My son was suffering from an aortic dissection and needed immediate surgery. My wife, Emily Walker, was a renowned cardiac specialist. But I didn’t call her. Instead, I hailed a cab and rushed straight to the hospital. In my previous life, I had begged her to return with the ambulance to save our son. She had arranged the hospital bed and prepared for surgery. But because Emily forgot her phone that day, her childhood friend, Alex Shea, who was suffering a heart attack, couldn’t reach her. He died in the ambulance. Emily disappeared for three months after that. When she came back, she seemed normal on the surface. She even volunteered to cook for our son’s birthday party. But she had laced the food with drugs. Then, she pinned me to the ground, gripping my neck as she slit my throat. “This is all your fault!” she screamed. “If I hadn’t gone back for our son, Alex wouldn’t be dead! Your entire family is to blame, and you all deserve to pay for it!” When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day my son’s heart condition first struck. This time, Emily answered Alex’s call. But little did she know, she would one day beg me for forgiveness.
“Mr. Walker, I understand how worried you must be, but there really aren’t any available beds,” said Sue Tanner, one of Emily’s colleagues and today’s attending physician. After being reborn, the first thing I had done was drive my son to the hospital. But Sue didn’t even glance at my son before blocking us from entering the cardiac unit. My son was crying silently. He had been too weak to even say he was in pain during the car ride. My mother was panicked, pacing back and forth. “What do you mean there are no beds? I just saw an empty bed in there! Can’t we use that one?” Sue didn’t even flinch. “That bed is already reserved for another patient.” My mother’s face flushed with anger. “Reserved? Since when can hospital beds be reserved? Isn’t it first come, first served? My grandson is seriously ill! How can you just turn him away? What kind of doctor are you?” Sue’s expression turned icy. “Calm down. I don’t see anything about him that looks like a heart condition. Do you know how long people wait for a bed here? Why should he be treated immediately just because you walked in?” Turning her attention to me, she added, “Mr. Walker, I don’t want to make this any uglier than it needs to be. But if you keep this up, I’ll have no choice but to call security.” Her words carried a thinly veiled disgust, as if we were pulling some sort of scam. In just a few minutes, a crowd had gathered. Whispers started to spread. “Everyone here has waited weeks for a bed. Who do they think they are, demanding one right away?” “Faking an illness to jump the line? Why don’t they just buy the whole hospital if they’re so entitled?” The insults kept coming. My son lay trembling in my mother’s arms, his body drenched in sweat. His small voice broke through the noise. “Dad, Grandma… it hurts so much. Please… help me.” Hearing his words felt like a knife stabbing into my chest. The pain reached all the way to my skull. But no matter how desperate his condition, Sue refused to believe he had an aortic dissection. My mom, on the verge of tears, pleaded with her. “Please, doctor, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Just take a look at my grandson. He’s in so much pain.” Sue crossed her arms, her tone growing even colder. “Hospital policy is clear: no admission, no treatment.” My mother, now completely distraught, raised her fists as if to strike. I quickly stepped in to stop her. Looking Sue directly in the eye, I said firmly, “Sue, my son doesn’t have a regular heart condition. He has an aortic dissection. You know how critical this is. He needs surgery immediately.” My tone must have startled her because she finally dropped her nonchalant demeanor. But then she laughed. “You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you, Evan?” she sneered. “Did Google not tell you that kids don’t get aortic dissections? When Emily told me you’d do anything to take Alex’s bed, I didn’t believe her. But using your own child in this ridiculous charade? That’s beyond disgusting.” Her words dripped with contempt. I didn’t have time to argue. I knew how urgent my son’s condition was. An aortic dissection is rare enough in adults, with a one-in-100,000 chance of occurring and a nearly 100% fatality rate if untreated. In children, it’s almost unheard of. The only doctor in the country capable of performing this surgery was the head of this very department. I couldn’t afford to lose my temper or waste another second explaining. I glanced at my son, his lips turning blue from the pain. A wave of despair washed over me, stealing the air from my lungs. I knew Sue wouldn’t admit him. Clenching my teeth, I turned and ran straight to the head nurse’s office.
