Chapter 3

The next morning, I went to the courthouse and finalized my divorce with Victor.

Victor clung to Tiffany the whole time, openly affectionate. As soon as the divorce certificate was issued, he loudly declared they were going to get their marriage license.

I didn't waste another word on him. I drove straight back to the hospital; patients were waiting.

After two surgeries, I stepped out of the operating room, only to be cornered by Victor.

"Amelia! What the hell do you want?! Why didn't you sign that damn waiver?! You got me reamed out by Director Miller! All my bonuses are gone! Are you happy now?!"

"Victor," I said, looking at his pathetic display, my heart calm. "It wasn't appropriate for me to sign that waiver."

"Not appropriate for you?! I think you did it on purpose! You just want to screw me over! Surgery always has risks! If you're so filial, why didn't you operate on your own mom yourself?!"

"Surgical risks?" I scoffed. "Was it a surgical risk, or was it the lead surgeon leaving with his little nurse for a full forty minutes in the middle of the surgery? Victor, should I pull up the surveillance footage and post it online, so everyone can learn about your 'surgical risks'?"

"You—you really did it on purpose!" He jumped. "Just because your mom died on my operating table, you had to get revenge! You just want to ruin me!"

"I'm telling you, Amelia! You owe me this month's bonus! And that waiver! You need to go right now! Immediately! Sign it for me! Do you hear me?! Director Miller is waiting!"

"First, Victor, we're divorced. You have no right to lay your hands on me. Second, only the deceased's direct next of kin can sign a waiver like that. We're divorced, so I can't sign it."

"Are you out of your mind, Amelia?!" He couldn't believe his ears. "What does our divorce have to do with your mom?"

"You're the one who's out of their mind." I stared into his stupid, angry eyes, pushing the waiver back to him. "We're divorced, so your mother has absolutely nothing to do with me. That waiver? The deceased's son should sign it."

I paused, looking at his bewildered face, enunciating each word with a touch of malicious satisfaction:

"Victor, do you still not know the name of the patient who died on your operating table yesterday?"

"Her name was Martha Thorne."

"Your own mother."