Teresa looked down, unable to meet my eyes.

James waved dismissively. "What are you standing around for? Get the patient into surgery now!"

The gurney's wheels screeched against the floor as they rushed the patient down the hall. The woman wore an oxygen mask, her life hanging by a thread.

Corey brushed the dust off his sleeves and turned toward his car. "Alright, James. She's all yours. My daughter is waiting for these snacks in Brackford. I need to get moving."

The red light above the operating room flashed frantically. The air in the hallway was thick with a suffocating tension.

Two security guards kept their hands clamped on my shoulders, forcing me onto a bench just outside the doors.

Suddenly, a nurse rushed out with blood all over her hands. Her voice was frantic as she yelled, "Dr. Walker! The patient is hemorrhaging! She's gone into DIC! She's type O-negative, but we exhausted our supply of Rh-negative blood yesterday!"

James broke into a cold sweat, pacing the floor in a blind panic. "Contact the central blood bank! Call every hospital in the city!"

The nurse began to sob. "I did! The closest supply is an hour away at best. The patient won't last ten minutes."

Standing not far away, Corey had just taken off his white coat. Two large bags of snacks were in his hands.

Hearing the news, he merely frowned in annoyance. "If there's no blood, issue a notice of critical condition. Rare blood types are basically a death sentence anyway."

He twirled his car keys around his finger. "James, just follow protocol. Make sure the family signs the liability waiver. I'm off. My daughter's waiting for that strawberry mousse."

Without a single backward glance, he turned and headed for the exit.

Pinned down by the guards, I looked past the crowd to the ambulance parked outside.

A janitor was already scrubbing the horrific bloodstains from the interior.

"Good grief. This phone is smashed to bits. Whose is it?"

Using a pair of tongs, she picked up a blood-covered phone and set it on the rim of a trash can.

The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, but a sudden notification caused it to flicker to life.

I only took one glance, and I felt as if lightning had struck me. My blood instantly froze in my veins.

The wallpaper was a photo of two people.

In the picture, Corey was smiling warmly with his arm around a young lady. The two of them smiled brightly.

The woman's eyes and the small mole on her chin were identical to those of the pregnant woman who had just been on the stretcher—bloodied and barely clinging to life.

My mind exploded as the pieces clicked together with agonizing clarity.

No wonder the patient had Rh-negative blood.

No wonder Corey hadn't been able to reach his daughter all morning.

The pregnant woman, whom he had called weak and had delayed the crucial 40 minutes of emergency treatment for, was none other than his biological daughter, whom he was going to deliver snacks to.

A wave of pure, visceral fury crashed over me.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I threw off the two guards.

James turned, startled. "Restrain him! Don't let him get away!"

But I was like a hunted predator. I lunged for the trash can and snatched up the blood-stained phone.

Then, I spun around and locked my eyes on Corey, who was just steps away from the exit.

I let out a roar that shook the entire lobby. "Corey Johnston! Stop right there!"

Corey froze. When he turned around, his expression was dripping with contempt and disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you now? What are the security guards doing?"

I held up the bloody phone and began to close the distance between us.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the photo on the cracked screen was unmistakable.

"You're so desperate to get those snacks to your daughter, aren't you?" I spat the words out, my voice trembling with rage.

"Open your damn eyes and look. Look at exactly who is dying in that room!"