The cardiology department where Emily Walker worked was one of the most renowned in the country. Patients lined up for weeks, even months, just to get a chance at treatment. And yet, no matter how full the hospital was, there was always one empty bed reserved in the department. That bed wasn’t for emergencies. It was for Alex Shea, Emily’s childhood friend. In my previous life, when my son suddenly developed a heart condition, I called Emily, desperate for help. At first, she told me there were no available beds. But after my repeated begging, she finally agreed to let my son use that reserved bed temporarily. She even came back with the ambulance to ensure he was admitted. But in the half hour she spent helping our son, Alex suffered a heart attack. He tried calling Emily, but she didn’t have her phone on her. He died in the ambulance. Emily didn’t return home after that. She disappeared for three months. When she finally came back, our son had already recovered and been discharged from the hospital. Emily resigned from her prestigious position, saying she wanted to spend more time with our family. She drove me to work every day, cooked meals for us, and helped our son with his homework every evening. I thought she had finally let go of her grief and found her way back to us. But on our son’s birthday, she poisoned all of us. My son and my mother died in agony. As for me, she injected me with something to keep me conscious. Then she drove me to Alex’s grave and forced me to kneel, demanding I apologize to him. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. Alex had always had a weak heart. Even after his heart transplant, he refused to take his medication, which led to frequent heart failure. The day he died, he had a heart attack but didn’t call 911 right away. By the time his neighbor found him and called an ambulance, Alex insisted on being taken to Emily’s hospital, 30 kilometers away, instead of the one just down the street from his home. I couldn’t understand why Emily blamed me for everything. “He did this to himself,” I told her. But Emily wouldn’t hear it. Tears streaming down her face, she screamed, “Our son was fine! How does a child suddenly develop a heart condition? You did something to make me miss Alex’s call that day! You killed him!” “Evan, I’ve told you over and over—Alex and I were just friends. But you couldn’t leave him alone. You pushed him to this! He stopped taking his medication because of you! If anyone deserves to die, it’s you!” I couldn’t comprehend her twisted logic. But she didn’t give me the chance to explain. “You killed Alex,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “Now you’ll know what it feels like to die of a broken heart.” With that, she sliced into my chest with a scalpel and crushed my heart with her bare hands. The memory of that pain still lingered, sharp and vivid. I shuddered at the thought, snapping back to the present. My son’s fragile condition was the only thing on my mind. Bursting into the head nurse’s office, I fell to my knees. “Please, Nurse Carter,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “I know you can assign beds. We don’t even need a room—just let us stay in the hallway. My son has an aortic dissection. Dr. Lee is the only one in the city who can perform the surgery. Please, I’m begging you—save my son!” I dropped my head to the ground, bowing so hard that the sound echoed in the room. The head nurse hesitated, her expression softening. Finally, she picked up her phone and started walking toward the door. But before she could leave, Sue Tanner stepped in front of her. “Nurse Carter, you’re not seriously falling for this, are you?” Sue said with a snide grin. “Can’t you see he’s just putting on a show?” Then she turned to me, her tone dripping with contempt. “Let me tell you something about Evan,” she said loudly, ensuring everyone in the surrounding area could hear. “Back when Emily was planning to move abroad with her first love, Alex, Evan sent an anonymous letter to sabotage them. He even used his father, the hospital director, to pressure Emily into marrying him instead. “This man will do anything to get his way. And now, he’s using his kid to play the victim. For all we know, his son doesn’t even have an aortic dissection. Maybe he hurt the boy himself just to make this look convincing.” Nurse Carter lowered her phone, visibly hesitant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walker,” she said gently. “Without a formal diagnosis, I can’t admit your son. It’s hospital policy.” My heart plummeted. I thought that by not calling Emily, she would stay with Alex, and the tragedy from my past life wouldn’t repeat itself. But I hadn’t expected her to go this far—to instruct her colleagues to block my son from being admitted. Just as despair began to consume me, I heard my mother scream. “Evan! Hurry! It’s Little Nick—he’s not breathing!”
