Chapter 3
Instead of going home, I hailed a cab and headed to a private clinic in the southern district.
Tucked away in an old residential building, the clinic had a modest storefront. Pushing the door open, I was met with the sharp scent of antiseptic.
"Dr. Sinclair?" A middle-aged woman in a white coat approached—Claudia Wilde, my former supervising physician from my internship days.
"Ms. Wilde, I'm sorry to trouble you again." I forced a faint smile.
"Don't be silly." She guided me to a seat, studying my face with a deepening frown. "What happened to you? Didn't you rest properly after the bone marrow donation?"
"It's... complicated." I avoided details. "I need a full workup—especially my bone marrow function and... the status of the pregnancy."
Claudia sighed but didn't press further, arranging for a nurse to draw blood and perform an ultrasound.
While waiting for the results, I leaned back on the clinic's worn bench and drifted into a fitful sleep.
In my dream, I relived the bone marrow harvest—the needle piercing bone, Lucas laughing in the next room, saying, "You're the only one I love."
Then the scene shifted: Vivian stood before me, resting a hand on her stomach. "I'm carrying Lucas' child."
I jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.
"You're awake?" Claudia sat across from me, holding a stack of reports, her expression grave.
"What did the tests show?" I asked.
She slid the papers toward me.
The complete blood count showed hemoglobin at 65 g/L—severe anemia.
The bone marrow biopsy revealed critically depleted hematopoietic cells, with reserves nearly exhausted.
The ultrasound confirmed an intrauterine pregnancy of about 12 weeks, but the placenta was low-lying, accompanied by a hematoma.
"Nora." Claudia removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "In your current condition, this pregnancy... it isn't sustainable."
My eyes remained fixed on the small shadow in the ultrasound image, hands trembling.
"What if I insist on keeping it?" I asked.
"You could have massive bleeding, and your bone marrow just won't be able to handle it. Then..." She trailed off, but the meaning was painfully clear.
I'd die. Simple as that. Both me and the baby—gone.
"There's more." Claudia produced another file. "The real medical records for Vivian—the ones you asked me to look into."
I snapped my head up.
"I called in a favor to access the original archives in Hematology." Her voice lowered. "Every lab report prior to her diagnosis had been swapped. The actual values indicate she never had leukemia—just mild anemia."
I took the file, leafing through page after page.
Falsified bone marrow reports, altered flow cytometry results, and even fabricated genetic tests.
An elaborate deception from start to finish.
And Lucas—Riverdale's youngest hematology department head—hadn't noticed.
Or perhaps he hadn't wanted to notice.
Because Vivian was the one he cherished, the one he chose to believe without question.
"What will you do with this evidence? Give it to Lucas?" Claudia asked, concern etching her features.
I shook my head. "He wouldn't believe me now. He'd think I forged these to come between them."
"Then..." Claudia hesitated.
"I'll wait. For a moment when he can't dismiss the truth," I said, tucking the report away.
Before Claudia could respond, the clinic door burst open.
A young nurse rushed in, breathless. "Dr. Wilde, the hospital just called—Dr. Reed's mother had a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. She's in emergency surgery!"
The test reports slipped from my hands, scattering on the floor.
Lucas' mother, Juliet Morse.
The kindly old lady who used to sneak me honey-lemon water during my internship, always saying, "It's not easy for a young girl out here all alone."
"How is she?" Claudia asked immediately.
"Critical. Massive bleeding, unconscious... They're not sure she'll wake up."
I stood, legs buckling beneath me.
Claudia reached out to steady me. "You're going to the hospital?"
"Yes," I said.
"But your body..." she protested.
"I'm fine," I said, brushing her hand off and nearly tripping as I headed out.
Outside, night had fallen, and snow had begun to drift down again.
I flagged another cab and gave the hospital's name.
During the ride, my phone buzzed incessantly.
Messages from colleagues flooded in.
[Nora, Dr. Reed's mom is in critical condition—she needs an emergency bone marrow transplant!]
[The match results are back—there's only one perfect match in the whole hospital—it's you.]
Reading those words, I let out a hollow laugh. Then the tears came, silent and steady.
Life proved to be a cruelly unkind playwright.
First, it took my bone marrow to save Vivian. Now it demanded I give mine once more to save Lucas' mother.
But my marrow was gone—completely drained, utterly spent.
Even if I had been willing to give it, I had nothing left to offer.