I was only human, not a god. I couldn't be perfect all the time.

"You're my mentor. Of course, I'd come to you with any questions." Scarlett's tone was stiff, and there was a hint of barely concealed resentment in her eyes.

A chilling thought suddenly crossed my mind.

But before I could voice it, I needed to verify something.

Frowning, Aidan started taking passive-aggressive swipes at me.

"Wilder, next time, don't take so long in the restroom. We're fighting for lives in the ER. There's no room for slack. How can you be focused on filing charts right now? Shouldn't this have been done ages ago? If everyone is stuck doing paperwork, who's left to save the patients?"

I bit back my anger and forced myself to answer him calmly, "I'm only working overtime because I didn't finish filing the charts. Besides, I'm not even scheduled for the ER tonight. Dr. York is the one on duty."

Aidan's face flushed with fury at my rebuttal. "What do you mean by that? I'm the deputy director. Can't I even question you? If your efficiency is so low that you have to work overtime just to finish your work, have you considered that you might be the problem?"

My blood was boiling, but no matter how unjust I felt, I couldn't publicly argue with a superior.

The pile of patient charts on my desk was as high as a mountain.

The patient, who was discharged just this morning, had been hospitalized for six months. The printed medical records were 20 inches high. I had to meticulously check every single page and handwrite a case summary.

Any senior doctor would need days to finish this task. But because I volunteered for overtime, Aidan twisted it into an accusation of low work efficiency.

"Dr. Garrison, even if you weren't on duty, the ER was busy. You should have helped out. As a doctor, how can you just stand by while lives are at risk?"

Helping out didn't come with a bonus, so why the hell should I be expected to jump in?

Out of professional ethics, I kept those thoughts to myself.

Even the work I loved began to lose its initial appeal after long, exhausting hours.

I cared about my patients, but I wasn't so sure they appreciated me.

Just like in my last life, I collapsed at the surgery door, almost fainting from low blood sugar. I had given everything to save the patient, only for him to stab me to death afterward.

Any doctor would feel betrayed by that.

When Scarlett heard Aidan's words, she burst into louder sobs.

"I heard Dr. Garrison say before that he's sick of this job. He doesn't even like saving people.

"Once, I happened to walk in on him during rounds. He was standing over a comatose patient, muttering about how the man should just die instead of pointlessly hogging a bed in the ward."

Shaking, she hid behind Aidan.

"Dr. Palmer, I refuse to work under a mentor who is so utterly devoid of humanity. He treats human life like it's disposable. It's terrifying. How can a doctor with no medical ethics and zero professional integrity be allowed to stay on staff at this hospital?"

She wept with bitter, heart-wrenching intensity.

No medical ethics?

If I lacked medical ethics, then Aidan was probably a fake doctor. He had done enough shady things, and I'd seen a few of them with my own eyes.

I couldn't stop myself from letting out a scoff. "If you can provide proof that I ever said those things, then I'll resign."

It was just her word against mine. Scarlett wanted to pull me into her mess, but I crushed that idea before it could start. So, she hadn't had time to fabricate any evidence yet.

Scarlett couldn't produce any recordings, so there was nothing they could do to me.

That gave me more time to search for the truth behind it all.

Scarlett shot me a glare, her eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

"Just you wait. I'll find the evidence."

Her words were so resolute, but I could clearly sense that her hatred wasn't just directed at me.

When she first joined the hospital, she was a bright, innocent young lady. What had happened to her? What had caused this change?

…

The patient sustained six broken ribs this time.

In my last life, he had needed over three months to recover. And the hospital had placed me on administrative leave for exactly three months.

He had assumed I'd fled to avoid compensation.

When I returned to my position, he came to my office, demanding 400 thousand dollars in compensation.

"100 thousand dollars per rib. I'm already cutting you a deal. You'd better pay up."

When I refused, he became enraged and chased me with a knife.

In the end, I was fatally stabbed in the hospital corridor. My blood splattered all over the floor.

I would never forget those dark eyes.

This time, with six ribs broken, he would need at least seven months of recovery.

Before heading home that night, I donned a mask and quietly entered the ward of tonight's emergency patient.

Strangely, all the other patients had family members with them, but this one had none.

I glanced at his name tag and saw his name—Martin Lowell.

I couldn't help but let out a sigh.

This was different from what I imagined. But it didn't matter. Good would always prevail over evil. I'd find a breakthrough eventually.

I went home for some sleep. When I woke up, it was already noon.

My wife, Aleah Webster, had cooked several of my favorite dishes and called me to the table.

Our two children, still in elementary school, sat at the table too.

Looking at their innocent faces made my heart ache.

