My dad was in the ICU, kept alive by a ventilator. Through the viewing window, I watched Nurse Tiffany pull out my dad’s breathing tube, lift her phone, and flash a triumphant grin at his face. I burst in like a maniac, but she calmly reinserted the tube, smiling sweetly yet maliciously at me. “He’s dying anyway. Why not make a contribution?” I called the police and went to President Thompson, but the entire hospital hailed her as a hero dedicated to saving lives. I, they said, was an ungrateful lunatic. Until I crashed her awards ceremony, slamming a piece of evidence onto the projector screen. “Beep—beep—beep—” In the ICU, the cold beeping of the machines echoed like a grim prophecy, each sound hammering at my chest. My dad lay on the hospital bed, tubes running in and out of him. The only sign he was still alive was the faint, fluctuating line on the monitor. I only got half an hour of visiting time each day. Through the thick glass, I stared at my dad’s face, greedy for every moment, praying for a miracle. Today, a young nurse named Tiffany was assigned to my dad’s room. She had a sweet look with two dimples, seemingly harmless. But just as I was about to leave, something out of the corner of my eye made my blood run cold. Tiffany approached my dad’s bed and grabbed the ventilator tube near his mouth. I thought she was performing routine care, and my heart tightened. But the next second, she pulled the tube out without hesitation. The heart rate and oxygen levels on the monitor plummeted instantly, triggering a piercing alarm. And she—she pulled out her phone, aimed it at my dad’s bluish-purple face and the plummeting numbers on the screen, then flashed a triumphant grin. “Click.” She took the photo. “What the hell are you doing?!” Like a crazed lioness, I burst through the ICU door and charged in. The doctors and nurses at the station jumped at my shout and all turned to look. Tiffany looked startled by my sudden entrance, but there wasn’t a trace of panic on her face. Unfazed, she calmly reinserted the breathing tube before I could reach the bedside. The alarm stopped, and my dad’s vitals slowly started to climb, but his face had grown even paler and more lifeless than before. My heart felt squeezed by an invisible fist, a pain so sharp I could barely catch my breath. “Why did you pull out my dad’s tube?!” I stared her down, my voice shaking with rage. Tiffany batted her big, innocent eyes, her sweet face showing a hint of wounded indignation. “Charlotte, you’ve got this all wrong. There was a mucus blockage in the patient’s tube—I was suctioning it. Standard procedure.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but loud enough for the colleagues gathering at the door to hear clearly. “Does standard procedure involve taking photos for Snapchat?!” I pointed at her phone, shaking with fury.
The innocence drained from Tiffany’s face instantly, replaced by a chilling mix of indifference and mockery. She stepped closer to me, and in a voice only we could hear, she chuckled, “He’s dying anyway. Why not make a contribution?” A contribution? What kind of contribution? Before I could fully process her words, she’d already put on a tearful expression, on the verge of crying, and started complaining to the doctor and head nurse who’d rushed in. “Dr. Miller, I was just trying to help by suctioning Mr. Hayes’s phlegm, but Charlotte burst in accusing me of deliberately pulling the tube to kill her father… and taking photos… I only wanted to document my work, to stay motivated…” She sobbed dramatically, shoulders shaking, like she’d been horribly wronged. The man called Dr. Miller immediately frowned and snapped at me, “Miss Hayes! Calm down! This is the ICU, not a place for tantrums! Tiffany’s one of our top nurses—she’s saving your father!” “Saving my father? I saw her pull that tube out and take a picture with my own eyes!” I pointed at Tiffany, ready to explode with rage. “Enough!” Dr. Miller cut me off sharply. “Your father’s condition is unstable. We get that families get emotional, but don’t be unreasonable and disrupt our work! Get out!” Two security guards “escorted” me out of the ICU. The glass door closed behind me, sealing off my world. I watched as Tiffany, comforted by Dr. Miller, wiped her tears and slipped back into her sweet, hardworking nurse act, bustling around the ward. And her colleagues—they looked at me with scorn, like I was some irrational lunatic. Overwhelming helplessness and rage washed over me. