The Ghost He Couldn't See

Ethan and I were a medical power couple, brilliant doctors at Mount Sinai West, building a life, a future. My world, however, shattered in a horrific car crash. My head throbbed, my vision blurred, and though my words were clear enough to convey a severe neurological emergency, the man I loved, Dr. Ethan Hayes, rushed past my trauma bay. He called me "dramatic," dismissing my critical state to focus on his stepsister, Brooke, who he believed had a 'shattered leg.' I watched, a helpless ghost, as my body flatlined, the monitor's unbroken tone signaling my death. He still didn't know, too preoccupied with fixing Brooke's "injuries," too blind to her manipulative tears and lies about the accident. The betrayal was colder than death itself. Five years, a future planned, all discarded for a carefully crafted pretense. My heart, or what was left of it, ached with an unbearable truth. The true horror, the one that would forever define his torment, was a secret I carried even into the afterlife: I was pregnant. With our child. The baby he unknowingly condemned with his catastrophic medical negligence. His world was about to unravel – spectacularly, brutally. And I, his silent, invisible companion, would be tethered to him, watching every agonizing moment as his brilliant career, his sanity, and his very soul disintegrated.