After the nurse left, Caleb set down his papers and came to my bedside, offering me a bowl of hot soup. “Try this. I specifically ordered it for you.” It was takeout from that upscale restaurant he frequented. But I’d just seen Stella’s social media post, a photo of Caleb himself cooking soup for her. Seeing I didn’t take the bowl, he didn’t get angry. He placed the soup on the table and spoke.
“Stella’s condition can’t be delayed any longer. Since you’re awake, we’ll begin the bone marrow transplant this afternoon.” With his words, a team of doctors strea- med into the room. Before the operating room doors closed, I overheard the doctors‘ conversation with Caleb: “Mr. Stone, Mrs. Hayes is not in optimal condition for a
marrow donation, and she’s also injured. Extracting bone marrow now could cause organ damage. Ms. Reed’s condition is currently stable; we can certainly wait
until Mrs. Hayes recovers before proceeding…”
Before the doctor could finish, Caleb cut him off, his voice cold. “Stella suffers more with each day without the transplant. I can’t bear to see her in such pain. As for
Ava, I’ll compensate her later.” Through the crack in the door, I saw the complete absence of love in his eyes. I closed mine, and a tidal wave of suppressed pain and
humiliation washed over me.
The cold anesthetic flowed into my veins. Caleb watched me, utterly oblivious to my immunity to anesthesia. The thick needle pierced my spine. The excruciating
pain of the bone marrow aspiration made my entire body spasm. I tried to speak, to tell them the anesthetic wasn’t working, but a nurse beside me clamped her
hand over my mouth. I bit down hard on the soft flesh inside my cheek, tasting blood as it trickled from the corner of my lips. Caleb approached, his voice laced with
false reassurance.
“I told the doctor to increase the anesthetic dosage. You won’t feel anything.” I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes, refusing to look at him anymore. Three years ago,
when I underwent a D&C after a miscarriage, I told him I was immune to anesthesia. Back then, he held me, his eyes red–rimmed, promising he’d never let me be hurt
again. But now, all my injuries were his doing.
J
Stella, lying on the other bed, let out a soft murmur. Caleb quickly strode over, barking, “Where’s the anesthesiologist? Didn’t Stella get an anesthetic? Why is she still
reacting?” The doctor, beads of sweat on his brow, explained to Caleb that it was a normal reaction after anesthesia, but Caleb remained unconvinced. “Stop the
surgery for now. Go find the best anesthesiologist in the city.”
“Mr. Stone, the bone marrow has already been extracted. If we don’t proceed quickly, we’ll have to perform a second extraction.” Seeing my pale face, Caleb hesitated
for two seconds. But his concern for Stella quickly overcame that brief flicker of doubt. “Stella is afraid of pain. Ava is fine since she had the anesthetic.” I closed
my eyes, my emotions draining away, leaving only a hollow ache. The doctor tried to say something more, but Caleb cut him off. “I hired you to ensure Stella’s safe
- ty. You don’t need to concern yourselves with anything else.”
An hour later, the assistant arrived in the operating room with a new anesthesiologist. The thick needle plunged into my body once more. This time, under the imme
nse pain, I completely lost consciousness.
When I woke again, the vast hospital room was empty save for me. I forced myself to reach for my phone. An invitation to join the research team had arrived. I quic-
kly scanned it, then signed my name. This was a top–secret national research team. A long time ago, I had turned down their offer for Caleb’s sake. But I never imag- ined that, in the end, they would be the ones to embrace me. Seeing the flight details for three days later on my phone, I finally allowed myself to breathe a sigh of
relief.
