He Ghosted Our Emergency
The day my daughter was rushed into emergency surgery after a car crash, Richard Herrera's ex, Grace Molina, came back to the country.
I called Richard ninety-nine times.
He rejected every single one.
While Chloe was dying, Richard was shopping with Grace and her son, celebrating the boy's fifth birthday.
Then the OR doors flew open. A nurse rushed out.
"Mrs. Herrera? Your daughter is crashing. Sign this consent form now. Do you know where Dr. Herrera is? He's the best at this. If he operates, Chloe has a real shot. But we can't reach him."
I covered my mouth before I fell apart. My hands shook as I signed.
On the 110th call, Richard finally picked up.
"Richard, Chloe's hurt. Only you can save her—"
A kid's voice cut through the background.
"Mr. Herrera, come on! The airplane ride won't start unless all three of us get on. Hurry!"
"Selena, I'm handling something important. The hospital has doctors. They can deal with a minor injury. I have to go."
Click.
The line went dead.
Right then, the OR light shut off.
The doctor came out, wrecked and exhausted.
He looked at me.
Then slowly shook his head.