Chapter 3 · A Critical Delay, By Design

Linda stormed in like a whirlwind.

She was still in silk pajamas, just threw a coat on top, her hair all over the place, her face streaked with tears and pure panic.

She immediately spotted Laura waiting by the OR doors, then caught sight of me sitting on the bench, my phone in my hand.

Linda didn't even ask the doctor what was happening, didn't spare a glance at William on the stretcher.

She came right up to me, raised her hand, and went to slap me.

I didn't even bother to look up, just leaned back and dodged her slap.

Her hand sliced through empty air, and she lurched forward from the momentum, nearly losing her balance.

"Christine, you jinx! If anything happens to my son, I'll make you pay," she yelled, steadying herself and jabbing her finger right in my face.

I finally put my phone away and looked up at her.

"Whether he lives or dies isn't my choice. It's yours," I said calmly.

Seeing someone who could actually make the call had arrived, the doctor rushed over with the clipboard. "You're the patient's mother, right? We have no time. You need to sign now so we can operate."

Linda snatched it, didn't even glance at the form, and shoved it hard into my arms. "Sign it. What's wrong with you? Do you want him to die?"

She was so forceful, the clipboard's corner jabbed painfully into my side.

I pushed the clipboard away. "I told you already. I'm not signing."

"You're not signing?" Linda's voice went shrill, practically screeching. "William is your husband. He's lying in there, his life hanging by a thread, and you won't sign to save him? Is your heart made of stone?"

"You tell me. You're the one who taught him how to treat his wife," I shot back, locking eyes with her, each word slow and deliberate.

Linda froze.

The air felt thick, almost frozen. Even the doctors and nurses paused, watching the spectacle of our family showdown with open curiosity.

Laura crept over, tugged at Linda's sleeve, and whispered, "Mrs. Brooks, don't be upset. Christine... she's probably just mad. Maybe you can talk her down."

Her whole act—playing the innocent peacemaker—was honestly impressive.

Linda grabbed onto Laura like she'd finally found someone to back her up or just someone to dump all her drama on. Linda started bawling, "Look at her. Just look. My son's lying there, and she won't lift a finger! What was I thinking, letting William marry someone so heartless?"

All the while, she kept shooting me death glares from the corner of her eye.

She was putting on a whole performance for the doctors, nurses, and anyone else watching.

She wanted everyone to see me as the cruel wife ready to let her husband die over a petty grudge.

I didn't disappoint her.

I stood up and walked over to her.

She thought I was about to cave, and for a second, a flicker of triumph crossed her face.

I took the clipboard from her hands and opened it in front of everyone.

Then I picked up the pen—not to sign, but to hand it to her.

"Here, Linda. You sign it," I said.

Linda froze again, staring at the pen I was holding out, totally stunned. "What did you just say?"

"I said, you sign it," I said, pushing the pen even closer, the tip almost brushing her nose.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm his mom. You're his wife. This is your job!" she shrieked, jumping back as if the pen were a snake.

"The law says a spouse, a parent, or an adult child can sign. I'm stepping aside. So now it's your turn. Seems fair to me," I said, my voice calm but every word crystal clear.

The doctor chimed in quietly, "Technically... that's correct. Legally, the mother can provide consent."

Linda's face kept flipping between red and white.

Obviously, she had zero intention of signing.

Putting her name on that line meant taking responsibility. If the surgery went wrong, if William died—who would bear the blame? Who would carry that weight?

She had always been good at enjoying the benefits. But consequences? Those were for other people to handle.

William made the money. She spent it like it was nothing. But when he screwed up, she expected me, his wife, to clean up the mess.

You don't get to have your cake and eat it too.

Chapter 3

Linda stormed in like a whirlwind.

She was still in silk pajamas, just threw a coat on top, her hair all over the place, her face streaked with tears and pure panic.

She immediately spotted Laura waiting by the OR doors, then caught sight of me sitting on the bench, my phone in my hand.

Linda didn't even ask the doctor what was happening, didn't spare a glance at William on the stretcher.

She came right up to me, raised her hand, and went to slap me.

I didn't even bother to look up, just leaned back and dodged her slap.

Her hand sliced through empty air, and she lurched forward from the momentum, nearly losing her balance.

"Christine, you jinx! If anything happens to my son, I'll make you pay," she yelled, steadying herself and jabbing her finger right in my face.

I finally put my phone away and looked up at her.

"Whether he lives or dies isn't my choice. It's yours," I said calmly.

Seeing someone who could actually make the call had arrived, the doctor rushed over with the clipboard. "You're the patient's mother, right? We have no time. You need to sign now so we can operate."

Linda snatched it, didn't even glance at the form, and shoved it hard into my arms. "Sign it. What's wrong with you? Do you want him to die?"

She was so forceful, the clipboard's corner jabbed painfully into my side.

I pushed the clipboard away. "I told you already. I'm not signing."

"You tell me. You're the one who taught him how to treat his wife," I shot back, locking eyes with her, each word slow and deliberate.

Linda froze.

The air felt thick, almost frozen. Even the doctors and nurses paused, watching the spectacle of our family showdown with open curiosity.

Laura crept over, tugged at Linda's sleeve, and whispered, "Mrs. Brooks, don't be upset. Christine... she's probably just mad. Maybe you can talk her down."

Her whole act—playing the innocent peacemaker—was honestly impressive.

All the while, she kept shooting me death glares from the corner of her eye.

She was putting on a whole performance for the doctors, nurses, and anyone else watching.

She wanted everyone to see me as the cruel wife ready to let her husband die over a petty grudge.

I didn't disappoint her.

I stood up and walked over to her.

She thought I was about to cave, and for a second, a flicker of triumph crossed her face.

I took the clipboard from her hands and opened it in front of everyone.

Then I picked up the pen—not to sign, but to hand it to her.

"Here, Linda. You sign it," I said.

Linda froze again, staring at the pen I was holding out, totally stunned. "What did you just say?"

"I said, you sign it," I said, pushing the pen even closer, the tip almost brushing her nose.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm his mom. You're his wife. This is your job!" she shrieked, jumping back as if the pen were a snake.

"The law says a spouse, a parent, or an adult child can sign. I'm stepping aside. So now it's your turn. Seems fair to me," I said, my voice calm but every word crystal clear.

The doctor chimed in quietly, "Technically... that's correct. Legally, the mother can provide consent."

Linda's face kept flipping between red and white.

Obviously, she had zero intention of signing.

Putting her name on that line meant taking responsibility. If the surgery went wrong, if William died—who would bear the blame? Who would carry that weight?

She had always been good at enjoying the benefits. But consequences? Those were for other people to handle.

William made the money. She spent it like it was nothing. But when he screwed up, she expected me, his wife, to clean up the mess.

You don't get to have your cake and eat it too.