She didn't even glance back at my weak cries for help.
All I could do was watch as I vomited a mouthful of blood—then more, and more, gushing out like a fountain.
A kind stranger passing by carried me to the clinic.
The doctor said I only had one kidney. My metabolism was compromised. I needed IV treatment immediately to flush out the toxins.
But Norma and Percival had ended up at the same clinic.
Percival clutched his throat, wailing in pain.
"Norma, my stomach hurts so bad. Am I going to die?"
"Get the doctor—save me! I don't want our baby to be born without a father!"
Panic flooded Norma's face. She intercepted the doctor who was about to operate on me.
"Doctor, he's been poisoned. He only has one kidney—I'm afraid he's in danger. Please operate on him first!"
The doctor looked at me uncertainly. "But we have another patient here. He also only has one kidney..."
Norma barely spared me a glance before making her decision.
"I know him. He's my husband. He's fine—he's faking it."
"But Percival actually drank pesticide. If you don't operate now, he'll die!"
She held up our wedding photo. Between the picture and her words, the doctor was convinced.