Semua Bab The Debt He Can't Collect: Bab 61 - Bab 68

Emma started her position as medical director of the Medical Trial Victim Support Fund on the first Monday of January.The office was small—a converted suite in a medical building near Manhattan Memorial, just two rooms and a waiting area. Rachel had set it up with Emma's limitations in mind: ergonomic furniture, multiple rest areas, and flexible scheduling that allowed Emma to work from home when necessary.Emma's first day was deliberately light. Four hours in the office, reviewing intake protocols and meeting the small staff Rachel had assembled. A case manager, an administrative assistant, and a part-time nurse to handle initial medical screenings."We're starting small," Rachel explained, walking Emma through the filing system. "Thirty-seven current beneficiaries, but we're expecting that number to grow as more victims come forward. Your job is to review medical documentation, make recommendations for treatment protocols, and coordinate with patients' primary physicians."It was

Emma spent five days in the ICU before Dr. Walsh cleared her for transfer to the cardiac step-down unit.Five days of constant monitoring, medication adjustments, and the slow realization that her body had limits she could no longer ignore. Her ejection fraction had stabilized at forty-nine percent—better than the forty-seven it had dropped to, but still firmly in heart failure territory.Dr. Walsh delivered the news with her characteristic directness on day six."Emma, we need to talk about realistic expectations. Your heart has sustained significant damage—Compound 7 exposure, two cardiac arrests, chronic stress. The stem cell therapy helped, but it can't undo everything. You're now classified as having heart failure with reduced ejection fraction."Emma had known this was coming. Had treated enough cardiac patients to understand what the numbers meant. But hearing it applied to herself felt different."What does that mean practically?""It means your heart can't pump blood efficien

Sophie's wedding took place on a perfect July afternoon in a small botanical garden outside the city.Emma arrived early, her role as maid of honor requiring her presence for photographs and last-minute preparations. Dr. Walsh had adjusted her medications specifically for today—additional beta-blocker to keep her heart rate controlled during the stress and excitement of the event."You look beautiful," Damien said, helping Emma from the car. She wore a pale blue dress Sophie had chosen specifically for its comfort—no tight waist that might restrict breathing, no complicated fastenings that would frustrate Emma's still-limited shoulder mobility."I look like someone trying very hard not to have a cardiac event at her sister's wedding," Emma said, but she was smiling.Sophie was in the bridal suite, surrounded by friends and a makeup artist who was doing final touches. She turned when Emma entered, her wedding dress simple and elegant, her face radiant."You made it," Sophie said, pulli

Emma sat in the garden behind the house she and Damien had bought in Brooklyn, watching her three-year-old daughter chase butterflies across the grass.Charlotte Lily Hartley, named after Emma's grandmother and the little girl who'd changed everything, had her father's dark hair and her mother's determination. She ran with the fearless energy of a healthy child, her laughter filling the warm June afternoon.Emma's hand rested on her chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. Fifty-eight percent heart function now. Not normal, never normal, but improved beyond what anyone had predicted five years ago.Dr. Walsh called it remarkable. Emma called it lucky.Sophie's daughter, four-year-old Lily Lawson, played alongside Charlotte, the two cousins inseparable despite the age difference. Sophie sat beside Emma on the bench, her hand resting on her own growing belly. Second child, due in October."Can you believe we're here?" Sophie asked quietly. "Five years ago, you were in heart failure. I