Chapter 10 #3
“Our team was ready to reject it. But when I saw your surname on the paperwork,” he smiled faintly, the kind that carried both guilt and fondness. “So I called and asked to speak with Dr. Bennet. Long story short… that’s how I found out everything.”
“What about the strict rule?”
“I broke it.”
“Because of me?”
I studied his face carefully, but it stayed neutral.
“Yes.” His tone turned flat, almost stoic. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve broken rules.”
“So, you’re saying you indirectly saved my life again… and I didn’t even know it?”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“No, it’s not. Not just me—my family, my colleagues, my patients. We owe you. I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”
“Nah. It was nothing, really.”
“It wasn’t nothing.” My voice trembled just slightly. “We were getting desperate. We couldn’t get PPE anywhere—we had to make our own. My mother and her friends were hand-sewing face covers because they didn’t own sewing machines. Even those were sold out.”
I hadn’t openly talked about the pandemic. Not about what it had done to me as a doctor… or as a person.
My cousin, Joey Bennet—a nurse in the emergency department—was among the first to die.
We were naive back then, me included. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. Just another flu, but worse. Nothing we—the leaders in the medical field—hadn’t seen before.
Wrong.
When Joey died, I was in shock. I tried to reason with myself.
How could a twenty-something, healthy man die without any warning?
I made excuses—told myself Joey must have had some underlying condition he hadn’t mentioned.
His weight had always been an issue, and I knew he’d complained about his cholesterol and high blood pressure for years, even at such a young age.
“People kept dying,” I said slowly. “In the beginning, we even had to work without any safety precautions. No PPE. Nothing. I was lucky I didn’t die from it.”
My eyes blurred, tears welling from nowhere, hot and sudden.
“The medical supplies were the very least I could do,” Danni’s voice softened. “I knew they’d keep you safe. But still, I heard you got very sick.”
I wiped my face, blinking away the tears as I lifted my gaze to Dannie—wondering how much he truly understood me—about what happened. Maybe my dad told him.
We were the only facility that had managed to secure PPE when no one else could. And that had caused arguments—ugly ones—with other centers that kept coming back, begging for supplies we simply didn’t have to give.
“Yes,” I said finally. “I got lucky. A lot of my colleagues… my friends… didn’t even make it.”
His fingers brushed lightly along my arm. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”
The door opened and the nurse walked in. She avoided my direction entirely—her attention focused on the equipment, her expression unreadable. Maybe she’d overheard the conversation, seen the tears.
Or maybe she was still offended. I had raised my voice earlier, talking to her like she didn’t know her job. Like she was beneath me.
And I was painfully aware of that.
“Hey, Nurse—” I glanced at her name tag, clearing my throat to hide any trace of crying. “Sarah, I’m sorry about earlier. I was just worried…”
She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay, I understand. Your husband is sick.”
Before I could correct her, she turned and smiled at Dannie. “Have you chosen a room yet?”
“Royal Suite.” The finality in his tone left no room for debate. “Fit for kings and queens.”
“Good choice.”
I excused myself as Nurse Sarah was preparing Dannie’s transfer.
I needed a place to think—somewhere quiet.
The corridors buzzed with too many people. Families, nurses, patients… it felt suffocating. I couldn’t imagine all of them were here for treatment.
Part of me wished he were beside me. His nonchalant attitude toward life had rubbed off on me—too much, maybe—and now I craved it like a drug. The calm he carried, the way he made chaos feel temporary. I needed that right now.
I exited the building through a side door. Outside, an ambulance idled, the driver nowhere in sight. An empty bay sat beside it, and beyond that, a small car park lined with old trees. Their roots had cracked the concrete, as if even nature refused to obey hospital orders.
I sat under one of the trees, letting the white noise of distant traffic drown my thoughts.
The diagnosis was undeniable now—diabetes. He’d gone hypo because I’d fallen asleep on top of him—stupid, reckless.
It wasn’t my fault; I tried to tell myself.
He was an adult. He could’ve woken me.
But guilt doesn’t listen to reason.
His chart had raised red flags. Liver function off. Kidney numbers worse. He already knew about the diabetes, sure—but I doubted he understood how bad things had become.
If only I could take over his case.
Find out everything.
Fix it.
But this wasn’t my turf. I had no authority here.
Still, I was certain I could make it happen. All it would take was one call.
He’d saved me more than once. Now it was my turn.
I stared at my phone, hesitating for only a second before pressing the green button.
“Hi, Liam,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I need your help.”