She Chose Her Male Patient Over Me Again

Growing up in New York, I decided to move to Texas for Ashley, and my parents completely cut me off.

That girl is an orphan, what could she possibly offer you? You're just setting yourself up for a lifetime of misery! If you leave now, don't you dare come back!

Five years. I watched Ashley steadily climb to become one of Texas's top psychologists, and she eventually gave me the home she promised.

As Christmas approached, I planned to take her back to meet my parents. But right before boarding, she abandoned me again for a male patient suffering from severe depression.

She let go of my hand, her eyes fractured.

"Jackson, he's just like I was back then... helpless and alone. If I don't go, he really will kill himself! I'm so sorry, just this once. I'll take the very next flight to find you..."

She turned and ran towards the exit, without a second thought.

I stood there, staring at the two tickets to New York in my hand.

It turned out she saved everyone who needed saving, but time and again, she left me behind.

Slowly, I tore up her ticket.

Then, I walked towards security alone, switching off my phone.

Ashley didn't know that some journeys home, once missed, are gone forever.

I returned to my New York home alone.

Mom opened the door. The moment her gaze fell on the empty space behind me, her eyes filled with a flicker of heartache.

Dad sat on the sofa, his back ramrod straight, yet radiating a profound weariness.

I couldn't help but recall Mom and Dad's words from five years ago.

Now, I was back, like a defeated soldier.

I turned my phone on and off; Ashley's unread messages and missed calls practically blew up my phone.

"Jackson, I'm so sorry! Wait for me!"

"His condition is stable, I'm buying a ticket right now!"

"Please answer, I beg you, let me explain!"

I didn't reply to a single one. My heart felt frozen, cold and hard.

I remembered three years ago, when she snuggled into my arms, sweet-talking me:

"Jackson, I, Ashley, will never let you down in this lifetime."

Now, those vows had melted away like snow.

Ashley arrived late the next evening.

Gone was her usual elegance, her eyes sunken, stubbornly waiting below my building.

"Jackson... just five minutes, please, five minutes..."

Her voice was hoarse, almost broken.

My parents, their faces stern, didn't let her in.

She held up her phone, the screen's light illuminating her pale face.

"Look! The referral agreement! I've officially transferred Lucas to Dr. Pete! All his contact info, deleted, blocked!"

She swiped the screen, her fingers trembling violently.

"I was an idiot! I lost my mind! I shouldn't have left you! Jackson, I can't live without you..."

She brought up the year we lived in the basement, when the heating broke down in winter, and she held me, warming me with her body heat.

She spoke of working herself to the bone, just to give me a decent home sooner, so I could hold my head high in front of my parents.

"Jackson, all my efforts were for you, for our future..."

Suddenly, mid-sentence, her face changed. She covered her mouth and rushed to the nearby green space, dry-heaving.

When she came back, her face even paler, I looked at her flat stomach, and a thought flashed through my mind like lightning.

"You..." My voice was dry.

She looked up, her eyes tear-filled, and nodded, her hand instinctively protecting her abdomen.

"Almost two months... Jackson, we're having a baby."

Looking at her bloodshot eyes and the hand protecting her stomach, my heart was intensely squeezed.

For these past five years, and for this unexpectedly arriving child.

I heard my own voice, utterly exhausted.

"Ashley, this is the last time."

Under the profoundly disappointed gaze of my parents, I returned to Texas with her.

On the plane, she clutched my hand tightly, as if holding a treasure she'd thought lost forever.

But as I looked at the sea of clouds outside the window, my heart felt empty.

This forgiveness, I realized, was a gamble on my last shreds of hope, and an innocent life.

In the half-month after returning from New York, Ashley became incredibly cautious.

She took care of all the housework, came home on time, and reported every little detail.

She bought pregnancy guides and prenatal education books, and in the evenings, leaning against the headboard, she'd caress her still-flat stomach and read stories in the gentle voice she used as a psychologist.

