So Much for Childfree LoveValentine's Day. I was stuck on ER duty at Brighton City Hospital.
Theodore Madoff, who was supposed to be working late, strolled in carrying his student—Cecilia Kuntzer.
She had red marks everywhere and that smug little smirk. "Relax, Mrs. Madoff. Just stomach pain. Lucky me, Prof. Madoff rushed me here."
Theo pushed me to treat her.
Turns out? She was pregnant. From rough intercourse.
And the dad? Theo. My husband. The same guy who'd sworn off kids with me for ten years.
Felt like a punch to the gut. But I still saved her baby.
Next day, she uploaded a video—ID in hand, cheesy PowerPoint, accusing me of malpractice. Claimed I killed her kid.
Then Theo asked for a divorce.
Priscilla—his mom—stormed the hospital, shrieking about her dead grandbaby.
She brought a mob. All these "righteous" strangers who stabbed me to death. Right there in the ER.
I died with my eyes wide open.
Then—bam—I woke up. Valentine's Day. Again.