The theatre doors swung open again as nurses rushed out, shouting, pushing a stretcher, moving too fast—
And Jerry saw blood on a glove.
His heart stopped.
Was Elelliana dying right now?
The hallway went silent. So silent Jerry could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The doctor’s words hung in the air like a heavy stone:
We may have to choose who to save first.
Johnson staggered back as if punched in the chest. One security man held his arm.
“No,” Johnson said, shaking his head. His voice was low but cracked. “No, you won’t choose. You will save both of them.”
The doctor’s face was calm but serious. “We will do everything we can. But she lost consciousness on arrival, and the fall may have caused complications. We need consent now.”
Johnson’s hands shook as he signed the papers without reading them. His pen scratched wildly like he was fighting time itself.
“Please,” he whispered, not caring who heard him. “That is my wife. That is my child.”
The theatre doors swung shut again.
And just like that, the strongest man in the room looked small.
Johnson sank into a chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms.
Jerry stood a few steps away, unsure what to do with his body. He felt out of place, like a shadow that didn’t belong among polished shoes and expensive watches.
But he couldn’t leave.