In my last life, they had lost their father, and Aleah had to raise them alone.

No matter what, I couldn't let myself walk down that path to death again.

I went into the kitchen to help Aleah gather plates and utensils to set the table.

She seemed to remember something. "Wilder, Mom called last night. She said your cousin had another son. The baby took her last name. Mom wants us to visit the hospital. Don't forget to bring a gift for the baby's one-month celebration."

She smiled as she handed me four plates.

Suddenly, it hit me. Siblings didn't necessarily have to take their father's surname.

After finishing the meal in a daze, I headed back to the hospital for my shift.

I changed into my lab coat and went to do my rounds first, just as I always did.

As I stepped off the elevator on Martin's floor, I caught the faint sound of an argument coming from the stairwell.

"You brat, what's so hard about helping your brother?"

A woman in her 60s hurled a lunchbox at Scarlett's head.

"You work at a big hospital, making tens of thousands of dollars a month. How could you not spare some to pay his medical bills? I think you're just selfish, trying to keep the money for yourself!"

Seeing this scene shook me to my core. The pieces of the puzzle started to click into place.

Martin was Scarlett's brother.

But her family was steeped in a deep-rooted preference for sons over daughters, and they had been constantly hounding her for money.

When Martin nearly drank himself to death, he was brought to our hospital.

Scarlett wanted him dead more than anything, but she couldn't let it look too obvious, so she pinned the whole thing on me.

She didn't want to get involved in saving Martin, so she pushed me to do it. She knew if Martin died, her mother would cause a scene at the hospital.

Not only would Scarlett avoid the blame for his death, but she could also dodge her mother's wrath.

If I hadn't insisted on saving him, Martin would've really died. Scarlett hated me because I saved him.

But there was still part of the story from my last life that didn't make sense. She had no reason to frame me for stealing from the department over this.

Suddenly, I thought of someone. Maybe his appearance wasn't a coincidence.

I watched Scarlett being punched and kicked by her mother. The scene looked eerily similar to the time when Martin chased me down to kill me.

Scarlett was being beaten so badly by her mother that her head was split open. Her body was pinned to the ground, unable to move.

The onlookers could only watch from a distance, afraid to step in.

They weren't exactly wrong. After all, getting involved might lead to trouble.

In this world, the simplicity of human nature was slowly fading away. The brave were often the first to have their wings clipped, so it was only right to keep one's guard up.

But watching Scarlett covered in blood, the fear of death surrounded me once again.

I was a doctor. I couldn't stand watching a living person die before me.

Throwing caution to the wind, I rushed forward and pulled the two of them apart.

With the advantage of strength on my side, I pushed Scarlett's mother back and signaled for someone to call the police.

Her mother kept struggling to break free while hurling vile insults.

Other doctors arrived and quickly took Scarlett, who had passed out, away on a stretcher.

Meanwhile, I kept her mother under control and handed her over to the police.

After Scarlett's wounds were tended, she slept through the afternoon, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep.

The beatings and verbal abuse from her childhood were like nightmares that strangled her neck, keeping her from breathing.

She kept muttering in her sleep, "No, don't come near me."

In her dream, she tried to dodge, only to be seized by the ankle by a demon and dragged back ruthlessly.

Unlike before, she showed distinct signs of resistance.

But when her mother had beaten her, she didn't resist at all.

This demon wasn't from her family.

Who was it? Who could that demon be?

She screamed, "Let me go!"

Then, she woke up with a start.

I stood at her bedside.

She had a concussion, which caused her vision to be temporarily impaired. She couldn't make out who was standing in front of her. She only knew there was someone in a white coat.

In an instinctive reaction, she bolted upright and huddled under the covers, looking absolutely petrified.

"Don't come any closer!" Scarlett's scream echoed through the room.

I spoke slowly. "Calm down. It's me."

When she heard my voice, she gradually relaxed. "Where's my mom?"

"I've handed her over to the police."

I stood with my hands in the pockets of my lab coat, watching her closely for her reaction.

"Who told you to call the police?"

Scarlett couldn't see me clearly, so she stared in my direction with a fixed gaze.

Look at her. There was always something detestable about those who were pitiable.

"Why did you send my mom to the police station? You'd better bring her back!"

I raised an eyebrow. "She assaulted you in the hospital, causing panic. Even if I didn't call the police, the security would've done it when they arrived.

"I could get your mom out by claiming she has mental health issues, and she wouldn't have to spend time in jail. But you'll have to agree to one condition."

Her expression turned cautious, like my words had hit a sensitive nerve. "What condition?"

"Tell me why you didn't want to save Martin."