Chapter 5

Summer’s POV

Early the next morning, I pulled up that public reply and thrust it right in front of Sean's face.

The words glowed brightly on the screen: *We got divorced a long time ago.*

"I've publicly clarified our relationship," I said, my voice still hoarse. "Please stay far away from me from now on. My shoulder will heal on its own. Process my discharge today."

Sean leaned down to look at me, the collar of his white coat brushing against the edge of my pillow. His expression remained utterly unreadable.

"Discharge?" he said coolly. "Your shoulder is still swollen. Who do you think is going to sign your discharge papers?"

"I'll sign them myself."

"I'm the one who assigns the beds on this floor," he stated. "And I'm the one who signs the paperwork."

I clenched my phone tightly in my palm, refusing to let go.

"Do one more favor for Chloe," he said. "Then I'll reconsider what's between us."

"Sean." I glared at him. "Just how many favors do you expect me to do for her?"

"Just this last one, and that's it."

"That's exactly what you said yesterday."

"This time is different."

"How is it different?"

He didn't answer. Straightening up, he turned and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Lying there alone, I stared at the ceiling, turning the reality over in my head.

My transfer paperwork was blocked halfway through the system, and I was trapped on his turf. Which bed I occupied and when I could leave were completely out of my control.

All I wanted today was one simple thing: finalize the paperwork and walk out of this building.

I closed my eyes and placed my hand over my belly once more.

It was still flat, yet that faint, quiet presence was the only thing anchoring me right now.

I had thought about running.

But with my transfer blocked, pregnant, and my husband thousands of miles away overseas, where could I possibly run if I slipped out that door?

Shortly past noon, the door swung open.

Chloe led several visiting physicians from other hospitals into the room. Holding their briefcases, they glanced around the private suite.

Chloe spoke in a clear voice, loud enough for everyone to hear: "The patient and room we are evaluating for today's review are right here."

She ushered the visiting doctors to the side, then stepped up to my bedside. "This is my patient. Her case is somewhat unique, which makes it a perfect clinical observation for everyone."

Sean followed closely behind, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands casually resting in his pockets. In front of the visiting physicians, he laid down the law.

"Starting today, Dr. Chloe is fully in charge of this patient," he announced evenly, his voice filling the room. "Which bed she stays in, when she can be discharged, and who handles her transfer—Dr. Chloe has the final say."

The visiting doctors exchanged glances, nodding politely.

*Who handles her transfer*—with that single declaration, my stalled paperwork was officially handed over to the woman standing beside my bed.

"Did you hear that?" Chloe looked down at me with a sweet smile. "If you need anything from now on, just come to me."

Chloe wasted no time putting her newfound authority to use.

Standing by the bed, she casually flipped through my medical chart, asking questions in an unhurried, crystal-clear tone, as if conducting a standard routine round before an audience.

"How many children have you had?"

I kept my eyes closed, refusing to answer.

"You don't have to say anything," Chloe said, flipping the pages with a crisp rustle. "It's all written right here."

"What was wrong with the first one?" Chloe looked up, her gaze shifting from the chart to my face. "Autism?"

Without waiting for my response, she nodded to herself and flipped another page.

"And how did that child end up dying?"

The room fell completely silent.

The visiting doctors looked at one another in awkward discomfort. One held a paper cup frozen in midair, while another quickly averted his gaze toward the window.

"So moving forward," Chloe closed the file with a soft snap, tapping it lightly, "do you still want another child?"

My eyelashes fluttered, but my eyes remained firmly shut.

"Or rather," Chloe leaned in closer, dropping her voice slightly, though it still rang unmistakably clear through the quiet room, "are you still clinging to that old scheme? Still trying to use a baby to tie a man down?"

Having asked her questions, she simply stood by the bed, looking down at me, waiting for me to break.

Every eye in the room was fixed on the bed.

These questions had nothing to do with medical care, and she had no intention of pursuing a clinical follow-up.

The entire point was to have these outsiders witness me crumble under her interrogation, unable to answer.

How my son died had been turned into a public humiliation ritual for me to endure in this very room.

My fingernails dug deeply into my palms.

I didn't utter a single syllable.

How my baby died was not something this woman had any right to read aloud from a chart.

After waiting a moment, the smile on Chloe's face faded.

She turned toward Sean, her eyes welling with instant tears. "Dr. Sean, look at her... I was just following standard procedure with a few routine questions, but she's acting like I'm bullying her."

Sean stepped forward, patted Chloe on the shoulder, and then looked down at me. "Cooperate. Don't embarrass Chloe like this."

"Dr. Sean, please don't scold her," Chloe murmured, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. "It was my fault for asking too urgently."

Sean hadn't stopped a single one of Chloe's humiliating questions.

Instead, he turned to the visiting doctors and offered a brief explanation on her behalf, his words laced with professional praise, claiming Dr. Chloe's line of questioning had been remarkably incisive.

Once the crowd finally dispersed, only the two of us were left in the room.

Sean walked to the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket up over my shoulders.

"This was an evaluation review for Chloe's permanent promotion," he said quietly. "If you cooperate well, I will seriously consider what's between us."

I turned my head away, staring out the window.

Outside was the hospital courtyard. A few patients were strolling under the brilliant sunlight.

Looking at that warm light, a tear traced a cold path down my temple, disappearing into my hair.

I had endured the staring eyes of an entire room of strangers, yet my transfer papers were still firmly withheld.

I understood now. The more desperate I was to leave, the more leverage those two had over me.

The tears weren't just for that, though.

A sharp, twisting cramp began seizing my lower abdomen.

At first, I thought I was just imagining things. I held my breath, waiting for the wave to pass. But the moment it subsided, an even sharper spasm surged right behind it, clenching tighter than before.

I bit down on my lip, making no sound, refusing to even look toward the door. I just pressed my hand harder and harder against my lower belly.

His dismissive words—*no need for an exam*—still hung over this entire floor like a verdict.

If I cried out in pain today, it would just be branded as another dramatic act.