In Her Order, There Was No Place for Me

1: 1

Lucretia James had a severe order obsession.

As a surgeon, she'd set an iron rule.

Every surgery ran on the schedule. No one got her to break it.

The day my father was dying, I begged her to come in half an hour early.

She refused, her voice flat.

The surgery's slotted for three. One minute early and you've broken the process.

But the moment she turned around, Julian Simmons said his chest felt off, and she scrapped her schedule and rushed to his side.

This was the third time.

The first, my father had a post-op infection. She said it wasn't on the schedule, then sat through Julian's IV drip with him.

The second, my father went into sudden heart failure. She said it wasn't time yet, then went to celebrate Julian's birthday.

This time, my father lay in the emergency room, his blood pressure already too low to register.

I called her, my eyes burning.

It took nine calls before she picked up.

"The surgery time hasn't come up on the schedule. No amount of calling is going to change that."

"Every patient follows the order. I'm not making an exception just because he's my father-in-law."

She hung up.

Half an hour later, my father's heart monitor flatlined.

The doctors said if the surgeon had arrived twenty minutes sooner, he might have been saved.

I signed the death confirmation alone, and drew the white sheet up over my father.

That was when my phone lit up.

A message from Lucretia James.

"Get Dad ready. I'll operate at three, right on time."

I looked at the screen and calmly slid off my wedding ring.

Lucretia James, the person waiting for you to save his life will never get to three now.

I dropped the ring into the medical waste bin.

The staff wheeled my father's body into the cold storage.

The digital clock on the wall ticked over to 3:20 in the afternoon. The corridor was dead silent.

Pain came in waves through my stomach. Two months ago the doctor had confirmed I had severe stomach ulcers and needed to be admitted for treatment as soon as possible.

I'd meant to wait until my father was safely through his surgery before telling Lucretia the diagnosis.

Now I didn't want her to know at all.

My phone rang. Lucretia.

The second I answered, she asked, holding down her anger.

"Connor Cooley, where did you take Dad?"

"His surgery slot is up, and you took him off on your own. Do you have any idea how badly that disrupts the whole department's process?"

I looked at the sealed doors of the cold storage, and suddenly even an explanation felt pointless.

"You don't need to operate anymore."

Then I hung up.

The cramping in my stomach nearly took my legs out from under me.

I braced against the wall and made my way, step by step, to the billing window on the first floor.

I'd just finished the paperwork for holding the body and turned around when I ran straight into Lucretia James in her white coat.

Julian Simmons was leaning weakly against her side, draped in her jacket.

She saw me and frowned.

"Why did you hang up on me?"

"I came in on schedule. Stop throwing a tantrum over Dad's surgery."

Julian tugged at her sleeve.

"Lucretia, don't blame Connor."

"He's just worried sick about your father. He did it to make you take this seriously."

"After all, it was only my chest bothering me, and you came to me first. It's only natural he'd feel put out."

Lucretia's frown deepened.

"Julian's readings were abnormal. Of course I went to him first. Your father's in the emergency room, so there's a doctor on duty to handle it. There's no need to come to me for every little thing."

"And don't think being my husband means everyone has to clear the way for the two of you."

Right then, Lucretia's mother came over carrying a bag of imported fruit.

"Connor, how can you be so unreasonable?"

"Lucretia works so hard doing surgeries all day, and you keep pestering her with your father's illness!"

"Julian's a frail boy. What's wrong with Lucretia looking after him? Do you really have to hide the old man away and make a scene?"

I looked at the three of them and found the whole thing absurd.

My father wasn't even cold, and they were sure I was jealous.

I looked at Lucretia and said it word by word.

"I'll say it one more time. I don't need you to operate."

"Because my father is dead. Half an hour ago. Resuscitation failed."

Her brows drew together, then her face went cold again.

"Connor Cooley, do you think using something like that to force me to back down is funny?"

"I read his chart. Half an hour late wouldn't have caused a thing. You hide him away and cook up a lie like this, and it just makes me despise you more."

