Chapter 2

I hovered near Ethan, an invisible spectator to his ignorance.

He was checking on Brooke in the PACU. She was awake, pale, but already working her magic.

"Ethan," she whispered, tears in her eyes, "it was awful. Ava... she was yelling at me about something, and then that car..."

He stroked her hair. "Shhh, Brooke. Don't think about it. You're safe now. I fixed your leg."

His devotion to her was a physical thing, a shield against any other reality.

My reality. My death.

I wanted to scream, "She's lying! I tried to protect her!" But I had no voice.

Dr. Ramirez, the attending who' d been in my trauma bay, approached Ethan.

"Dr. Hayes, we need to talk about Ava Miller. Her condition..."

Ethan cut him off, his tone sharp. "I' m with a patient, Dr. Ramirez. Ava went with her sister. She' s fine, just dramatic."

Ramirez looked stunned, then angry. "Dramatic? Dr. Hayes, Ava is..."

"Later," Ethan snapped, turning back to Brooke.

My worth. Questioned and dismissed.

The ER staff kept trying. Sarah, the nurse, caught him by the elevators.

"Dr. Hayes, about Ava... it' s important."

"I' m sure it is, Sarah, but Brooke needs me. Tell Olivia I' ll call her when I get a chance." He stepped into the elevator, leaving Sarah fuming.

I saw my chart later, left on a counter in the ER. My spirit drifted towards it.

Subdural hematoma. Massive. A critical window for intervention, missed.

Because he hadn' t listened. Because he' d called me dramatic.

My own diagnosis, clear as day. Too late.

Ethan finally finished with Brooke for the evening. He walked past the ER, heading for the on-call room.

He glanced towards my usual station, a brief flicker of something in his eyes. Annoyance?

He pulled out his phone. "Ava, pick up. This isn't funny. You can't just walk out." Voicemail.

He sighed, then dialed Olivia.

"Olivia? Ethan. Is Ava with you? Yeah, I know she' s pissed. Tell her to stop being a child. Brooke was seriously hurt."

I could hear Olivia' s voice, cold and tight, even through the phone. I couldn' t make out the words.

Then Ethan' s face changed. It went from irritation to disbelief, then to a dawning horror.

"What? No. That' s... that' s not possible."

He listened, his hand gripping the phone so tight his knuckles were white.

"Pregnant?" His voice was a choked whisper. "Ava was... pregnant?"

The phone slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Olivia. My sharp, investigative journalist sister. She wouldn' t pull any punches.

"She was carrying your baby, Ethan! And you let her die while you coddled that little viper!" Her voice, raw with grief and fury, echoed faintly from the dropped phone.

Ethan stared blankly at the wall.

The weight of it finally hit him. Not just my death. Our child' s death.

He stumbled back to the ER, his face ashen.

"Ava Miller' s chart," he demanded, his voice hoarse.

The charge nurse handed it to him, her expression grim.

He read it, his eyes scanning the lines, the diagnosis, the outcome.

Dr. Thorne, Head of Emergency Medicine, my mentor, appeared beside him. Thorne' s face was like granite.

"You were paged, Hayes," Thorne said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You saw her. You dismissed her clear neurological symptoms."

"I... Brooke' s leg..." Ethan stammered.

"Brooke' s leg was a fracture. Manageable. Ava had a head bleed. Time-critical. You prioritized. You chose wrong." Thorne' s words were like ice chips. "The window for intervention closed because of your dismissal."

The ER staff watched, their simmering resentment now a palpable wave of condemnation.

He had been so sure. So dismissive.

Now, the truth was a vise, crushing him.