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 without hesitation. “I need to report a nurse at City General Hospital’s ICU for attempted patient homicide.” The operator on the other end sounded startled but professionally took down the information. A short time later, two police officers arrived. I thought my rescuers had arrived, but reality hit me hard again. Dr. Miller, the head nurse, and Tiffany “recounted” the incident to the police. Their stories lined up perfectly, all claiming Tiffany was performing necessary suctioning, and that I—stressed over my father’s critical condition—was hallucinating. “Officers, here’s our hospital surveillance footage—you can see for yourselves.” Dr. Miller pointed to the corner camera, calm and confident. The police reviewed the footage. But the camera was too far from the bed at an awkward angle. It only vaguely showed Tiffany working at the bedside—no clear view of her pulling the tube or taking photos. Instead, the footage clearly showed me bursting into the ICU like a maniac, yelling at Tiffany. Next to that, I looked like the troublemaker. “Ms. Hayes, based on our information, we can’t confirm any illegal activity by Nurse Tiffany.” The young officer looked at me apologetically. “The surveillance video doesn’t back up your claim.” “What about the photos on her phone! She took pictures!” I clung to this last hope. Tiffany immediately handed over her phone. Her photo gallery lit up the screen. There were a few work-related ICU photos, but no close-ups of my dad—certainly none with her triumphant grin. She must have deleted them. “Officers, I really just wanted to document our medical team’s daily work for Snapchat—spread some positivity… I never thought it would cause such a misunderstanding.” She hung her head, looking wronged. The police checked her phone, handed it back, then turned to me with sympathetic tones. “Ms. Hayes, we get how tough this is with your dad so sick, but we need evidence. Why don’t you go home and rest? We can talk again once you’ve calmed down.” And just like that, they left. Leaving me alone in the cold hallway, feeling like a clown putting on a show.
I went home, feeling lost and defeated, and collapsed onto the couch. Something about this whole thing felt off. What exactly did Tiffany mean by “Why not make a contribution?” And Dr. Miller and the whole department—why were they protecting her so fiercely? Just because she was good at her job? I didn’t buy it. Right then, my fiancé Daniel came home. He was a sales director at a medical equipment company—usually polished and caring, my rock. I clung to him like a lifeline, pouring out everything that had happened that day. “That’s outrageous! How could that nurse do something like that!” Daniel listened, clearly outraged, and hugged me, comforting me gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. I know President Thompson at City General—met him through work. I’ll go see him tomorrow and make sure you get answers.” Leaning against him, the tension that had coiled in my chest all day finally loosened a little. It was good to have him on my side. The next day, Daniel kept his word and went to see President Thompson. When he came home that afternoon, his expression was serious. “How did it go?” I asked nervously. Daniel sighed and pulled me down to sit beside him. “I met with President Thompson and told him everything. The hospital took it seriously and did an internal investigation all day.” “And the result? What are they doing about Tiffany?” “The hospital investigation concluded it was… just a misunderstanding.” Daniel avoided my eyes. “They said Tiffany’s their top young nurse this year—impeccable skills and character. They don’t believe she could do something like that. They think you might have been stressed and misinterpreted what happened.” The news hit me like a bucket of cold water. “I didn’t misinterpret anything! I saw it with my own eyes!” I stood up, shaking. “Calm down.” Daniel pressed my shoulders. “President Thompson said they’ll reassign your dad’s nursing team and waive part of the ICU fees as a goodwill gesture.” “I don’t want their money! I want justice! I want Tiffany fired and apologizing!” “Honey!” Daniel’s voice sharpened. “Your dad is still in their care! We can’t burn bridges right now! What if they retaliate with his treatment? We can’t fight this.” His words cut like a knife, hitting exactly where I was most vulnerable. He was right—Dad was in their hands. I couldn’t take that risk. I caved in the end. Not for the lousy compensation, but for Dad. I swallowed