The doctor looked at me for a long moment before reluctantly pulling out the consent form for the surgery. "Are you sure about this? It might be tricky to deal with if anything happens during the operation."
"Doctor, I trust you, truly." I grabbed the pen and quickly signed my name on the dotted line. My life, my decision.
The doctor still seemed he had something to say, but suddenly, the office door burst open.
A group of people stormed in, shouting and causing chaos. Someone pushed me hard, throwing me off balance, and my head slammed into the corner of the desk. All I felt was a wave of darkness as something warm and wet trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision.
The room was in complete disarray, everyone yelling at once.
"What kind of chief surgeon are you? We paid a fortune only to be told a second operation is needed?"
"I swear, you're all scamming us for money. Didn't you say you’ve got the tumor removed? Why is it back?"
"Con artist doctor, sacrificing morals for money. I ought to teach you a lesson myself!"
Struggling to stand, I felt someone step on my clothes, pinning me down.
Eventually, security arrived, and the chaos subsided.
Suddenly, someone screamed, "There's blood. Someone's hurt!"
I could feel everyone's gaze turn to me.
As people stepped back, a nurse rushed to help me up. "Ms. Crawford, are you okay? Let's get that wound treated."
But she was too weak to support me properly. The doctor came over and helped me up. His glasses got shattered, his usually neat hair was a mess, and his face bore scratch marks. He'd got beaten in the fray.
I wanted to smile, but my body felt too weak.
He sighed, "I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess. Looks like we'll have to postpone the surgery."
I shook my head, wanting to tell him it was okay. Living another day or not didn't make much difference to me anymore. No one cared whether I lived or died.
When the police arrived to take statements, I was starting to feel better.
The female officer looked at me with pity. "Your condition seems bad. The troublemakers have been under arrest. You might want to consider seeking compensation. We've contacted your family. They should be here soon."
I was surprised. "My family?"
The officer added, "Yes, though it seemed your husband's secretary took the call. Don't worry. He'll come."
I looked down, doubtful.
Would Clyde come? Maybe he would show up if the police called.
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