She slapped his hand away, clutching her collar tight against her throat.
My expression shifted.
I replayed the image in my mind.
This girl was not simple.
"Cut the crap! You ruined my son's life, and you will take responsibility!" Isabella joined the fray, grabbing at the girl's arm.
The moment Isabella made contact, the girl threw herself to the floor. She rolled around, wailing at the top of her lungs.
"Murder! The rich are killing the poor! I saved a life and this is the thanks I get? Help! They're framing me!"
The corridor dissolved into chaos.
I had no patience for this farce. Turning on my heel, I left the hospital.
Back at school, I poured myself into my major. My dedication paid off—I soon secured a mentorship under a nationally renowned forensic medicine professor. My future was bright, the path clear.
I didn't see Derek again until a month later.
I had returned to the hospital to collect case materials for the professor. He had been transferred to a regular ward.
He had survived, but the cost was steep. Just as the doctor predicted, the hands he once prided himself on were swathed in thick gauze, useless and ruined.