Chapter 4
The moment I arrived at the ER, the pain was so blinding I couldn't even stand straight.
The doctor scanned my transvaginal ultrasound and blood work, his expression turning grim.
"This is a high probability of an ectopic pregnancy. It could rupture and cause internal hemorrhage at any second. You need to be admitted immediately, and we need to prep for surgery."
I braced myself against the chair in the exam room, my back soaked in cold sweat.
"Is your family here with you?" the doctor asked, hovering over his clipboard.
"We need a family member to sign the consent forms and be here for the post-op."
I hesitated for a long, agonizing silence.
Finally, I dialed Eamon.
It rang for an eternity before he picked up.
In the background, I could hear Cecily’s voice, thick with that familiar, saccharine whimper. "Eamon, my ankle is swelling up again. You have to come look at it..."
Eamon’s voice softened instantly, his tone dripping with concern. "Don't move, Cecily. I’m on my way."
I cut in, my voice brittle. "Eamon, get to the City General ER. Now."
His tone shifted, hardening into ice. "If you’re actually hurting, let the ER staff do their jobs. What good would me being there do?"
"The doctor says I need a family member to sign the consent," I whispered, the words barely audible over the thumping in my ears.
"I don't have anyone else, Eamon. You're the only one."
The line fell silent for a heartbeat before I heard a sharp, frustrated sigh.
"Linnea, stop doing this," he muttered, his voice taut with suppressed anger.
"I know you’re an orphan. I get that you never had a family to fall back on, and I get that you have issues with insecurity."
"But you can't keep using that as a tool for emotional manipulation."
The words hit me like a blow.
I doubled over, the room spinning into darkness.
The call disconnected. I stared at the blank screen of my phone, my legs giving out beneath me.
He knew I had no one left in this world, and yet, he weaponized that isolation to push me away.
I leaned against the wall, steadying my breathing, and scrolled to a number I hadn't touched in years.
It was answered on the first ring.
"Linnea?"
I was shaking, my voice breaking from the pain. "Can you... can you get to the hospital?"
There was a split second of silence, followed by the sound of a chair scraping back.
"Send me the location. I'm on my way."
Meanwhile, Eamon was at a local bar with Cecily for a class reunion.
The drinks were flowing, and someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare.
The empty beer bottle spun and landed, pointing straight at Eamon.
"Eamon, be honest," a classmate heckled, grinning. "If Cecily hadn't moved abroad back then, you two would've been a power couple years ago, right?"
The booth went dead silent, followed by a ripple of knowing laughter.
Cecily leaned into him, flashing a mock-apologetic smile. "Guys, cut it out. Eamon’s been married for three years now."
She said it, but her hand stayed draped over his, her fingers resting on the back of his knuckles.
Eamon didn't pull away.
"Come on, Doc!" someone shouted. "You’re holding hands, just answer the question!"
Eamon raised his glass, his face unreadable. "Next question."
The room erupted in cheers.
Cecily seized the moment, grabbing his phone to take a selfie.
Her fingers paused over the lock screen.
She saw it—the six-digit code was still her birthday.
"You haven't changed your password?" she giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "My hip is killing me, I can't lean down. Shield the glare for me, will you?"
Eamon frowned but shifted his body to block the light from the overhead lamps so she could get the perfect shot.
Someone suggested posting it to social media.
Eamon took a casual sip of his drink. "Sure, go for it. My wife doesn't check these things anyway."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "She’s been acting out lately. Always complaining about some phantom pain or another."
The laughter around the table began to die down.
From the corner of the booth, a female colleague looked up, her expression shifting from amusement to shock. "Are you saying Linnea is faking it?"
"Obviously."
The woman’s face turned pale.
"That’s strange," the colleague said, her voice dropping. "Because I was at City General yesterday. I saw her being wheeled into the trauma unit."
"The attending said it was a ruptured ectopic pregnancy—internal bleeding."
"And the man who signed the consent forms... it wasn't you..."
