“I’ve read your file,” Leo cut in sharply, ignoring the small talk.
“Your condition is extremely poor, Mr. Peterson. Why did you wait so long to come in?”
Mark stammered.
“Well, you know, Doc—busy with business. I have a lot of projects, so my health got a little neglected.”
“But don’t worry. I’m tough. This is just a small wound on my foot that won’t heal.”
“A small wound?” Leo repeated, cynicism sharp.
“The fourth and fifth toes of your left foot are necrotic—completely dead. They’re black, aren’t they?”
“And the smell. I can smell it from here, even through my mask.”
Silence.
I could imagine Mark’s face turning red with shame.
His sky-high pride had been scratched.
“It’s… it’s because my bandage hasn’t been changed since yesterday,” Mark excused.
“Look, Doc, the bottom line is I need immediate action. Dialysis and surgery on my foot.”
“But there’s a small technical issue with the administration regarding the deposit.”
“I heard that you—as the head—have the authority to grant… let’s call it a special policy for priority patients.”
“You’re requesting financial assistance?” Leo asked, getting straight to the point.
“Not requesting, Doc. Borrowing the facility,” Mark corrected quickly, pride too great to admit he was poor.
“My assets aren’t liquid right now. My money is tied up in some real estate investments.”
“So I just need your signature on this charity care form so the procedures can get started.”
“Once my money is freed up, I’ll pay it all back—in cash.”
Lie after lie.
I was sick of hearing it.
I closed the magazine I had been holding.
The charade was over.
It was time for me to enter the stage.
“Real estate investments,” I said.
My voice cut through the room without me turning around.
“You mean that rented apartment by the river that floods every spring?”
The atmosphere froze.
“Who is that?” Mark asked, startled.
He had only just realized someone else was in the room besides the nurse.
“Doc, who is this woman? Another patient? Why is she meddling in my affairs?”
“She is not a patient,” Leo answered calmly.
“She is the majority shareholder of this hospital—and she knows you very well, Mr. Peterson.”
Mark fell silent.
My chair swiveled around slowly.
Deliberate.
Dramatic.
Like a scene from one of the movies he used to love.
My face emerged from behind the high back.
I stared at him directly.
A sharp gaze holding eighteen years of resentment.
Mark’s eyes widened.
His jaw dropped.
His pale, sickly face looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Eleanor,” he hissed, voice caught in his throat.
“Hello again, my dear ex-husband,” I greeted coldly. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Bella jumped, staring at me with fear and hatred.
“You’re that woman from the lobby. Why are you here? Are you stalking us?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Bella,” I replied casually.
I stood and walked toward Leo’s desk.
I stopped beside my son and placed a hand on his shoulder, as if to declare we were an inseparable team.
“This is my office. This is my hospital. You are the ones who walked into my den.”
Mark stared at me in disbelief.
“You’re a shareholder? Don’t be ridiculous, Eleanor. You’re just a dumb woman who never finished college.”
“You must have scammed some rich guy and become his mistress, right?”
I laughed—loud and piercing.
“You always judge people with that filthy mind of yours.”
“After you threw me out, Mark, I worked hard. I went back to school. I built a catering business—then real estate—and now healthcare.”
“I don’t need a man to become wealthy. Unlike you, who needs a rich woman just to survive.”
I glanced at Bella.
She looked down, not daring to meet my gaze.
I took Mark’s medical file from Leo’s desk and opened it roughly.
“Let’s talk facts, Mark. Forget the bluster about investments and projects.”
“Let’s talk about your rotting body.”
I read the contents aloud like a death sentence.
“Blood sugar level: 450.”
“That’s a terrifying number, Mark. Your blood is basically syrup—not blood.”
“Your creatinine is at 12. Normal is under 1.5.”
“Your kidneys have turned to stone. They’re not functioning at all. Do you know what that means?”
Mark trembled.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Stop it.”
“It means your body is poisoning itself,” I continued without mercy.
“Every second you breathe, urea toxins are building up in your brain, your heart, your lungs.”
“That’s why your breath smells like urine. That’s why you’re short of breath.”
“You are drowning in your own filth.”
“Shut up!” Mark yelled.
He tried to stand, but his leg screamed with pain.
He slumped back, wincing.
I walked around the desk and leaned close.
“And your foot? You called it a small wound?”
“The tissue is dead, Mark. It’s rotten. Bacteria are eating your flesh down to the bone.”
“If it’s not amputated soon, the bacteria will spread to your blood.”
“It’s called sepsis. And if that happens, you’ll be dead in a matter of hours.”
“Enough!” Mark screamed.
He covered his ears.
“I don’t want to hear it. Doctor, do something. Don’t let this crazy woman talk.”
He looked at Leo, pleading, hoping the man in the white coat would defend him.
“Doc, please help me. Sign the form. I want to get better. I promise I’ll pay.”
“Get this woman out of here, Doc. She’s just trying to break me down. This is unethical.”
Leo didn’t move.
He stared at Mark with an unreadable expression.
I stepped back into place in front of the desk.
Satisfaction spread through my chest.
Seeing him scared.
Seeing him beg.
Seeing him fragile.
Payment in full for every tear I had shed.
“Are you afraid to die, Mark?” I asked.
Mark looked at me with watery eyes.
His arrogance had crumbled.
All that was left was the primal fear of death.
“Who isn’t afraid to die?” he answered softly.
“I still want to live. I still have a child I need to…”
He stopped, realizing he had no child he was caring for.
The child he’d promised Bella never existed.
“A child?” I cut in. “Which child? The one you threw out onto the street in a thunderstorm?”
Mark’s face went ashen.
He remembered.
“Of course… of course that was in the past,” he tried.
“Eleanor, why are you so vengeful? To err is human.”
“Erring is when you forget to buy milk,” I snapped.
“Throwing your own child out because he’s disabled isn’t an error. It’s a crime. It’s an atrocity.”
My breath came fast.
I forced myself to calm down.
I couldn’t lose control.
I had to remain elegant in the destruction.
“Do you know what the greatest irony is, Mark?” I asked, voice smooth again.
“You used to mock my son’s body. You said his leg was ugly. You said he was useless.”
“Now look at your own leg. Who’s disabled now? Who’s useless now?”