The Day He Brought Her to My Hospital

The red letter of appointment rested in the pocket of my white coat, the fabric brushing against my chest, warm and almost unreal. Today is the day I officially become Head of Gynecology. The smell of disinfectant in the corridor had softened; the young nurses at the station huddled together, and when they saw me approach, they smiled and called out, "Dr. Scott." I nodded in response; a familiar dryness settled in my throat, allowing only a faint, hoarse breath. It's an old affliction, a lingering effect from an accident years ago; speaking has always been a taxing effort for me. My phone vibrated in my pocket; I thought it was a congratulatory message. But when I pulled it out to check, there was no notification. Perhaps Carson Lawrence is busy. With that thought, I turned and headed toward the office. Just as I reached the doorway, a familiar figure blocked my path. It was Carson Lawrence. He wore a black trench coat, his posture still erect, but his expression was so dark it seemed almost tangible. I froze for a moment, about to speak, when I saw the woman following behind him. The woman wore a loose maternity dress, one hand covering her belly, the other linked around Carson Lawrence's arm, tear stains on her face, her complexion frighteningly pale. It was Cynthia Thompson. I was familiar with that name; I had long heard about the woman by Carson Lawrence's side, but I had never seen her up close like this. "Gloria." Carson's voice was as cold as ice, each word striking my heart like a hammer. I parted my lips to ask how he came here, but only a faint, hoarse whisper escaped my throat. "Are you satisfied?" He stepped forward, his tall figure looming over her with an intense sense of pressure. Cynthia shrank back behind him, her belly visibly swollen, her voice wavering with tears: "Carson, forget it. Maybe Dr. Scott didn't mean it..." "Didn't mean it?" Carson Lawrence suddenly cut her off, his eyes locked on me, "When she pushed you, did she not mean it?" Pushed her? I was stunned, shaking my head instinctively. I've been busy all day with my promotion and haven't seen Cynthia at all, so there's no way I pushed her. "Do you still dare to deny it?" Carson Lawrence's tone turned even harsher as he pointed to Cynthia Thompson's stomach. "The child in Cynthia's womb is mine. Are you jealous because you can't conceive, and do you want to harm my child?" Can't conceive. Those words stabbed through my heart like needles. It's not that I can't have children—it's that I was injured saving him back then. The doctors say the chances of pregnancy are very slim. He's forgotten. He's forgotten that I was the one who risked everything to drag him out of that explosion in the Northwest War Zone. He's forgotten that his eyes were badly injured in that explosion—he almost lost his sight. I had forgotten that I quit my job back then to care for him after he lost his sight, staying by his side day after day until he regained his vision. Now, with the very eyes I desperately fought to save, he glares at me fiercely, accusing me of wanting to harm his child. "I... didn't..." I forced out a few words, my voice hoarse and barely audible. Cynthia cried even harder, clutching her stomach as she crouched down in pain. "Carson, my stomach hurts so much. Could it be... am I losing the baby...?" Carson Lawrence instantly panicked, bending down to steady her, then spun around and shouted at me, "Gloria, if you even try to harm my child, I will never let you off!" A crowd had already gathered around us, mostly hospital colleagues, pointing fingers at me with eyes full of disdain and suspicion. I stood there frozen, my whole body chilled as though I had been thrown into an ice cellar. Carson supported Cynthia Thompson, towering over me. He took a document from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the floor before me.