My Husband Buried Our Kids. So I Buried His Legacy. Fair Trade. Chapter 09
After I finished yelling, Lucian went silent on the other end for a couple of seconds.
But then he came back, impatient.
“You’re out of your mind! I’ve told you a hundred times—the kids died because it was their time. No one killed them. You made it all up in your head.”
“If you don’t want those patients to die, then apologize. Say you misunderstood me and Mira. Say you made everything up. Take back the assignment list. We’ll go back to work.”
“And—” He paused.
“You need to admit publicly that you’re unstable. That you need to check into a facility. Hand over control of the hospital to me.”
I laughed right in his face.
“DREAM ON!”
“Go to hell and dream there!”
“Everything I’ve done is legal. Why the hell would I apologize? Did I force you to go to Disney? Did I make you kiss her? Touch her?”
“Mira killed my son with the wrong anesthesia. You covered for her. You deleted the footage. You two can burn in hell together to pay for what you did!”
Lucian sucked in a breath.
“You’re insane… I can’t reason with you—”
“Drop dead!” I hurled my phone to the floor and stomped on it. Hard. Twice.
Then came the pounding at my door.
“OPEN UP! Bitch! Open the damn door!”
I got up. Before I made it to the entrance, the door flew open.
Five or six men stormed in. Scruffy. Beat-up clothes. Baseball bats in hand.
“This is the one! The bitch who’s ruining the doctors! Leaving patients with no surgeries!”
They grabbed at my clothes. Slapped me across the face. Kicked me in the stomach.
I stumbled back, slamming hard into the wall. But I clutched the urns to my chest. Curled up. Used my whole body to shield them.
A hand slipped under my arm. Grabbed the box.
“NO—”
I lunged forward, screaming. My nails scratched across his wrist. He shoved me off. His grip slipped.
The urn hit the floor. Cracked.
Grayish-white powder spilled everywhere. Dirty boots trampled over it.
“Aw, you care about these dead kids that much? Let me help you scatter them. Let you feel what it’s like to lose something!”
I crawled over, eyes bloodshot. Kneeling in the ash. Hands shaking. Couldn’t pick it up. It was everywhere.
Someone dragged me backward by the arms.
Then I saw Lucian walk in. Hand in hand with Mira.
He took in the scene—the house trashed, me on the floor, face covered in blood. His first move was to step sideways, shielding Mira.
He looked at me. Bloody. Broken. His expression was tangled—guilt? Panic? Hard to read.
His voice came out a little rushed.
“Elara.” He stepped closer. “Just stop fighting this. Apologize, and it’s over. These are patients’ families, doctors’ families. Do what I said, and everything gets resolved—”
“NEVER!” My mouth tasted like metal. The words scraped out of my throat.
“I’ll NEVER let this go. You’re going to regret this. All of you. I swear it.”
Then sirens rang.
Faint at first. Then louder. Closer.
Police burst through the door. Uniforms. Badges. Guns drawn.
“Everyone freeze! Breaking and entering! Assault! You’re all under arrest!”