"How much time do I have left?" the bedridden woman asked, her voice sharp despite the tubes coiling around her like vines.
The sleek, modern hospital room was flooded with muted sunlight. By the window, a woman in a mom-and-pop shop uniform fidgeted with the hem of her apron, her gaze fixed on the sterile white tiles. Beside the bed, the doctor hesitated, flipping through his clipboard.
"Since we caught it early—"
"I said how long?" she cut in, her eyes narrowing.
The doctor cleared his throat. "With aggressive treatment, maybe—"
"Aggressive," she mimicked, flailing her hand and rolling her eyes. "Longer?"
The doctor's shoulders stiffened. "A few years. With surgery, you might even be cancer-free."
Her laugh softened, fading into a dry chuckle. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "That won't be necessary." The way she said it, the proposal sounded absurd, like he'd just suggested she run a marathon.
"Boss," the woman by the window finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Sheila," the patient interrupted, "while you're at it, send my parents home." Her gaze shifted to the small vertical window in the wooden door, where two figures loomed like shadows. "They're annoying me."
The woman shifted in the bed, sitting upright with effort. Her gaze drifted to the doctor's name tag, squinting slightly before slumping back, arms crossed around her slim frame.
"Dr. Teal," she said, her voice firm, almost playful.
He turned to her, eyes the color of a stormy sea. Adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he clasped his hands together in front of him, the picture of practiced composure.
"Yes, Ms. Faye," Dr. Teal replied.
Her lips curled into a small chuckle. "Ms. Faye? Aren't you too young to be calling me that?"
The doctor pressed his lips together, clearing his throat.
"How long," she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the machines, "if I kept smoking?"
His composure faltered. A flicker of shock passed over his face, widening his eyes slightly.
Sheila, standing near the door, hesitated before slipping out silently, leaving them alone.
Dr. Teal's gaze darted to the monitor, then back to her. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated.
"Well?" Ms. Faye raised a brow, her eyes narrowing as if daring him to answer.
Lines creased Dr. Teal's forehead as his brows knit together. He raised a finger, his composure thinning.
"One moment," he said curtly, turning on his heel and slipping out the door.
The quiet tension of the hospital room gave way to chaos. Pagers beeped in rapid succession, phones rang incessantly, and nurses shuffled past with hurried steps.
Madison's parents shot up from their seats in the corridor.
"Doctor!" her mother called out, rushing toward him. "How is she? How's my Madison?"
Dr. Teal adjusted the clipboard in his hand, his voice even as he responded, "She's fortunate we caught it before it reached the final stage."
"Thank God," her father exhaled, relief briefly washing over his face.
"But she's refusing the surgery," Dr. Teal added, his voice steady but firm.
"What?" The mother froze, her voice cracking. "Wait, what?"
Her father's expression darkened, and he stepped closer. "But we're her legal guardians. We can override her decision, can't we?"
Dr. Teal shook his head, carefully choosing his words. "She's 26. Legally, the decision is hers as the patient."
"Twenty-six?" The mother's voice rose, trembling with frustration. "Maybe the fall scrambled her brain! Or—or she's not thinking straight! You can't let her make this kind of decision on her own."
Before Dr. Teal could respond, the father closed the distance between them. His hand clasped the doctor's tightly, his grip firm but trembling with desperation.
"Please, Doctor," the father pleaded, his voice low and urgent. "You have to convince her. She doesn't understand what she's doing." His hands tightened around Dr. Teal's, a tangible knot of hope and fear.
After lunch, the door to Madison's room swung open, and Dr. Teal stepped in, his face twisting in discomfort. He raised an arm to his nose, shielding it with the fabric of his coat.
"Did you smoke in here?" he asked, his tone sharp, almost accusing.
Madison turned lazily to face him, her lips curling into a sly grin. "Of course not," she said. "I'm not an idiot. I didn't want to get sued, so I left the room." She spoke as if her plan was foolproof.
"They let you leave?" Dr. Teal's voice pitched higher, incredulous.
She straightened in bed, the picture of smug confidence. "I'm a sick patient, on the brink of death," she declared, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "So I did this."
Clearing her throat dramatically, she shifted her posture and began her performance. Her gaze dropped to her feet, her expression softening into one of quiet desperation. "Nurse," she murmured, her voice trembling, "I really have to meet someone."
Dr. Teal froze, watching in horrified fascination as she pressed on.
"I need to see them to... pay my bills." Her voice broke on the last word as she lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with perfectly orchestrated tears. "Please," she whispered, her face contorting with anguish, every muscle trembling as if she were seconds from shattering completely.
Then, in a blink, she snapped out of it, slumping back against the pillows like nothing had happened.
Dr. Teal's jaw dropped. His eyes widened, caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration.
"Impressive, right?" Madison quipped, wiping her dry eyes with the back of her hand. A smug smile spread across her face, as though she'd just performed for an audience of thousands.
Dr. Teal raised a brow, his shoulders tense. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly, his lips forming a tight circle as his shoulders relaxed.
"You know, Ms. Faye," he began, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "There are patients who could really use this room." He stepped closer, standing at the edge of her bed. "People who are actually sick and want to get treated." His hands clasped together, his expression calm but deliberate.
"And?" Madison replied, her tone flat, unfazed.
