The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 27

The document clearly stated in black and white: Laparoscopic appendectomy.

Lead Surgeon: Hackett Lehman.

Annelise's fingertips gently brushed against her lower abdomen.

There were three tiny, almost invisible minimally invasive surgical scars there.

One in the belly button, one in the left lower quadrant, and one above the pubic bone.

She distinctly remembered that for a standard laparoscopic appendectomy, the three incision points were usually the belly button, the right lower quadrant, and the pubic bone, for cosmetic and practical reasons.

But her scars were on the left and the middle.

This positioning made it far more convenient to use the same instruments to operate on both fallopian tubes after removing the appendix.

Hackett. He had executed it flawlessly.

If she hadn't known a bit about medicine herself, if she hadn't experienced anesthesia awareness during the recent surgery, she might have lived her entire life trapped in his meticulous deception.

No.

She couldn't rely solely on her own suspicions.

She needed proof.

Authoritative, third-party medical evidence completely detached from the Lehman family's reach.

She thought of one person.

Vivian Lincoln.

Her best friend from college—a fiery, fiercely righteous gynecologist.

She was currently working at Eastbrook Hospital.

Annelise pulled out the backup phone hidden beneath her mattress, turned it on, and dialed the number she had memorized a thousand times over.

It only rang once before it was answered.

"Hello? Who is this?" came a brisk, energetic female voice.

"Vivian. It's me." Annelise's voice was dry.

There was a two-second pause before a shocked gasp erupted through the speaker.

"Annelise?! Holy shit, is it really you? Where the hell have you been hiding these past few years?!"

Annelise didn't have time to catch up. She cut straight to the chase.

"Vivian, I need a favor."

"I need to come in for a full gynecological workup. The most confidential kind."

"On paper, it's a post-op checkup."

Vivian immediately sensed something was wrong.

"Post-op? What kind of surgery did you have? Did that bastard Hackett do something to you again?"

She clicked on the photo.

It was blurry, clearly taken hastily from inside a car.

But the contents were sharp enough to stab her right in the eyes.

The photo showed Hackett's black Bentley.

It was parked right at the entrance of the underground garage of the apartment building on the east side.

A woman in a white dress was stepping out of the passenger side, holding a child in her arms.

Even though the face was blurry, Annelise would recognize that silhouette and that dress if they turned to ash.

Clarissa.

The timestamp in the bottom right corner read 10:45 PM.

Less than two minutes after Hackett had sent his "working late" text.

Slowly, Annelise turned off the screen.

In the dark, her face was a mask of sheer void.

Only her eyes glowed, terrifyingly bright.

Like two clusters of vengeful flames in the dead of winter, fanned higher and higher by the freezing wind.