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Chapter 4

Author: Dawn Trueman
When I woke up, I had an oxygen mask over my face.

Every rise and fall of my chest brought pain, and the back of my head throbbed as though someone were repeatedly striking it with a blunt object.

Suddenly, the hospital room door flew open.

Marianne strode in with Jeremiah following close behind. He was completely unharmed.

She faltered for a moment when she saw how pale I was. But Jeremiah touched her elbow, and Marianne immediately slapped a stack of documents down on my bed.

The pages scattered, their edges grazing my cheek.

"Where were you yesterday? You wouldn't answer your phone, and you didn't even call in sick to work. Since when did you learn to disappear just to force people to give in to you?"

I turned my head and saw the title on the top page—Informed Consent for Hematopoietic Stem Cell Matching.

"Jerry's little sister, Violet Cochran, is seriously ill and needs a stem cell match." Marianne shoved a pen into my hand. "Go get your blood tested. If you're a match, consider it your way of making up for your unreasonable behavior over the past two days."

Jeremiah stood behind her, his expression dark and unreadable.

"Mitchell, I know this is asking a lot of you, but Violet is only nine years old. You're such a kind person—you wouldn't just stand by and let her die, right?"

My fingers slowly tightened around the bedsheet.

"Grandma is dead."

Silence fell over the room.

Marianne's expression shifted. "When?"

"Yesterday. While you were leaving me stranded beneath the overpass."

Her throat bobbed slightly as she swallowed, and her gaze fell on the oxygen tubing.

After a moment, she looked away and said, "I didn't know things would get that serious. I'll take care of everything concerning Mrs. Dillon Senior."

She pushed the pen toward me again. "But Violet can't wait either. Sign the consent form first. We can talk about everything else later."

"Marianne, maybe we should just forget it," Jeremiah said softly. "Mitchell doesn't want to do it right now, and I don't want to force him."

"He's just still angry," Marianne said as she pulled off my oxygen mask.

Air rushed abruptly into my throat, and I broke into violent coughing fits.

She held my shoulder down, her voice as gentle as it used to be when she coaxed me into taking my medicine.

"They just need to draw some blood to see if you're a match. It won't hurt you. I'll go with you too."

I looked at her.

It turned out her tenderness had never disappeared. It was just that every time she showed me any, there was a condition attached—and that condition was always Jeremiah.

I yanked the IV out of the back of my hand, then snatched up the papers scattered across the bed and flung them away violently.

Jeremiah stumbled backward several steps.

Marianne stood motionless for a long moment.

"Get out." I pointed toward the door. "Take Jeremiah and get out!"

Marianne slowly turned to face me. "Mitchell, have you lost your mind?"

"Yes!" My chest trembling with pain, I braced myself against the edge of the bed and sat up. "I must have been out of my mind to consider someone who doesn't even know I have asthma or a severe aloe vera allergy family."

Marianne's eyes widened.

"You went through my phone?"

"The hospital records show that you changed the designated family member from me to Jeremiah."

Her gaze briefly shifted away from mine. "He'd just moved to this city, and he's your best friend. I was just temporarily—"

I pressed the call button beside my bed.

"Get out."

"Sign the consent forms first." Marianne grabbed my arm and shouted toward the doorway.

One of her assistants, Dustin Dunham, pushed the door open. Together, they dragged me toward the exit.

"You're signing it, one way or another. You don't get to let your personal issues with me cost someone their life," Marianne said.

My wound tore open, and darkness swam before my eyes.

I wrenched myself free and jerked my arm up to block her. With nothing to support me, I toppled backward.

The back of my head struck the sharp metal corner of a medical instrument. The pain lasted only an instant.

Warm liquid trickled down my neck and soaked into my hospital gown.

Jeremiah's voice grew distant.

Medical staff rushed into the room and lifted me onto a gurney. As they wheeled me out, the corridor lights flashed past one by one.

An anesthesiologist rushed toward Marianne with my medical chart in hand.

"The patient has a massive intracranial hemorrhage! We need to perform an emergency tracheotomy! What medication is he allergic to? What's his blood type? Tell me now!"

Marianne's lips had gone white. "H-He's not allergic to anything. He has Type O blood and no history of asthma."

The anesthesiologist hurled the medical chart at her chest.

"It's written right here in his records that he has severe asthma and a severe allergy to penicillin-class antibiotics! Are you even his family member?"

The doors to the trauma bay were suddenly pushed open from the outside.

Candace Webber strode over in her surgical scrubs with dark red bloodstains still on the cuffs. She glanced at the monitor readings, then shoved Marianne aside without hesitation.

"Everyone who's not a staff member, get out. You will never again have the right to sign a single surgical consent form for Mitchell for as long as you live."

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