Chapter 3
I ignored his threats.
The third-party management company called, saying they had fully taken over and handled all personnel matters. The list for the Caribbean branch had already been finalized.
I was pleased with their efficiency, but instructed them to retrieve the surveillance footage from my children’s surgery day.
The reason I couldn’t get access before was that Ethan wouldn’t let me. HRs were on his side, and whenever I tried to
review the footage, they made excuses.
Now, no one could stop me.
The staff reviewed the footage, and a few minutes later, they called back, apologetic.
“The footage has been deleted.”
I tightened my grip on the phone, my fingers turning white. I didn’t need to guess who had deleted it.
To protect his precious protégé, he was willing to go to any lengths.
“But our technicians can attempt recovery.”
I sighed in relief, immediately promising them that if they managed to recover it, everyone’s bonuses would be doubled.
As soon as the list was published, my phone exploded with calls and messages.
Doctors who once thanked me were now sending me curses.
“Valerie Greene, can’t catch the mistress, so now you take it out on us. Don’t think I’ll be your scapegoat. I’ll expose everything you’ve done to the media. I won’t give you a penny, and I’m not going to the Caribbean.”
“Please, Ms. Greene, have mercy. I’m getting married soon, and I have a mortgage. Don’t drag us into your martial issue.”
“You old witch, just wait. When Ethan divorces you, my best friend will take your place. Let’s see how you’ll keep up your
power then.”
I looked up their resumes one by one and passed them to the management company.
“Calculate their training costs. Refuse the transfer? Pay triple compensation.”
I was being merciful.
Training a doctor isn’t easy, and it’s not easy for them to become good doctors either.
I didn’t want to ruin them; I just wanted what I was owed.
When the list came through, and Ethan and Sophie were still on it, he finally couldn’t sit still.
The phone rang. His voice was barely contained, fury evident in every word.
“How long are you going to drag this out? Are you happy now that everyone is angry with you and the hospital is on the
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brink of collapse? Do you know how many surgeries are scheduled today? How can the doctors on that list focus on their
work?”
“This is a hospital, a life-saving institution, not your personal battleground!”
“Retract the announcement, and apologize to everyone! Pay everyone’s annual bonus!”
I replied flatly:
“They signed contracts agreeing to obey the hospital’s orders for relocation. If they can’t work properly under the new directive, they don’t deserve to be doctors.”
On the other end, I could hear him panting, swearing under his breath.
“You’re insane! Fine, don’t blame me for what comes next.”
“Remember, you tore us apart.”
The call ended, and there was no sense of satisfaction on my end.
Just bitterness and sorrow.
I had convinced myself that it wasn’t that he didn’t love me or the children, but that his personality was cold.
But now, I realized he was just never capable of loving us.
I had wasted ten years of my life with someone who didn’t love me.
I watched him, the man who killed my children, walk away without a care.
I didn’t respond to any more insults.
To provoke me further, Ethan began to retaliate publicly.
He proudly attended academic conferences and gala dinners with Sophie,
dressed in matching outfits, holding hands as they posed for interviews.
At the project launch event for the research I funded, he loudly declared,
“Sophie has made pivotal contributions. Without her, it would never have succeeded.”
They exchanged smiles as the media snapped pictures.
The photos were published with the headline:
“Cardiologist Dr. Ethan Blackwood and wife at research launch event!”
Power couple writes new chapter!”
He reposted the news with just a simple note: “Thrilled about the new drug.”
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Yet, he didn’t address the misunderstanding that Sophie was thought to be his wife.
The comments section was filled with praise and congratulations,
but also a few questions: “Dr. Blackwood, isn’t this inappropriate?”
But just as quickly, those comments were deleted.
I read through them calmly, took screenshots, and sent them to my lawyer.
Perhaps my lack of reaction made them lose interest.
Someone sent me a leaked video.
In the changing room, Sophie’s burn was exposed as Ethan applied medicine with a cotton swab.
Sophie groaned, “Ethan, it hurts. Use your fingers?”
Ethan’s throat bobbed as he tossed the cotton swab aside.
The video cut off there.
The person who sent it included a cheeky “shush” emoji.
“Just changing bandages, Mrs. Greene! ;)”
I replied calmly: “I know.”
After all, they’re both heading to the Caribbean soon, so I didn’t care what they did.
On the day of the seventh memorial for my children, I made sure to decorate the house in an Superman theme.
It was their biggest wish-to have a birthday party themed around Superman.
For years, Ethan had rejected it.
“What’s with the decorations? Why the mess? Just eat the cake.”
Yet, even the cake, he never bothered to sit down and eat with them.
He always said he was too busy to spend time with the children.
But he had plenty of time to spend the whole day at Disneyland with Sophie.
My children had only one chance to live. At least I wanted to make their birthday the way they had always dreamed.
With teary eyes, I sang “Happy Birthday” over and over in front of their urns.
Then the phone rang. It was someone from the management company, their voice frantic.
“You need to check the internet right now. Dr. Blackwood’s rallying doctors for a hospital-wide strike against you!”
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