The operation was successful, but I did not expect that the Morales Family would carry him out of the hospital behind my back.
He could not ride on bumpy roads after a cranial surgery. Rural roads were full of potholes, not to mention that sometimes buses might have to brake suddenly.
There were only three golden minutes for intracranial vascular sclerosis. But transportation was inconvenient in the countryside and rescue was impossible.
I became the scapegoat and the culprit and my parents were also implicated.
I only realized after my death that all this was a conspiracy, even my forensic fiance, Pierre Lester, was involved in this conspiracy.
Bethany was his first love. For her, he went against his professional conscience, tampered with the autopsy report and put the blame on me.
“Okay, I promise you, Loyd will have nothing to do with me from now on and I will no longer be concerned about his health, life or death.”
“Estella, you are too cold!” Bethany sighed and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Morales, your child is not in serious trouble.
“I'm also a neurologist. The child probably has a cold. He will be fine after a few days of intravenous drips.”