Pmc Hospital

Maverick Lloyd finally agrees to marry me after five years of dating. We head to the hospital to tell my ill mother the good news. On the way there, Maverick receives a call from his true love. He turns the car around and takes me to a bar instead—his true love is short of people at the bar, so he tells me to help out as a bargirl. When I'm being harassed and sullied in a private room, he's living it up with his true love next door. The hospital calls to tell me my mother's condition has worsened. I jump out of the third-floor window to get away. However, when I arrive at the hospital, all I see is my mother's cold body. Meanwhile, Maverick's true love updates her social media. "He appears before me like a hero whenever I'm in danger." It comes with a photo of her cuddling in Maverick's arms. My heart dies. I take off my engagement ring and place it with my mother's body to be destroyed during the cremation. Then, I like Maverick's true love's post. "I hope you two stay together forever. Don't ever harm anyone else."

THIS IS THE ENGLISH VERSION OF NIGHT SHIFT, BOOK 1 & BOOK 2 Yhra is a janitress at the hospital, a hardworking breadwinner of her family, until one night. The first night shift of Yhra will change her whole life.

Upon hearing about my husband's surgery, I braved a typhoon and torrential rain, driving four hours back to the city. When I arrived at the hospital, my husband, Xander Gray, was lying on the hospital bed, calling out loudly, "I want my wife! Get my wife here!" His buddies around him joked about how his wife had him completely whipped. Everyone said he loved me to death. Blushing, I walked over with a happy smile and held his hand, saying, "I'm here." To my surprise, he shook off my hand in disgust and snarled, "Get lost! You're not my wife! My wife is Beverly Long!"

On my wedding day, Levi Robbins' "close friend" Gina Fields suddenly fainted. Without hesitation, he dropped everything and rushed to the hospital, leaving me at the altar. My mother, witnessing this humiliating scene from her seat, suffered a heart attack. Yet, none of the guests bothered to help as they were too busy gossiping and laughing at my misfortune. By the time I managed to get her to the hospital, we had missed the critical window for treatment. Just then, Levi finally called, his voice urgent and demanding. "Caitlyn, where are you? Gina's condition is critical, and she needs your bone marrow!" "Levi, we're done," I said firmly, hanging up and walking away. This time, I would not look back.

Seven years into our marriage, I went to the hospital as usual to bring Jason Gunn lunch. But as I stood outside his office, I overheard his colleagues teasing him about a patient, calling her his girlfriend. To my shock, Jason didn't deny it—he simply smiled and allowed it. I placed the lunchbox down and turned to leave. He rushed after me, angrily accusing me of being unreasonable. "Zara is just a patient, someone who had surgery. She can't be stressed out. I'm a doctor! Can't you, as my wife, understand that?" In the past, I would have exploded, causing a scene and making the entire hospital chaotic. But now, I didn't care anymore.

I'm finally pregnant after five years of marriage. I initially want Morgan Holt to accompany me to the hospital so I can surprise him, but he stoically tells me that he hates hospitals. I can understand and accommodate that. Then, he surprises me—he accompanies his new junior to the hospital for a medical checkup. At that moment, I know our relationship is over. When I bid him farewell, I say, "She's your true love's younger sister, right? I can understand why you've transferred your love to her. I wish you two well." His eyes redden. "I can't live without you."

While preparing for the SATs at the library, my brother is accidentally shot and injured, causing him to bleed profusely. I pass by this scene but turn a blind eye and quicken my pace to leave. This is because in my previous life, when I saw him, I rushed him to the hospital in a panic. He had intracranial hemorrhaging, and he urgently needed surgery. I quickly called my mom, the top neurosurgeon in the city, begging her to come to the hospital as soon as possible. However, she thought I was jealous that she had taken my adopted sister to the beach instead of spending time with me. She also believed I had fabricated the story about my brother's injury, and thus refused to return. By the time my dad and the rest of the family hurried to the hospital, it was too late for rescue efforts—my brother had passed away. The whole family blamed me for his death. They were convinced that I had deliberately misled my mom and delayed his critical treatment. When my mom returned from out of town, she lost her composure and pushed me down the stairs, watching coldly as I bled to death. After opening my eyes again, I had returned to the day my brother was shot at the library.

In my past life, my husband brought our daughter, who was down with a cold, to his father's hospital so she could see a doctor. Later, she was pronounced dead. When I hurried to the hospital after hearing the news, he'd already transferred her organs to his true love's son's body. It was later that I learned my father-in-law was the one who extracted my daughter's organs when her vitals were perfectly fine. I was heartbroken and devastated. I wanted my husband and his family to give me an explanation for this, but he and his parents killed me by poisoning. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the moment my husband has just taken my daughter away.

Connor Lockwood abandons me at the hospital's entrance even though I'm bleeding in the middle of my pregnancy. He insists on sending his client, a divorcée, home. The blood flows down my legs, but he hurries off without another look back. He should've been at the hospital and by my side, but instead, I see him in his client's social media update. It's captioned, "Thank goodness for my wonderful lawyer. Do you know who gets to have hangover soup when they're drunk? Me!" I spend the rest of the night wide awake. The following morning, I calmly dial a number. "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll return home in three days to take over the company."

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."