She was the mother of our children— She should’ve been by their urns, keeping vigil through their seventh day.
But in Henry’s eyes, a flicker of irritation flashed. His gaze shifted and suddenly he grabbed the bowl from Irene’s hands and walked toward me.
“Mr. Carter, you have to try this seafood porridge Miss Wells made. Last time we went to the beach together, I told her it tasted amazing—and she said she’d learn to make it for me. I just had some and it tastes exactly like the one we had that day.”
Irene glanced at me, flustered.
She always said her hands were meant to save lives—not for chores or cooking. She never touched any of it.
But starting last month, she began stepping into the kitchen after work.
The place was a mess every time.
That was when the children were gravely ill and I was already exhausted, hanging by a thread.
I had thought she was doing it for me— that she felt sorry watching me worn out, that she wanted to shoulder just a little of my burden.
While I quietly cleaned up her kitchen disasters, I felt both bitter and touched, secretly hoping she might cook again—for me, for our children.
It turned out, she was just trying to recreate Henry’s seafood porridge.
The moment that familiar, pungent smell of fish reached my nose— the one I hated most— my skin instantly prickled with red welts.
I clutched my mouth and stepped back sharply, my voice cold. "I'm allergic to seafood. Take it away."
Suddenly, Henry's hand jerked— the steaming porridge spilled all over his thigh.
He let out a scream, then tumbled down the stairs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter! I didn’t know… Miss Wells—it hurts, it hurts so bad…”
"Leo! Are you insane?" Irene shouted, her voice shrill with fury. "Henry didn’t know you were allergic—did you really have to push him down the stairs?"
"I didn’t!" I forced down the nausea, trying to defend myself.
"Still denying it? What, you think Henry dumped boiling porridge on himself for fun?"
Her eyes, once so calm and distant, now burned with disgust.
"You—look at you now. You're no different than a rabid dog."
She bent down, gently lifting Henry into her arms and helping him toward the door.
"This is my last warning: take my and Henry’s names off that transfer list— If you don’t, we’re definitely getting divorced!"
But the divorce papers were already signed. I had no interest in her threats.
Just then, a call came in from the third-party management company.
They informed me that they had officially taken over the hospital's HR and logistics. The transfer list to the Africa branch was finalized and issued.
I was pleased with their speed and efficiency. My only instruction to them: pull the surgery room footage from the day the twins went under.
I hadn’t been able to get it before because Irene had blocked me at every turn.
Everyone in HR sided with her. The moment I brought up checking the footage, they all had excuses to avoid it.
Now, no one could stop me.
The management team went to check the surveillance footage. A few minutes later, they called back, their tone apologetic.
“The footage from that day has already been deleted.”
My grip on the phone turned white with tension. I didn’t need to guess who deleted it.
To protect her precious protégé, she really was capable of anything.
“But don’t worry,” the person added, “Our tech team will try to recover the data.”
I exhaled in relief and gave a clear directive. “If you can recover it, everyone gets double bonuses.”
The moment the reassignment list was released, my phone exploded with calls.
The same doctors who once told me, “Mr. Carter, thank you for giving me the chance to become a doctor,” were now flooding me with curses and angry messages.
[Leo, you can't catch your cheating wife, so you're taking it out on us. Don't think you can use me as a scapegoat. I'm going to expose everything you've done to the media. I won't pay a cent and I'm definitely not going to Africa.]
[Mr. Carter, please have mercy. I'm about to get married and I still have a mortgage to pay. This is between you and Dr. Wells—please don’t drag us into it.]
[You pathetic cuckold, just wait. Once Dr. Wells divorces you and my buddy takes your place, let’s see how long you can keep acting like you're king of the hill.]
I pulled up each of their records one by one—and handed them over to the management company.
