Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Pediatric Ward
The smell of antiseptic greeted me,
a familiar scent that usually brought me peace.
But today,
it felt like a reminder of the blood and the toil.
I followed Zachary through the corridors.
The nurses stared at me.
I was still in my wedding dress,
after all.
A tattered,
stained white gown,
trailing behind me like a ghost.
"Dr. Miller?"
one of the residents,
Marcus,
called out.
"You're... you're back?"
"Is there a problem with Paisley?"
I shook my head.
"No,"
I said,
my voice clipping the words short.
"I'm just checking on my patient."
Marcus looked at my dress,
then at Zachary,
then back at me.
He was smart enough not to ask the questions burning in his eyes.
We reached the pediatric intensive care unit.
Through the glass,
I saw her.
Paisley.
She looked so small in the big bed.
Machines hummed around her,
monitoring the life I had fought to keep inside her body.
Her father walked to her side and took her hand.
He looked up at me,
gesturing for me to enter.
I stepped into the room.
The silence here was sacred.
I checked the monitors.
Heart rate was steady.
Oxygen saturation was perfect.
The drainage from her surgical site was minimal.
"She's a fighter,"
I whispered,
running a hand over her forehead.
"She has her father's spirit,"
Zachary said.
He looked at me over the bed.
"You saved my world, Samantha."
"I don't say that lightly."
"I lost my wife three years ago in a car accident."
"If I had lost Paisley..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
The depth of his grief was visible in the lines around his eyes.
"I know what it's like to lose everything,"
he continued.
"And I know what it looks like when someone is trying to take what's left of you."
I looked down at the child.
She was the reason I wasn't married right now.
She was the reason my life had imploded.
And looking at her,
I didn't regret it for a single second.
"They can keep the wedding,"
I said,
the resolve hardening in my chest.
"They can keep the party."
"But they won't keep my dignity."
"And they won't keep my money."
Zachary stood up straight.
"I've already had my assistant look into the Foster family."
"Andrew works for a mid-level accounting firm."
"His mother is deep in debt from a failed boutique."
"They needed your salary, Samantha."
"They needed your reputation."
I felt a chill.
"Then why marry Gemma?"
"Because Gemma’s father just inherited a significant estate,"
Zachary explained.
"Or at least,"
"that’s what they think."
"It seems your 'best friend' has been lying to them as much as they've been lying to you."
I almost laughed.
It was a comedy of errors.
A den of thieves stealing from each other.
"So,"
"they think they've hit the jackpot,"
I said.
"Exactly,"
Zachary replied.
"But I happen to know the executor of that estate."
"And Gemma Salas is not getting a dime."
I looked at him,
stunned.
"Who are you, Zachary?"
He smiled,
a small,
dangerous tilt of the lips.
"Someone who hates bullies."
"And someone who owes a very large debt to a very talented surgeon."
Just then,
my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text from Andrew.
"We’re at the house."
"Your things are in the garage."
"Don’t make this difficult, Sam."
"We just want to start our lives in peace."
'Our' house.
The house I had paid the deposit for.
The house where I had picked out the curtains.
"They're at my house,"
I told Zachary.
"They've put my things in the garage."
Zachary pulled his own phone out.
"How fast can you get a locksmith?"
he asked,
not to me,
but to someone on the other end of the line.
"No,"
"I want the best."
May you like
"And call my security team."
"We're going to a house warming party."
