No surprise there. I could imagine how furious they were. This was the hospital’s first collaboration with the biotech research lab, and I had ruined it. The one and only vial of the antiviral serum—still unapproved for clinical trials—had been wasted on Cynthia.
Now, both my department and my name were publicly criticized throughout the hospital.
Since I’d asked for a divorce, Cynthia had taken every opportunity to talk about her and Hadden’s childhood memories, painting a picture of how they were always meant to be. Somehow, rumors started spreading that I had only married Hadden by manipulating him—using my pregnancy to “climb the social ladder.”
Wherever I went, I was met with whispers and scorn. Even patients, overhearing the gossip, would join in on the insults without knowing the full story.
Some of the more extreme ones—those who idolized Hadden and Cynthia as the perfect “couple”—even threw urine bags at me in protest.
Not even a trip to the bathroom spared me from their hostility. Everywhere I went, their malice followed me.
Yet, they ignored one crucial fact—I was infected too.