Chapter 3 - The Cold Shadow of Family
An hour later, Dr. Aris Thorne—a tall, grey-haired cardiologist with tired blue eyes—sat behind his desk in a private office down the hall. I sat across from him, holding a paper cup of lukewarm water I hadn't touched.
"She didn't want you involved, Ethan," Dr. Thorne said gently, adjusting his glasses. "Medical privacy laws prevented me from reaching out to you once the divorce went through. She listed her elder sister, Clara, as her primary emergency contact."
"Clara?" My hands tightened around the paper cup, crushing it in my grip. "Clara knows about this?"
"Clara has been handling her logistics," Dr. Thorne nodded. "Though, to be frank, Miss Vance has been pushing for palliative care rather than surgical intervention."
A cold rage ignited in the pit of my stomach.
Clara. Sophie’s older sister. A bitter, materialistic woman who had hated me from the day Sophie and I got engaged because I was an ordinary worker rather than a wealthy businessman. During our marriage, Clara had constantly whispered poison into Sophie’s ear, telling her she deserved better.
"Why would Clara push for palliative care when there's a transplant option?!" I demanded.
Dr. Thorne sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "Because the surgical intervention—an Left Ventricular Assist Device (LVAD) followed by an urgent heart transplant—costs nearly six hundred thousand dollars without premier coverage. Sophie gave up her corporate health insurance when she resigned from her job four months ago. Her current basic plan doesn't cover specialized cardiac surgery."
"And Clara?"
"Clara told us the family couldn't afford the co-pays and recovery costs," Dr. Thorne said carefully. "She signed a directive two weeks ago opting against aggressive surgical intervention, citing Sophie’s personal wishes."
"Sophie never wished that!" I snapped, standing up. "Sophie only gave up because she thought she was alone! She thought she had no one left to fight for!"
Before Dr. Thorne could respond, the office door swung open.
In walked Clara Vance. She was forty, impeccably dressed in a designer beige trench coat, holding a leather handbag, her sharp features twisted in immediate disgust the moment her eyes landed on me.
"What are you doing here, Ethan?" Clara sneered, crossing her arms. "You don't belong here. You divorced my sister two months ago. You threw her away like trash."
"I threw her away?!" I took a step toward her, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. "You knew she had Stage 3 cardiomyopathy! You knew she was dying while you watched me walk out that door! You let her lie to me!"
"Because she didn't want your pity!" Clara snapped back, her voice icy and sharp. "You were a terrible husband! You spent all your time at the office while she was weeping over lost pregnancies! You couldn't give her stability, you couldn't give her happiness, and now you want to come back and play the heroic martyr?!"
"I am her husband!"
"Ex-husband!" Clara corrected loudly, stepping up to Dr. Thorne’s desk. "Doctor, I am Sophie’s legal healthcare proxy. I want this man removed from the floor immediately. He is causing my sister unnecessary emotional stress."
"Clara, wait," Dr. Thorne began cautiously. "Mr. Vance is asking about—"
"I don't care what he's asking!" Clara shouted. "Sophie signed the papers! I handle her medical decisions now! And we have already decided to move her to a hospice facility in Indiana next week!"
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"Hospice?!" I screamed, the world tilting beneath my feet. "She's thirty-two years old! She can survive a transplant!"
"With whose money?!" Clara sneered, stepping right up to my face, her eyes filled with malicious triumph. "You make sixty thousand dollars a year as an accountant, Ethan! You don't have six hundred thousand dollars! I'm not bankrupting our family's estate to pay for a low-probability surgery that will leave her an invalid! She is going to hospice, and you are going back to your pathetic little apartment!"
