Page 94 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

I hit send and set the phone aside, leaning back against the pillows. My thoughts drift to the future, to the challenges and joys that lie ahead. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but I do know one thing: I will face it all with strength and courage for the sake of my child and the love I hold in my heart.

As I lie here, the weight of the situation starts to lift, replaced by a sense of determination. I will get through this, one step at a time. And no matter what happens, I will always have the love and support of my family.

I’ll have that when I finally get the strength to tell them the truth.

31

LIAM

I pace the floor of my office, my hands clenched into tight fists by my sides.

It’s been six days. Six agonizing days since Emma vanished from the hospital room. Six days since I last set eyes on her or heard her voice. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I can’t focus on anything but the message on my phone screen. “Not now, I need some time.”

The words loop endlessly in my mind, a relentless mantra fueling my growing anxiety.

I slam my fist against the mahogany desk, the jolt barely registering in the maelstrom of emotions churning within me. I just finished a twelve-hour shift, and I should be exhausted, my body craving sleep, but instead, I’m here, in my office, consumed by worry, pacing the four walls like a caged animal desperate to break free.

I reach for my phone for the hundredth time today, the familiar weight a cold comfort in my sweaty palm. The screen displays a lone message, a cruel reminder of my current predicament. My gaze darts toward the clock on the wall—3:14 AM. I just can’t sleep or rest, my mind fueled by worry and a potent blend of coffee and adrenaline.

The phone vibrates, a sharp jolt that sends a spark of hope coursing through me. Perhaps… But the fleeting optimism dies a swift death as I see it’s just another news notification. I toss it back on the desk, a sigh escaping my lips in a defeated whoosh.

I’ve tried everything to reach Emma. Calls go unanswered, texts remain ignored. My trips to her house and loud knocks on the door have been met with empty silence, the only response the disapproving creak of the porch swing. Even Damon and June, blissfully unaware on their honeymoon with Ethan, are of no help. My inquiries about Emma's condition are met with evasive answers and a veiled sympathy that only deepens the knot of worry in my stomach.

My father, usually a fount of information, has been strangely tight-lipped. Requests for details about Emma's illness are met with vague pronouncements about “wedding stress”—a flimsy explanation that does little to assuage my mounting fear. I even resort to asking the staff about her a desperate attempt to glean some kind of truth. But no one seems to know anything, and her medical file, inexplicably, has vanished without a trace.

Every fiber of my being screams that something is wrong, terribly wrong. Is she okay? If so, then why this deafening silence? Is she hurt? Sick? My mind conjures up a terrifying array of possibilities, each one twisting the anxiety tighter within me.

Frustration boils over, and I slam my fist against the desk again. This is torture. The helpless feeling of being shut out, left in the dark, is tearing me apart.

With a resigned sigh, I pick up the phone and dial Damon’s number. It rings once, twice, before my brother-in-law’s voice crackles through the receiver.

“Liam? What’s up, man? It should be…” Damon’s voice trails off, a hint of surprise in his tone. “Three-fifteen in the morning over there? Everything alright?”

I rub a hand over my face, the exhaustion finally catching up to me. “Hey, Damon,” I force a smile into my voice, a touch more strained than I’d have liked. “Just…couldn’t sleep. How’s the honeymoon going?”

“Amazing,” Damon replies, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “June and Ethan are having a blast. Seriously, you need to get yourself a vacation, man. Maybe you should come with?—“

“Seriously, man,” I cut in. “I don’t think you need an extra pair of hands building sandcastles.”

“We’ve been doing more than building sandcastles, boy. Watching dolphins, scuba diving, riding Ferris wheels. and visiting the museum and aquarium with Ethan… We’re doing more than sandcastles.”

“Ah,” I chuckle weakly. “Sounds like you’re having a good time. Glad to hear it.” I hesitate, then blurt out, “Have you spoken to Emma lately?”

“Yeah, actually,” Damon replies. “We had a good hour-long chat this morning.”

My heart lurches. An hour-long chat. Why hasn’t she spoken to me? A pang of jealousy, sharp and unexpected, pierces through me.

“Oh, really?” I manage to force out. “She…seemed okay?”

“Yeah, seemed great,” Damon says, his voice cautious. “High spirits, good mood. The usual Emma.” He pauses for a beat, then adds, “But…you know me, Liam. I can usually read between the lines.”

My throat constricts. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“There’s something…off,” Damon continues. “She’s putting on a brave face, but…I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s breaking down inside somewhere.”

“Breaking down?” A cold dread settles in my stomach. What have I done? “Did she say anything? About me?”

“Nope,” Damon continues, the hesitation in his voice evident. “Not directly. What’s going on?”

---