The Broken Hand

I reached into Morgan Carter's white coat pocket and found a hard card. My fingertips brushed over the embossed hotel logo, and my heart plummeted. It was the hotel Vivian Lincoln frequented, and Morgan was the intern who had joined our department just six months ago. Holding the room card, I approached him, my voice unexpectedly calm and steady. Morgan was looking down, wiping his glasses; when he looked up and saw the room card, his eyes flickered briefly. "Last week, Vivian had the night shift and was exhausted, so I booked a room for her to rest." He reached out to grab the room card, his tone edged with impatience. "It accidentally ended up in my pocket. Don't read too much into it." I took a step back, dodging his hand. Read too much into it? That coming from him is laughable. Suddenly, a scene from six months ago flashed through my mind. That day, I was packing his briefcase when a photo fell out. In the photo, Vivian Lincoln linked her arm with his; they stood beneath the cherry blossom tree outside the hospital, their smiles painfully bright. Vivian's hand was clearly clasped in his palm. I stormed into his department holding the photo and, in front of all the doctors and nurses, slammed it down onto his face. "Morgan Carter, is this the 'just an intern' you were talking about?" His face instantly flushed a dark, liver-red, and he grabbed my wrist with such force I feared he might crush my bones. "Wendy Scott, have you made enough of a scene?" "A scene?" I struggled, my voice trembling. "You hold hands with another woman behind my back, and you call me the one making a scene?" Vivian Lincoln stood off to the side, her eyes red-rimmed, timidly tugging at Morgan's sleeve. "Mr. Carter, it's all my fault. Please don't blame Wendy..." That fragile, innocent look was even more disgusting than if he had insulted me outright. The farce that day ended with Morgan Carter forcibly dragging me out of the hospital. He threw me by the roadside and snarled, "Wendy, you've ruined my reputation. I'll remember this." I thought that was the worst moment. Until three months later, when I was in a car accident. It was pouring that day. I was driving to the supermarket when a truck ran through a red light and crashed into me. The steering wheel pressed hard against my chest, blood streaming down from my forehead. I struggled to pull out my phone and dialed Morgan Carter's number. The phone rang for what felt like forever before he picked up, his voice urgent on the other end. "What's going on? I'm in the middle of surgery—Vivian Lincoln's acute appendicitis. She's in critical condition." "Morgan, I... I was in a car accident, on the Ring Expressway..." My voice was weak, barely audible. "A car accident? You need to call emergency services!" His tone was sharp with impatience. "I can't leave now; Vivian needs me to save her!" Before I could say another word, the call was cut off. The busy signal buzzed in my ear, more despairing than the crash of the car accident. Later, a passing driver helped me call 911. I lay in the emergency room for three hours, bleeding heavily, barely holding on. When Morgan Carter arrived, I had just been wheeled out of surgery. He was still wearing his surgical gown, his face weary, yet he didn't ask once if I was in pain. "Vivian Lincoln is fine now; the surgery was very successful." He sat by the bedside, speaking as plainly as if he were reporting on work. I looked at him and suddenly felt utterly alienated. In that moment, I swore never to love Morgan Carter again. The matter of the room card ultimately went unresolved. Morgan Carter insisted it was a misunderstanding. I neither argued nor made a scene. My heart was dead; I no longer had the strength to argue. Yet the contradictions, without my awareness, kept deepening. A week later, I went to the parking lot to retrieve my car and took the chance to grab some files Morgan Carter had left inside. Opening the passenger-side glove compartment, I found a black stocking lying there, shockingly out of place. That's neither my size nor my style.