Separation of Love: When He Chose His First Love

The day felt like a twisted déjà vu, a nightmare that had come back to claim me again.

My son's swollen body lay limp in the passenger seat, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him. His face was bloated from nephritis, so much so that the delicate features I used to kiss were now unrecognizable. Panic clawed at my chest, constricting every breath as I tried to free him from the seatbelt. My hands shook, the belt jammed by his swollen frame. I screamed his name, my voice hoarse and trembling, but he didn't stir. His little chest was still, too still.

The screeching of tires and the jarring impact echoed in my mind, but it was the deafening silence that terrified me more. My fingers fumbled as I desperately tried to call for help. Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes. When a passerby approached, I barely managed to get the words out, pleading for their assistance as I fought to dial emergency services.

Ayden's name flashed on my mind as I was about to press the emergency number. His betrayal seared into my memory—the way he had twisted his medical authority to save Iris instead of our son. My fingers hovered over his name for a heartbeat too long before I bit my lip, swallowing the anguish that threatened to choke me. I couldn't call him. Not now.

A familiar voice answered on the other end of the emergency line, a woman I had met before—one of Ayden's university classmates. She was brisk, cold and the irritation in her voice dripped like venom.

"Mrs. Thomas, Dr. Thomas isn't at the hospital today. Stop acting. As for where he is, I have no idea. If you need something, call him directly. This line is for emergencies, not your drama."

Her words sliced through me and anger bubbled up. "My son was in a car accident! He needs emergency care! You don't get it. His nephritis—it can't wait! There's a kidney at the hospital and I—"

"Nephritis?" she interrupted, her tone cruel and dismissive. "You still haven't picked up his test report, have you? Making things up again? You must really enjoy putting on this show. Dr. Thomas didn't even want me to tell you where he was because he knew you'd make a scene like this. Honestly, I have no idea why he chose you in the first place."

My blood turned to ice as the reality of her words settled over me. Desperation gave way to a burning fury. "I don't give a damn where Ayden is! My son needs help. I need an ambulance now!" I shouted into the phone, my voice trembling with rage.

Her response was filled with exasperation, like I was some unhinged woman trying to stir up trouble. "What's your problem? You're acting like you're the only person with a sick child. You were sent home with medicine yesterday! How serious could it be? You curse Ayden and still expect him to save your son?"

The phone clicked off, her disbelieving scoff echoing in my ears. The sound was like nails on glass, sharp and grating. My vision blurred with tears, not just from anger but from the raw, helpless pain of knowing that my son's life was hanging by a thread and I was being stonewalled by indifference.

Bystanders had gathered around the car, their expressions torn between concern and helplessness. Some had their phones out, calling emergency services again, their voices strained with frustration as each call resulted in the same response: "Stop wasting emergency resources."

The futility of it all clawed at me, but I wasn't giving up. My hands trembled as I fumbled through the glove compartment, finally pulling out the utility knife I had used to open a package earlier. Gritting my teeth, I leaned over my son's limp form, carefully cutting through the seatbelt that held him in place. Every movement felt like it took a lifetime.

When I finally freed him, his body was heavier than I remembered, lifeless. Blood soaked my hands as I cradled him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. With trembling hands, I dialed the hospital's disciplinary committee, my voice barely recognizable through my tears and fury as I reported Ayden and the emergency center's negligence.

The ambulance arrived what felt like hours later, its sirens blaring as the paramedics rushed to lift my son onto a stretcher. His body, so small and fragile, looked lost amidst the sea of blood-stained gauze. His skin had turned an ashen shade, his face deathly pale. I followed them, my breath shallow, my vision swimming with flashes of what had happened in my previous life.

The ambulance sped through red lights, a frantic blur as it raced toward the hospital, but no matter how fast we moved, I couldn't shake the dread coiled tightly in my chest. I had been given another chance, but this world still seemed determined to crush us under the weight of fate.