She pulled her gaze away, indifferent.

"Since you're set on giving up the surgery slot, I'll reclaim the VIP recovery suite and the special-drug allocation and give them to someone who actually needs them."

"Break the process, and you pay for it."

Her mother sneered at once.

"That's how it should be. An old man with one foot in the grave, taking up a ward that nice is a waste of resources."

Lucretia frowned and cut her off. "Mom, that's enough."

But she never took back what she'd just decided.

I pressed save on the recording, keeping every word of it.

"Suit yourself."

I turned and walked out of the hospital.

2: 2

The next day, a rare downpour hit the city.

I swallowed two heavy-duty stomach pills, took an umbrella, and went to the hospital to close out my father's account for good.

I'd barely stepped into the lobby when Julian Simmons's post lit up my phone.

In the photo he sat in a warmly decorated VIP recovery suite, an expensive nutrition tray on the table.

The caption read: She says rules are dead, but people are alive. Thank you to a certain someone for breaking every line for me.

I stared at the screen until my eyes stung.

That ward was the one Lucretia had promised to keep for my father's recovery after surgery.

She'd said the waitlist ran a full year, that no one could jump the line.

But less than a day after my father died, Julian had moved in.

So it wasn't that the rules couldn't be broken. It was that my father hadn't been worth breaking them for.

I went to the window and handed over the death certificate and the health insurance card.

After checking them, the clerk told me there was still a batch of imported post-op medication under my father's name that needed a signature to be returned.

I'd just taken the confirmation form when Lucretia's voice came from behind me.

"It can't be returned."

She walked up with Julian at her side and pulled the form straight out of my hand.

"Julian's numbers are abnormal. This batch is exactly what he needs. Since Dad already gave up on treatment, the resources should go to someone who needs them more."

She held the pen out to me.

"Sign. I'll handle the rest for you."

Watching how entitled she looked, I suddenly laughed.

"Lucretia, this is my father's life-saving medication."

"He missed his own slot. Naturally the medication gets reallocated."

Lucretia frowned, her tone impatient.

"Don't use public resources as a tool for your sulking."

"He didn't miss his slot. He didn't live long enough to reach it."

Her face went cold in an instant.

"How much longer are you going to keep telling that lie?"

Julian glanced at the health insurance card in my hand and said softly,

"Lucretia, let it go. That was something Uncle left behind, after all. It's normal that Connor can't part with it. I can hold out a little longer."

Lucretia clamped her hand around my wrist and forced the pen into my grip.

"Julian can't wait. Sign, now."

A sharp, twisting pain tore through my stomach.

My face went white, my hand went to my belly on instinct, and the pen dropped to the floor.

Lucretia glanced down at it and still didn't let go.

"Faking illness to stall for time again?"

She snatched the confirmation form and said coldly to the clerk at the window,

"I'm the patient's daughter-in-law and his attending physician. If he won't sign, I will."

The clerk looked uneasy.

"Director James, this doesn't follow the rules."

"Special cases get special handling. If there's a problem, I'll take responsibility."

Hearing that, I felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity.

When my father's life hung by a thread, she'd said arriving even one minute early would break the process.

Now, for Julian, she was ready to override the signature of the dead man's own family.

I yanked the health insurance card back.

"This card already has a cancellation request filed. No one is touching a cent inside it."

Lucretia's face darkened.

"You'd cancel Dad's health insurance account, just to spite me?"

She stared at me, her tone growing more impatient.

"Which hospital did you transfer him to?"

I didn't answer. I turned and walked out into the downpour.

Lucretia chased to the door and ordered, her voice low,

"Connor, come back. I'll take you to get checked."

But Julian suddenly clutched his chest and let himself slump against her shoulder.

Her steps stopped at once.

Behind me her voice rose, anxious, calling for a nurse.

I didn't look back.

Cold rain ran down my pant legs, and the pain in my stomach kept getting worse.

I took a cab, alone, to the nearest gastroenterology specialty hospital.

3: 3

The doctor finished reading the endoscopy report, and his face went grim.

"The ulcer is already severe. You should be admitted for observation."

I nodded, but declined the suggestion of admission right then.

Because tomorrow was the day of my father's cremation, and I had to go home first, to get the bespoke suit he'd loved most while he was alive.

It was the outfit he'd set aside for himself. He said he'd lived a decent, dignified life, and he wanted to leave clean too.

When I dragged my numb legs up and pushed open the door, the sight in front of me froze me where I stood.

The living room, once spotless, where even the sofa cushions had to be lined up with a ruler, was now strung with colored balloons.

Several of the young doctors from Lucretia's department were there in mud-soaked shoes, tramping across the wool carpet, eating and drinking and laughing.

And Lucretia, who had a severe obsession with cleanliness and never let anyone break the household's hygiene rules, was setting out desserts on the table with her own hands, letting all of it happen.

I looked at Lucretia.

"What are you doing?"

One of the young doctors explained with a smile.

"Julian's been in a bad mood these past few days. Director James asked everyone over to cheer him up."

Lucretia gave me a flat glance.

"I'm just letting him relax. There's no need for you to make a fuss."

I looked at the mess all over the floor, and it suddenly struck me as absurd.

When my father's life had hung by a thread, she wouldn't spare him half an hour.

Julian was only in a bad mood, and she could throw out every one of her own rules and fill the house with people just to make him happy.

I didn't ask anything more, just walked straight toward the second bedroom where my father had been staying.

The moment I pushed the door open, my blood shot straight to my head.

Julian was standing in front of the full-length mirror, holding my father's bespoke suit up against himself.

There were scissors in his hand, and a long cut had already been sliced open along the lapel.

Hearing the door, he turned to look at me, without a trace of guilt on his face.

"Connor, good timing. This suit is way too dated. I was just about to take it apart and redo it."

"Lucretia said I could pick whatever I wanted from in here."

Whatever was holding me together snapped in that instant.

"Take it off!"

I rushed over, snatched the scissors from his hand, and yanked him away from the mirror.

Julian screamed and fell, and the scissors dragged a deeper tear through the suit.

Lucretia came running at the sound, her face darkening at once.

"Connor, what are you throwing a fit about now?"

"You told him to touch my father's things?"

She reached out to shield Julian, her voice thick with impatience.

"It's just a piece of clothing. Julian likes it, so let him have it."

I reached out to grab it back, but Lucretia clamped down on my wrist and shoved me away hard.

"Hurting someone over something this small. Is it really worth it?"

I stumbled into the solid wood corner of the bed, and a searing pain tore through my stomach.

Lucretia's hand shot out on instinct, but Julian clutched his chest and leaned against her shoulder, wincing.

"Lucretia, I can't breathe"

She pulled back the hand she'd started reaching toward me and took hold of him instead.

"The clothes are ruined, I'll buy you ten more."

"But if anything happens to Julian, you'll bear the consequences."

The door slammed shut.

My stomach heaved violently, and I bent over and vomited a large mouthful of blood, the crimson soaking fast into the wooden floor.

I held the ruined suit tight against me.

Then I dug out my phone and dialed Lawyer Weiss's number.

"Lawyer Weiss, the divorce and the medical liability claim, start them both."

"I'll send you the evidence right away."

After hanging up, I dialed emergency services.

4: 4

The ER corridor was a wall of noise. I lay on the gurney, blood spilling steadily from the corner of my mouth, soaking a raw red stain into the white pillowcase.

The nurse was about to push me into the trauma room when Lucretia hurried in, holding Julian up by the arm.

She caught sight of me covered in blood and stopped short, something startled flickering in her eyes.

But Julian spoke first.

"Connor came running here too?"

"He was perfectly fine at home a minute ago. How does he vomit this much blood the second he reaches the hospital? He's not still angry that you took me in for tests first, is he? Blowing this up on purpose?"

