"Fine. Handle it exactly the way you said."

The employees who had just spoken up went pale, every single one of them.

I stared at my husband, eyes wide, unable to believe what I was hearing.

All they'd done was say something fair. Doreen put on her wounded act, and now he was going to fire them all.

I knew my husband spoiled Doreen, but I never imagined it went this far. Terminating employees on her word alone? At this rate, a few more sentences out of her mouth and he'd hand her the whole company.

"I don't agree," I said coldly.

My husband's expression darkened, but before he could speak, Doreen let out a light laugh. "It's just a few employees, Mrs. Sanchez. Why so worked up? Unless they're all loyalists you planted inside the company?"

I locked my eyes on Doreen, the fury I'd been holding back finally clawing its way to the surface.

"Doreen Stephens, shut your mouth!"

"You said we were playing a party dare? Go ahead. Ask every single person in this room whether we were playing a party dare."

"You said my mother and I planned this together. Where's your proof? Did you hear it with your own ears? Do you have it on video?"

Doreen's expression flickered.

I didn't look at her again. I turned to the paramedics. "My mother genuinely needs emergency treatment. Please—"

"Wait!"

Doreen's voice cut through the room.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I didn't want to take things this far. I wanted to leave you some dignity. But you forced my hand."

She turned to my husband.

"Mr. Sanchez, didn't you hear it yourself? Mrs. Sanchez and her mother conspiring to fake an illness and deceive the paramedics?"

My head snapped toward my husband. My heart hammered, caught between desperate hope and sickening dread as I waited for his answer.

He didn't clear my name. Not immediately. Instead, he frowned at Doreen.

"Do I really have to say it?"

Doreen's tone turned earnest, almost maternal in its false concern. "Mr. Sanchez, I understand you love your wife. But you can't indulge her like this. Today she wastes public medical resources for fun. Tomorrow she'll be undermining the company's interests."

"Better to teach her a lesson now. Let her truly understand how wrong she is. Nip this in the bud."

"Fine. I understand." My husband closed his eyes for a moment. When he turned to face me, guilt flickered across his features.

I already knew what he was going to say. A cold numbness spread through my chest.

Five years. We'd been married for five years.

My mother was dying, and he was about to commit perjury for an outsider.

"I can confirm it," he told the paramedics. "I heard them with my own ears. The two of them conspired to fake an illness and deceive you."

The moment those words left his mouth, triumph bloomed across Doreen's face.

"Mrs. Sanchez, why don't you be a good girl and accept your reprimand?"

The paramedic who had been reaching for the phone dialed 911, face stony.

"I need to report an incident. Someone here has been deliberately abusing emergency medical resources. We need officers to take her in for a formal warning."

I stared at Doreen, my eyes burning red, every fiber of my being screaming to lunge at her and tear her apart.

When my husband saw the paramedics were actually going to have me taken away, he frowned.

"There's no need to blow this out of proportion. She was just having a bit of fun."

The paramedic's expression was granite. "Fun? Medical resources are not her playground. Deliberately abusing public emergency services without a shred of remorse, doing it over and over again, is a criminal offense."

"If a real patient needed emergency care during this time and we couldn't get there because of her, and that patient died, who takes responsibility for that?"

"But—"

My husband opened his mouth to argue, and something inside me snapped.

"Shut up! You're the one who told them my mother and I faked the whole thing. And now you want to play the good guy?"

"Arnold Sanchez, I'm telling you right now: if anything happens to my mother today, I will never forgive you. Not for the rest of my life."

Arnold seemed to realize he'd done something catastrophically stupid. He scrambled to backpedal.

"I... I really wasn't thinking. I was just playing along with Doreen. You know how she is—she loves her pranks."

"Enough!"

I screamed.

Sirens wailed outside.

Arnold's face went white.

"Babe, I swear I didn't think it would go this far. Don't worry—I'll drive Mom to the hospital right now."

I sucked in a breath so sharp it burned.

"Arnold Sanchez, you better pray nothing happens to her today."

I turned to Doreen, my voice dropping to something lethal. "And you—don't think just because Arnold spoils you, you can do whatever the hell you want."

Doreen's expression curdled. As the officers led me away, I could still hear her muttering behind me.

"She and her mother faked it to scam the paramedics, and somehow I'm the villain? It was one drink. Lying on the floor playing dead like that—who actually dies from a sip of liquor?"

My nails bit into my palms. But all I could do was watch Arnold scoop my mother into his arms and rush toward the parking garage, repeating the same prayer over and over in my head.

Mom, please be okay. Please.

The moment the police finished with me, I raced to the hospital without stopping. I burst through the doors and found chaos outside the operating room.

Doreen had both hands clamped around Arnold's arm, pulling him back. "Mr. Sanchez, you can't sign that. The hospital is trying to cover themselves. The second you put your name on that form, if anything happens to your wife's mother, it all falls on you."

Arnold hesitated. "But—"

"No 'buts.' I've never heard of anyone needing surgery over one drink. I know you're worried about her mother, but don't let the hospital play you."

A young nurse cut in, her voice tight with urgency. "That's not what's happening. We're not trying to shift responsibility. The patient just had coronary bypass surgery recently. The doctors need to operate to assess her condition."

Doreen let out a cold laugh. "Save it. So she had bypass surgery—so what? My uncle had the same thing done. He still drinks, still smokes, and there's not a damn thing wrong with him."

The nurse looked close to tears. "Every patient is different. You can't compare—"

"Spare me the lecture. The patient was brought to your hospital. If something goes wrong, that's on you."

I couldn't listen to another word.

I shoved through the crowd and slammed my palm across Doreen's face so hard her head snapped sideways.

"Shut your mouth!"

Doreen froze for half a second, then grabbed my wrist, screeching like an alley cat. "How dare you hit me? You—"

"Get off me!"

I wrenched free and turned to the nurse, my voice cracking. "I'm her daughter. Give me the form. I'll sign it."

The nurse thrust the surgical consent form toward me. Doreen snatched it out of the air.

"Give it to me!"

My vision blurred red as I lunged for it.

"Are you done?"

Arnold seized my arm, his voice cutting and cold. "Hitting people without even knowing what's going on. Doreen's right—I've let you get away with too much. Apologize to her. Now."

Apologize to Doreen?

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

If it weren't for her, my mother would never have needed an ambulance.

If it weren't for her, my mother wouldn't still be lying in there without surgery.

Everything I'd swallowed for years—every slight, every humiliation, every time I'd bitten my tongue—erupted all at once. I swung my hand and cracked it across Arnold's face.

"Get out! Get the hell away from me!"

Arnold stood there, stunned.

The operating room doors swung open.

The surgical team filed out. One by one, they bowed their heads to me.

"We're sorry for your loss."