"Our baby will definitely be the happiest child in the world."

Her eyes sparkled, just like they used to.

But shadows, they always followed.

Her phone started receiving missed calls from unknown numbers.

She'd glance at it, annoyed, then hang up and block the number.

"It's probably him, using different numbers. He's like a persistent shadow."

She explained, but a flicker of something imperceptible crossed her eyes.

Then came burner account requests on social media, validation messages pouring out his heart:

"Dr. Ashley, I know I shouldn't disturb your happiness, but without you, my world is bleak; I can't even pick up a paintbrush..."

She rejected the request right in front of me, but her fingertip lingered on the message for a moment.

That day, after her prenatal check-up, the baby was healthy, its heartbeat strong.

I tried to immerse myself in the slight joy of becoming a father, walking out of the hospital arm-in-arm with her.

Her phone rang again. It was Dr. Pete, Lucas's new attending physician.

"Dr. Ashley, sorry to bother you. Lucas is severely resistant to treatment. He mentioned some... details about his childhood abuse that only you know, which are crucial for diagnosis. Could you perhaps..."

Ashley walked aside, speaking in a low voice for a long time.

When she returned, her forehead was deeply furrowed, and her face looked troubled.

"Work stuff?" I asked, that flicker of joy in my heart shrouded in a thin mist.

"Yeah, just a minor issue." She tried to put her arm around me, but her arm felt stiff.

That night, I woke up thirsty, and the space beside me was empty.

A faint light came from the living room.

Ashley sat on the sofa, staring at her phone screen, her fingers gently caressing her stomach, her face pale in the glow of the screen.

It was Lucas's Ins burner account, updated just ten minutes ago:

"If the care was fake, what was the warmth before? This world might as well plunge into complete darkness."

She was so engrossed that she didn't even notice me approach.

In that moment, I suddenly remembered my junior year of college when I had acute gastroenteritis, vomiting and diarrhea. She had watched over me then, staying up all night.

But now, she was watching over another man's sorrowful ramblings.

A strong sense of unease settled in my heart.

Lucas's condition unfolded like a meticulously orchestrated play.

One scene after another, constantly pushing my limits of endurance.

Ashley's phone became an alarm bell that only rang for him.

And each ring, it seemed, drained her physically.

Late at night, Lucas suffered drug side effects, struggling to breathe.

Ashley answered the phone, soothing him in a low voice for nearly an hour.

After hanging up, her face was pale, and a dull ache pulsed in her lower abdomen.

I was terrified and wanted to call an ambulance, but she forced a smile and said she just needed rest, stubbornly refusing to go to the hospital.

In the early hours, Lucas experienced paranoid delusions and panic attacks.

Ashley grabbed her car keys, ready to leave, but I blocked the doorway.

"Have you forgotten the doctor said you need bed rest? You can't be stressing yourself out in your current condition!"

She looked at me, her eyes full of struggle.

"Jackson, he's a high-risk patient... I can't just stand by and do nothing. Just this once, I'll be back soon."

When she returned, her face was drawn with exhaustion, and there were faint red stains on her pants.

She weakly explained that she was just tired, telling me not to worry.

My doubts and unease were interpreted by her as a lack of empathy and a misunderstanding of her profession.

"Jackson, you used to be so kind, why can't you be understanding now? This is my responsibility."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with weariness and a hint of disappointment.

Because I was kind, I deserved to watch her repeatedly put herself and our child in danger for others.

Finally, she offered to accompany me to a long-awaited art exhibition as a form of compensation.

As soon as we reached the exhibition hall entrance, her phone rang again.

She glanced at it, hung up immediately, but her face instantly turned grim, and her hand instinctively covered her abdomen.

"Him again?" My heart sank further, my gaze fixed on her hand protecting her stomach.

"...Telemarketer," she said, her eyes darting away.

The phone kept vibrating, so insistent it made my heart race.

She finally gave in, walking to a corner to answer.

"Lucas! Calm down! