suddenly went berserk, alarms shrieking through the quiet room. Doctors rushed in to resuscitate, but in my heart, I knew she was slipping away. In her final moments, her eyes grew unfocused, her hands pawing weakly at the empty air. Her lips moved faintly, mumbling, "Ethan... Ethan..." It was a mother's instinct. No matter how deeply she had been wounded, before drawing her last breath, she still longed to hear her child's voice. Seeing the old woman in such torment, my heart shattered into pieces. No matter how much I despised Ethan, I couldn't deny a dying mother her final wish. I borrowed a phone from a nursing assistant and dialed Ethan's number. This was his very last chance. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. Deafening party music blasted through the receiver, accompanied by laughter and rowdy chatter. Chloe's lazy, tipsy voice drifted through: "Who is it? Ruining the vibe in the middle of the night." I took a deep breath, keeping my voice terrifyingly calm: "Put Ethan on the phone." "Mom is slipping away. She wants to hear his voice one last time." The line went quiet for a beat, followed by Ethan's drunken, enraged snarl: "Natalie? Do you ever stop haunting me?!" "You think changing your number means I won't recognize you?" "You're actually hooked on this dying-mother roleplay just to get me to come back?" "Mom's slipping away? More like you're losing your damn mind!" I hit the speaker button and held the phone right beside Martha's ear. Ethan's venomous words echoed through the silent ICU room, crystal clear. "If the old hag really dies, it's a blessing!" "Saves me from hearing her endless nagging! I'm sick of it!" "Go drop dead! Stop ruining my drinks!" Click. He hung up again. Martha's hand froze mid-air. The last flicker of light in her clouded eyes snuffed out completely. Two bloody tears trickled down from the corners of her eyes. Beeeeeeeep— The monitor let out a long, piercing flatline tone. The heart rate leveled out into a straight line. Martha was gone. She passed away carrying an eternity of sorrow and utter despair toward her own son. The room fell into a heavy, dead silence. I didn't cry. I just stood there, looking at Martha's face, reaching out gently to close her eyelids. "Rest in peace, Mom." "Leave the rest to me." I walked out of the room and stopped before the window at the end of the corridor. Outside, thousands of city lights sparkled, but not a single one belonged to Ethan. My phone buzzed. It was a taunting text from Chloe: [Ethan said if you dare harass us again, he'll divorce you the second we get back and kick you out with nothing.] [If you know what's good for you, pack your bags and leave. Stop hogging the title of Dr. Miller's wife when you're useless.] I stared down at the text. Tears finally fell from my eyes, but a cold smile curled on my lips. I typed back: [Whatever you say.] I wasn't just going to divorce him. I was going to strip him of his reputation, strip him of his wealth, and make him beg on his knees before me.