I bolted forward. My son was slumped over my mother’s shoulder, his small arm hanging lifelessly. I reached out to feel his carotid artery. Nothing. No pulse. My heart clenched, and my mind went blank. Instinctively, I shouted, “Lay him flat on the ground! Quickly!” My mother gently lowered him to the floor. I dropped to my knees and started performing CPR on my son. I pressed down on his chest, keeping my movements steady, while my mother turned to the nurses’ station. She fell to her knees, crying and begging, “Please, help us! My grandson is dying! Are you really going to just stand there and watch?” The crowd of onlookers fell silent, their expressions frozen in shock. One of the nurses hesitated, clearly wanting to help, but once again, Sue Tanner stepped in to block her. “Please don’t interfere with hospital operations,” Sue said coldly, as if we were merely a nuisance. Even without assistance, I kept going. After a few agonizing minutes, I felt my son’s pulse return. His eyelids fluttered, and he let out a weak whisper. “Dad…” Relief surged through me. Tears streamed down my face as I hugged him tightly. But as the realization hit me—that my son had nearly died right there on the floor of a hospital—I felt an ache so deep it was suffocating. “Dad,” my son said softly, his voice trembling. “Am I going to die? Isn’t this where Mom works? Why isn’t she helping me?” His innocent words pierced through the air, silencing everyone around us. I saw a few people in the crowd wipe tears from their eyes. Finally, someone spoke. “Dr. Tanner, this doesn’t seem fake. Maybe you should take a look at the boy,” a man suggested hesitantly. “Yeah,” a woman chimed in. “This could be serious. Just examine him—if it’s all fake, then fine, but what if it’s not?” The crowd began pleading on our behalf, but Sue remained unmoved. “Evan,” she sneered, “you’ve really gone all out, haven’t you? What’s next? Practicing CPR at home to perfect this performance? Too bad your technique is so sloppy.” She crossed her arms and continued, “Besides, Emily’s with Alex right now. Your little drama here is pointless.” I couldn’t believe it. Even after everything, Sue still didn’t believe my son was truly sick. Anger boiled inside me. “Sue,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “what have I ever done to you to deserve this ridicule? Even if I’ve made mistakes, there are laws to hold me accountable. But what about my son? What has he done to deserve this? You call yourself a doctor, but you refuse to even examine a patient. Do you even deserve to wear that white coat?” My words struck a nerve, and the crowd erupted again. “He’s right! Who would use their own child to fake something like this?” “Exactly! If you think it’s fake, prove it! Just use a stethoscope and check!” For the first time, Sue hesitated. Her face darkened, and she reluctantly pulled out her stethoscope. She leaned down, finally ready to listen to my son’s heartbeat. But before she could, her phone rang. She answered it immediately. “Emily? Where are you? Your husband is causing a scene in the department,” Sue said, her voice laced with irritation. Hearing that name sent a chill down my spine. The voice on the other end was cold. “I’m with Alex. He’s been admitted,” Emily said. “Kick them out. I’ll deal with them after Alex is stable.” There was a brief pause before Emily added, “And that bed? It’s reserved for Alex. Nobody else touches it.” Hearing those words, my mother broke into uncontrollable sobs. “Emily, are you insane? That’s your own son! How can you let him die? Don’t you have any sense of guilt?” she screamed into the phone. Emily let out a bitter laugh. “No one is more important than Alex. If my son has to die, then so be it.” I quickly covered my son’s ears, but I was too late. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with confusion and pain. “Dad… why does Mom want me to die?” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could I possibly say to him? Emily hung up the phone. Sue looked down at me with a smug expression. “You heard her,” she said. “Now take your son and leave. Stop embarrassing yourself.” Just then, I saw a familiar figure at the door. It was Nurse Carter, and she wasn’t alone. Standing beside her was Dr. Lee, the department head. My heart leapt with hope. Holding my son tightly, I ran toward them. “Dr. Lee, please! Look at my son! Dr. Tanner refused to admit him. I think he has an aortic dissection, but no one will listen!” Dr. Lee didn’t hesitate. She placed the stethoscope on my son’s chest, her expression growing darker with every passing second. Sue followed, her voice dripping with condescension. “Dr. Lee, don’t waste your time. Children don’t get aortic dissections. This woman is just making things up.” But before Sue could finish, Dr. Lee straightened up, her face grim. She handed my son to a nearby nurse and barked out orders. “Get the OR ready. This child has an aortic dissection,” she said sharply. Then she turned to Sue, her eyes cold. “Who told you children can’t have this condition? Sue Tanner, do you realize you almost cost this boy his life?”
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