my pride and accepted the hospital’s so-called “misunderstanding.” They assigned an older, seemingly reliable nurse to Dad. Tiffany never showed up in Dad’s room again. I thought that was the end of it. But I was being naive. A few days later, I was scrolling through Instagram when a friend who works in medical media reposted a blog article. The headline read: The Most Beautiful Frontline Worker: Facing Misunderstanding and Grief, She Chooses to Repay the World with Love. The story’s protagonist? None other than Tiffany. The article used overly dramatic language to “artistically reimagine” what had happened that day. In it, Tiffany was cast as a selfless angel in scrubs who held no grudges. And me? I was portrayed as a deranged family member, mentally unhinged by my father’s critical condition, who viciously attacked medical staff with no remorse. The comments section overflowed with praise for Tiffany and vitriol directed at me. “This family member is nuts! Attacking the person trying to save her dad!” “You go, Nurse Tiffany! Don’t let people like that get to you!” “Hospitals should ban unreasonable family members like her!” The worst part? Tiffany herself commented: “Thanks for all your support! I’ll keep doing my best. As for that family member, I get where she’s coming from—I don’t hold it against her.” Her sugary-sweet, holier-than-thou act made me sick to my stomach, even through the screen.
The article went viral, hitting over 100k views in no time. Tiffany became famous overnight. She was named Star Nurse at City General—even local TV wanted to interview her. And me? I was the villain in this online circus. What hurt most was that friends, coworkers, even distant relatives saw the article. They started hitting me up on Snapchat, subtly asking if I was the “difficult family member” in the article. Some told me to “be the bigger person,” others straight-up called me unreasonable. I couldn’t defend myself—there was no point. Daniel saw the article too. He showed me his phone,furrowed his brow. “What the hell? How could the hospital twist things like this?” I looked at him and laughed bitterly. “You told me to play nice, remember? This is what happens when I do.” “I…” Daniel stumbled over his words, then hugged me again. “I’m sorry, I failed you. Don’t worry, I’ll fix this. I’ll go to the media and blow the lid off this whole thing!” I didn’t say anything—I was just exhausted. The truth? Against their PR machine and all these lies, did my side of the story even stand a chance? Daniel said he’d help me contact the media, but days went by with nothing happening. Every time I asked, he’d say, “Soon, babe, I’m working on it.” Meanwhile, Tiffany’s star just kept rising. She started posting all these “inspirational” updates on her socials. One day it was her “volunteering” to cover a poor patient’s medical bills. The next day, it was her “late-night study session” reviewing nursing protocols—so “dedicated.” Her followers blew up, and she became this mini-celebrity overnight. One night, she posted a photo. It showed a brand-new Hermès Birkin bag with the caption: “A thoughtful gift from a grateful patient’s family. I feel so honored—this just motivates me to work even harder to earn this trust!” That bag made my blood boil. Since Dad got admitted to the ICU, I’d blown through over a million dollars—almost my entire life savings. I couldn’t even afford a nice bag for myself. And her? A regular nurse getting a designer bag worth six figures from a “patient’s family”? What kind of “family member” shells out that kind of cash? My gut screamed something was off. I started digging around quietly. I went to the hospital daily—not just to visit Dad. I watched the other families camped outside the ICU, just as desperate as me. I tried chatting them up, casually asking about Tiffany. Most brushed me off. Finally, an older woman—Mrs. Davies—started talking to me. Her husband had been in the ICU for two months after a car crash. I carefully brought up Tiffany, asking if she knew her. Mrs. Davies’s face tightened. She studied me warily. “Why do you ask about her?” “Oh, nothing—my dad was under her care before, and there was some… misunderstanding.” “Misunderstanding?” Mrs. Davies scoffed, yanking me to a quiet corner. She dropped her voice. “Listen, honey—that nurse is bad news.” My pulse raced.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “350233”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #惊悚Thriller #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn
Leave a Reply