Page 89 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

Behind me, a wave of concerned voices follows—Damon, June, and a chorus of well-wishers turn into a worried entourage. I ignore them, my focus solely on getting Emma to the ambulance as quickly as possible.

The paramedics materialize in a blur of white and red. With practiced efficiency, they take over, carefully transferring Emma onto a stretcher. Damon places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and grounding.

“Let them do their job, Liam,” he murmurs, his voice a beacon of calm amid the storm within me.

I nod numbly, a ghost of understanding flickering in my mind. But as I watch them wheel Emma away, a raw fear rips through me. I can't let them take her away, not without…

“I'm coming with her,” I declare, my voice hoarse but resolute.

One of the paramedics glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Only one family member allowed in the ambulance, sir.”

“I'm a doctor,” I counter, desperation lacing my voice. “I can help.”

He hesitates, then nods curtly. “Hop in.”

Relief washes over me momentarily, only to be replaced by a fresh wave of panic as I scramble into the back of the ambulance. Damon squeezes my shoulder in a silent display of support before stepping inside to let them close the doors.

The inside of the ambulance feels sterile and cramped. Emma lies on the stretcher. They hook her up to an IV and strap an oxygen mask over her face, the rhythmic hiss filling the silence with an unsettling intensity.

Taking her hand in mine, I feel a jolt of electricity travel through me, a connection that defies the sterile environment. Her skin feels cold and clammy, and I squeeze her hand tighter, willing warmth back into her.

“Emma,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “Please, wake up. Don't you dare…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I love you. I never meant to push you away. Just…stay with me.”

The rational part of my brain knows she can't hear me, but the desperate urge to reach her is overwhelming. “I was a fool, Emma,” I confess, my voice trembling. “I let fear hold me back, but the thought of losing you…it's worse than anything I could've ever imagined. Just hold on. Please.”

Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor becomes a cruel metronome, each tick marking the passage of time and the terrifying possibility of its silence.

“Don't leave me, Emma,” I plead, my voice choked with sobs. “I can't… I can't lose you.”

Damon sits beside me, a comforting weight in the cramped space. He places a hand on my back, his touch silent but reassuring. I know he's trying to offer words of comfort, but my world has shrunk to the pale face on the stretcher and the desperate rhythm of my own heartbeat.

The ambulance speeds through the night, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. With every passing minute, the helplessness gnaws at me. All my medical training, all the years spent saving lives, feels utterly useless in the face of my own crippling fear.

Finally, the piercing wail of the siren ceases, and the ambulance screeches to a halt. The doors fly open, and we are rushed inside the hospital, the sterile white hallways a stark contrast to the flashing red lights outside.

“This way,” a nurse barks, leading the way down a corridor. Just as they are about to wheel Emma into a room, my dad appears, his face etched with concern.

“Dr. Miller,” he addresses me, his voice firm yet laced with a hint of understanding. “Let them take care of Emma now. We need to run some tests.”

I open my mouth to argue, but my dad cuts me off. “I know you want to be in there, Liam, but you're too emotionally invested right now. Let me handle this.”

His words hold a weary authority, and after a moment's hesitation, I find myself nodding numbly. He pats me on the shoulder, a silent reassurance in the face of my turmoil.

As they disappear into the emergency room, Damon places a hand on my back, his grip firm.

We trudge out to the waiting area, the sterile silence a stark contrast to the frantic chaos of moments ago. My legs feel like lead, each step a Herculean effort. Collapsing into a plastic chair, I run a hand through my hair, the weight of the experience settling on me like a leaden cloak.

Damon sits beside me, his own exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. We sit in a tense silence for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Neither of us speaks, both lost in our own worries.

Finally, the emergency room doors swing open, and my dad emerges, his face unreadable. He casts a weary glance at both of us before taking a seat opposite.

“She's stable,” he announces, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “But we won't know for sure what's wrong until we run some tests. It could be a number of things—food poisoning, stress…”

He trails off, his gaze flitting between us. I can see the unspoken question hanging in the air—do we know of any recent stressors in Emma's life?

Shame washes over me in a hot wave. My dad knows, of course, about the events of the wedding. He left for the hospital after Emma’s toast , so he must have seen her reaction to the crowd’s teasing.

“There was…some stress at the wedding,” I confess, my voice barely a whisper. “People assumed we were together and…”

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