The hesitation in Lucretia's eyes vanished at once.

She looked down at me, her expression frighteningly cold.

"Connor, do you have any idea this is an emergency room?"

"You'd stoop to a stunt like this just to get ahead of Julian? Aren't you afraid of holding up someone who actually needs saving?"

I was shaking all over from the pain, without even the strength to explain.

The nurse couldn't hold back:

"The patient has massive gastric bleeding, and his blood pressure is dropping. He needs treatment immediately."

The head of the Emergency Department recognized Lucretia and came over quickly.

But Lucretia planted herself in front of the gurney, her voice low and firm:

"He only took a blow to the abdomen, and he's fully conscious. Run the triage assessment by protocol first."

"Julian has a record of abnormal cardiac enzymes. Give him the cardiac monitor first."

The department head looked at the shocking amount of blood on me, his face tightening with difficulty.

"Director James, this patient's condition is clearly more urgent."

"Whether it's urgent is decided by the test results, not by who makes the bigger scene."

Lucretia's brow knotted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Being my husband doesn't entitle him to skip the normal process."

Julian leaned against her side and added, low:

"Connor has never liked me. If I take up the machine, he'll just accuse you of playing favorites again."

Lucretia's face went colder still, and she walked him straight to the exam bed.

"We do this by the rules. No one gets to throw a fit."

I curled up against the pain, opened my mouth, and found I didn't even have the strength to speak.

So in her eyes, even vomiting blood was just me angling for her attention.

At that moment, the blood-pressure monitor let out a shrill alarm.

"Patient's blood pressure is still falling. Resuscitate, now!"

The on-call doctor shoved Lucretia away from the front of the gurney and rushed me into the trauma room.

A surgeon from the Gastroenterology Surgery Department hurried in with the test results.

"Severe gastric perforation causing massive hemorrhage. He needs a partial gastrectomy immediately, or his life is at risk!"

The nurse held out the surgical consent form.

"Mr. Cooley, you're conscious, so you can sign for yourself. Should we notify your family?"

My face was bloodless as I dragged out a smile uglier than crying.

"No need."

"I don't have any family."

As the pen dragged across the paper, a part of my own body was being cut clean out of me too.

At the same time, the funeral home still couldn't reach me, and had no choice but to call the backup number on file.

Lucretia was sitting outside the private ward, waiting for Julian's test results.

The call connected, and the staff member asked in a flat, procedural tone:

"Good evening, Ms. James. Your father-in-law's body reaches the end of its cold-storage period tonight. When will the family come to arrange the cremation?"

Lucretia shot to her feet, her face darkening fast.

"Connor put you up to this?"

"Tell him a lie like this only makes me despise him more."

The staff member paused, thrown.

"Ms. James, this is the city funeral home"

"Enough."

Lucretia hung up and blocked the number.

After the surgery to remove part of my stomach, I lay on the cold hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling without moving.

The nurse wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, then turned her head away, eyes reddening.

Elsewhere, Lucretia got up to fetch water from the pantry.

Passing the ER nurses' station, she walked straight into the night-shift handover.

A few nurses were keeping their voices down.

"That patient earlier, Connor Cooley, he's so pitiful. His own father died just two days ago when they couldn't save him, and today he perforates his stomach and hemorrhages himself, loses more than half his stomach."

"I heard he signed the consent form alone. Didn't even fill in an emergency contact."

Another nurse frowned.

"Isn't his wife in the hospital too?"

"She is. That Director James who said earlier he didn't meet the criteria for resuscitation."

"Her own husband has a severe ulcer and she does nothing, nearly held up the resuscitation on top of it. What kind of wife is that?"

The blood in Lucretia's body froze all at once.

The thermos hit the floor with a bang, scalding water splashing over the top of her foot, and she seemed not to feel the pain at all.

She turned stiffly, staring at the nurses with red-rimmed eyes, her voice shaking to pieces.

"Who did you just say died?"

"Who hemorrhaged?"