"Well," Dr. Teal said, forcing a smile, "if you don't want treatment, I suggest you discharge yourself. I'll even sign the papers for you."
Madison's lips quirked up at one corner, her expression smug as she tilted her head, pretending to think. "Nope," she said, popping the p with mock cheerfulness. She shook her head slowly, like a teacher humoring a slow student.
Dr. Teal's jaw tightened. "Ms. Faye—"
"Let's not pretend, Doctor," she interrupted, her tone sharpening. "Hospitals are a business. Your primary income comes from treatment, right? So if I don't want surgery, I can just… explore other options." She leaned back against the pillows, her grin widening.
"This is a VIP suite, after all," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You can't kick me out when I say I'm feeling sick. And let's not forget—cancer isn't the only thing I have." Her eyes sparkled with triumph.
Dr. Teal stared at her, his calm composure beginning to crack.
"So, I win," Madison finished, her voice light and airy, like she'd just claimed victory in a game only she knew the rules to.
Dr. Teal let out a heavy sigh and strode toward the door. He paused only briefly before stepping into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. Once out of Madison's line of sight, his brisk walk turned into a near-jog as he headed straight for reception.
"Dr. Teal," the receptionist greeted, glancing up as he approached.
"Can I get the full medical details and treatment history for Madison Faye—room 003?" His words were clipped, his frustration seeping through.
The receptionist nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Madison Faye," she murmured, her eyes narrowing in focus as the glow of the monitor reflected off her glasses.
Dr. Teal stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His polished shoe tapped against the floor in an impatient rhythm, echoing faintly in the sterile corridor.
After a few more clicks and keystrokes, the receptionist straightened. "Looks like her doctors are running diagnostics for a possible stroke," she said, her tone professional but hurried. "Her lymph nodes on the right side of her jaw are significantly swollen. It's on the chart."
The hum of the printer filled the space as the machine came to life. A single sheet slid out, and the receptionist grabbed it, neatly stapling the printed pages together before handing them over to him.
Dr. Teal snatched the documents with a curt nod, his eyes scanning the first page as he stepped away. His brow furrowed deeper with every line he read, and his grip on the papers tightened.
Dr. Teal's gaze lingered on the daunting report in his hands, his thoughts swirling. The sound of hurried footsteps pulled him back to reality. Looking up, he saw Sheila striding down the hall, a laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Without thinking, he sprinted to catch her before she could reach Madison's room.
"Sheila, right?" he called out, panting slightly as he caught up. "For Madison Faye?"
Sheila stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "Yes," she replied curtly.
Dr. Teal swallowed hard, forcing himself to regain composure. "Can we talk?"
Sheila sighed, her gaze shifting away. "No."
"Please," he pressed, his voice softening. "I just want to understand why Ms. Faye doesn't want to..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.
Sheila turned back to face him, her expression sharp. "Dr. Teal, the woman has a chance to live but doesn't want to. What does that tell you?"
His brows knitted together as he searched her face for answers.
"You're a doctor," she continued, her tone cutting. "You should know the signs. You should be observant."
Dr. Teal shook his head, his frustration mounting. "I can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped," he said, almost to himself.
Sheila's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a stern whisper. "You took an oath, you wear the coat, and you put in the hours." She jabbed a finger toward his chest. "That woman needs help, even if she doesn't know it."
Dr. Teal's jaw clenched. "What do you want me to do? Why can't you help me?"
Sheila straightened, her expression unreadable. "It's not my pot to stir," she said coldly. Adjusting her laptop bag, she stepped around him. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
She walked away without another glance, leaving Dr. Teal standing in the corridor, the report in one hand and a storm of unanswered questions swirling in his mind.
Evening settled in, the dark sky outside starkly contrasting the warm glow of the hospital's hallways. Dr. Teal sat slumped on a bench, one hand ruffling the hair above his ears in frustration. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and heavy.
He blinked, inhaled deeply, then pulled out his phone. With a swipe, his mother's familiar face appeared on the screen in a video call.
"Hey, Mom," he said, his voice rough but laced with warmth.
"Stuart," she dragged out his name in that endearing, motherly way. "How's your day, honey?"
"Great, Mom." He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his tired eyes.
His mother tilted her head, her lips pressing into a knowing line. "Stuart..." she began, her tone soft but accusatory, like she'd caught him red-handed.
He exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping. "I just had a rough day, Mom." Stretching his arms behind him, he leaned back against the bench.
"Can't you assign her to another doctor?" she asked, adjusting herself in her seat on the other end.
Dr. Teal hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought about it," he admitted. "She's… quite a piece of work. If I hand her off, she might get yelled at or even kicked out—which, honestly, is what I wanted at first." His voice trailed off, the weight of the admission hanging between them.
His mother gave him a gentle, knowing look. "Stuart," she said softly, "you have time to save her. She's in the hospital. That's a start, isn't it?"
"She didn't come here willingly," Dr. Teal countered, his voice tinged with frustration. "She had a seizure. Her parents brought her in."
His mother nodded slowly, her expression both encouraging and concerned. "But she's still here," she said. "Maybe that's enough for now. Maybe you can change her mind."
Dr. Teal stared at the screen, her words lingering in his mind. After a moment, he sighed and gave a small, reluctant nod. "I guess I've got time," he murmured.
"That's my boy," she said with a soft smile, her pride shining through.