Chapter 29
Exhausted from her recent trip, Galatea barely had time to rest before heading straight to Serenity Heights Medical Center upon her return to Arizona. As she walked through the halls, a staff member approached her.
“Dr. Hartley, there’s a lady in your office looking for you,” the staff member informed her.
‘A lady looking for me this early?’ Galatea thought, curiosity piqued.
She entered her office, still wearing her white lab coat, to find a woman standing by the window, her back to the door. Upon hearing Galatea’s entrance, the woman turned around and removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes filled with hostility.
“Miss Orion,” Galatea greeted her politely, acknowledging the visitor.
Before Galatea could say anything else, Orion moved swiftly toward her and, without uttering a word, slapped her across the face. The force left Galatea stunned, her head buzzing from the impact.
“You wretch! What tricks did you use to worm your way into Alaric’s bed?” Orion accused, her voice dripping with venom.
Galatea, trying to shake off the shock and the sting on her cheek, took a moment to compose herself. Without saying a word, she retaliated with a slap of her own.
“How dare you hit me!” Orion gasped, shocked by the counterattack. In a fit of rage, she tried to strike Galatea again. But before she could, Galatea quickly seized her wrist, holding it firmly.
“Mrs. Orion, you were the one to hit first,” Galatea said, her voice cold and composed. “I’m just settling the score. If you choose to act irrationally, don’t expect me to play nice.”
Orion’s face turned red with anger. She had been pampered all her life, used to getting her way and trampling over others without any consequences. But today, someone had dared to stand up to her.
“You think just because you’ve cozied up to Alaric that you’ll be his fiancée?” Orion spat with disdain. “Dream on! With your history, Mrs. Carrington would never accept you. Just wait until you’re cast aside. Then you’ll have nowhere to hide your tears!”
The mention of Mrs. Carrington, though Galatea hadn’t met her, carried an intimidating weight, as the name implied a formidable matriarch.
“That’s for me to worry about, Ms. Orion Nash,” Galatea retorted, her tone steady and unflinching.
Just as Galatea finished speaking, a nurse rushed into the room. “Dr. Galatea, there’s trouble in the ward!”
“Excuse me, Ms. Nash. Duty calls,” Galatea said, offering a quick apology before hurrying off after the nurse.
“You’ll regret this,” Orion muttered under her breath, watching Galatea leave.
In her furious mood, Orion stepped forward but tripped over something on the floor. She looked down to see a piece of paper. Bending down to pick it up, she unfolded it to reveal a portrait. Her eyes widened in recognition.
‘Isn’t this Mrs. Carrington? But the name inscribed was Mrs. Marigold. What does this mean?’
Galatea had been carrying a portrait of Mrs. Carrington… for what purpose? Annoyance surged in Orion as she stuffed the portrait into her purse and stormed out of the office.
Meanwhile, Galatea raced into the ward, where chaos had erupted. Andreas, a seventy-year-old patient, lay on the floor convulsing violently.
“What happened?” Galatea asked, quickly assessing the situation.
“Andreas’ son insisted on taking him out of the hospital despite being warned of his father’s critical condition. He didn’t listen and roughly dragged Andreas out, which led to this,” the nurse explained. “His blood pressure is rising fast—get him to the emergency room, stat!”
Galatea’s heart raced as she took charge. “Get him into the emergency room, now!”
The nurses scrambled to assist, but just as they moved Andreas, his son returned to the ward, accompanied by a few burly men.
“Don’t touch my dad!” the son bellowed. “He just has epilepsy. It’s nothing serious. I’m taking my dad out of here. Help me get him out, guys!”
Galatea intervened urgently. “It’s not epilepsy. Andreas is in critical need of surgery, or he’ll be in grave danger. We need to rush him to the ER!”
After wheeling Andreas into the emergency room, Galatea quickly changed into scrubs and ordered, “We need to operate immediately. Get the family to sign the consent form.”
Consent from a relative was required for the surgery to proceed, yet Andreas’s son remained defiant.
“I’ve already told you my dad doesn’t need surgery! Bring him back out to me!” the son shouted, refusing to sign anything.
Ten minutes passed, and Andreas’s condition only worsened, pushing Galatea closer to panic.
“Dr. Galatea, it’s no use. His son won’t agree to give consent. What do we do now?” a nurse asked, helpless.
Galatea’s frustration mounted. How could anyone be so indifferent to their own father’s life?
As she prepared to confront the son, a sudden shift in the room caught her attention. She turned to see Andreas, weak but desperate, gripping her hand.
“Save me,” he pleaded, his voice strained but filled with raw emotion.
The plea tore through Galatea’s heart. She felt his fear, his desperation, mirroring the moment when her own father had died years ago.
Her father had fallen from a building, and though he didn’t die instantly, he bled out as bystanders coldly watched. He died a pitiful death, alone in his final moments—if only someone had stepped in to help, perhaps he could have survived. Galatea’s resolve hardened.
“We operate now!” Galatea declared.
“But the family hasn’t agreed to sign the consent form,” the nurse hesitated.
“It doesn’t matter. If we wait, he’ll die. To hell with the policy!” Galatea snapped. “I’ll take full responsibility. Start the surgery!”
“Yes, Doctor!”
The surgery lasted over an hour, and Galatea’s brow glistened with sweat as she worked tirelessly.
“Dr. Galatea, the patient’s heart has stopped!” a voice rang out in alarm.
Galatea glanced at the monitor and quickly issued commands. “Get the AED ready, prepare the epinephrine.”
“Right away!”
“Adrenaline, one milligram, IV push.”
“Charge to 200 joules.”
The room buzzed with activity as they defibrillated Andreas. Galatea’s focus never wavered. She watched the monitor with unblinking eyes, knowing that every second counted.
“Dr. Galatea, the patient is gone.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. Andreas had stopped breathing.
She collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion. The operating room staff, equally shaken, stood in stunned silence.
“Can anyone hear me? Get my dad out here now! You butchered him!” a furious voice erupted from the hallway.
Galatea’s mind was numb, consumed by the weight of her father’s death and the fresh memory of Andreas’s agony.
The son stormed into the room, his anger spilling over. “This woman killed my dad! She’s a murderer!” he shouted, making a spectacle of the situation.
His twisted sense of justice wasn’t about grief—it was about money. “An eye for an eye, or pay up!” he hissed.
In that moment, Galatea’s mind went blank. The memory of her father’s death mixed with the fresh agony of Andreas’s passing, leaving her overwhelmed.
So numb was she that when she was yanked harshly to the ground, she didn’t even register the pain.
“Get out of my way!” Galatea faintly heard a man’s voice, but she couldn’t grasp who it was. Her vision blurred, and darkness overtook her as she lost consciousness.