Chapter 2

My finger hovered over the delete key. One press, and Magnus's latest violations would disappear forever.

The screen's pale glow reflected off my left ring finger, catching the modest diamond. "Forever Salvation"—the engraving inside the platinum band that Magnus had designed himself. Even in this dim light, I could make out the words that once meant everything.

I pressed delete and watched the last record vanish. But instead of relief, all I felt was the familiar ache that came with protecting someone who saw me as their enemy.

"Persephone." I still remembered how he looked the first time he said my name, in the ER hallway. I'd just finished treating a car accident victim and emerged from the trauma room covered in blood, only to bump into the cardiac surgeon who'd come for a consult.

"Sorry!" I apologized quickly, but he just smiled.

"You're as beautiful as your name," he said. "Persephone, goddess of spring."

Back then, Magnus had light in his eyes. Not the hollow, drug-induced haze I saw now, but that warm, hopeful glow. He always wore crisp white coats, his golden hair perfectly styled, walking with confident, purposeful strides.

A year later when we started dating, he told me on the hospital rooftop, "In Greek mythology, Persephone was taken to the underworld by Hades. But I think you're not the one who was taken—you're the one who came to save me."

I laughed and playfully hit him: "You're comparing yourself to the king of the underworld? That's pretty narcissistic, Dr. Magnus."

"Maybe," he pulled me closer, "but you really do make me believe that doctors can be saved too. All those lost patients, those lives we couldn't save... only when I'm with you can I rediscover what it means to be a doctor."

'You are my guardian angel.' That's what he used to say to me most often.

Two years later at our wedding, Magnus stood at the altar in his black tuxedo, waiting for me. When the pastor asked for his vows, he gripped my hands tightly:

"In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, I will love you, Persephone. We'll save more people together, just like you saved me."

I closed my eyes, trying to let these beautiful memories wash away the pain of reality. But soon, another memory surfaced—the night that changed everything.

Three years ago, on that Thursday night, Magnus had been working for 36 straight hours. He'd just finished two complex cardiac surgeries and should have gone home to rest, but the ER brought in an 8-year-old boy.

"Congenital heart disease, severe mitral valve stenosis," Ethan told him over the phone. "If we don't operate immediately, the kid won't make it through the night."

I remember being on night shift, watching Magnus tiredly walk into the OR prep area. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands slightly trembling.

"Magnus, are you sure you can do this?" I asked him. "Should I find another surgeon to cover?"

"It's fine." He rubbed his temples. "This kid can't wait. Besides..." he paused, "I just took my pain medication. My back feels much better."

The surgery lasted four hours. By the third hour, I noticed Magnus's movements becoming sluggish. His usually clockwork-precise surgical technique showed tiny deviations.

"Magnus?" I asked through the intercom. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," his voice sounded somewhat slurred. "Almost done."

But in reality, everything started falling apart in that moment.

During the final suturing, Magnus's scalpel accidentally severed a small coronary artery branch—a critical vessel that should have been immediately clamped. But the medication had dulled his reflexes, and he didn't recognize the severity of the bleeding until it was too late.

"No, no, no..." I watched Magnus begin to panic as alarms screamed around us. "This shouldn't be happening... I was clearly..."

Emergency measures continued for 20 minutes, but ultimately failed. That 8-year-old boy died on the operating table.

The silence in the OR was suffocating. Magnus stood there, hands shaking, the bloody scalpel clattering to the floor with a sharp sound.

"Magnus, this isn't your fault," I walked toward him, wanting to embrace him, but he pushed me away.

"No... this is my fault... I killed him..."

The investigation that followed was two weeks of hell. The hospital board required all medical staff involved in the surgery to submit to questioning and provide blood samples for testing.

"Dr. Eriksson's blood tested positive for opioid painkillers," Hospital Director Dr. Williams told me in his office. "The concentration was sufficient to impair his judgment and reaction time."

I clenched my fists: "He only took medication for back pain. He wasn't abusing drugs."

"I know, Nurse Manager Miller. But rules are rules. Doctors cannot perform surgery under the influence of medication, even legal prescription drugs." Dr. Williams pushed the blood report toward me. "If this report becomes public, Magnus's career is over. Not only that, he could face manslaughter charges."

I stared at that damned report, the numbers looking like a death sentence.

And so, I destroyed the key evidence that could prove Magnus was mentally impaired at the time. I thought this would protect him, let him start over.

But I was wrong.

Even without the blood report, the hospital still discovered that Magnus had taken painkillers before surgery. His medical license was revoked. Though he avoided criminal charges, his career was completely over.

Worse yet, Magnus began to suspect someone had deliberately framed him. Drug withdrawal and depression made him paranoid, and he started believing someone wanted to destroy his life.

"Who reported me?" he began asking me constantly. "Someone must have known I took painkillers and reported it to the board."

"Magnus, no one reported you. It was discovered through routine blood testing." I tried to explain, but he wouldn't believe me.

"You know all my secrets, Persephone," he stared at me one day. "You're the one with the most power to destroy me."

"Magnus!" I looked at him in shock. "I'm your wife! How could I possibly..."

"Wife?" he laughed coldly. "Would a wife just watch her husband's career get destroyed? Would a wife do nothing, just stand by and watch?"

"I did do something! I..." I wanted to tell him the truth, tell him I destroyed that blood report, but I couldn't. If he knew the truth, it would mean admitting he really had operated under the influence of drugs, which would make him suffer even more.

"You're acting!" Magnus's eyes became manic. "You want to see me completely fall! You want me to depend on you so you can control me!"

I remembered what he said when he pushed me away earlier: "You think I don't know what you're doing?"

'You don't know, Magnus. You'll never know what I did to protect you.'

Tears began to blur my vision as I closed the laptop. The living room fell back into darkness, with only the faint glow from streetlights filtering through the curtain gaps.

'You've forgotten what you said, Magnus,' I whispered to the empty room. 'You said we'd save more people together, just like I saved you. I'm still saving you now, even though you see me as the enemy.'

I sat back down on the couch, looking at my wedding ring. Three years ago it represented hope and promises; now it felt more like a heavy shackle.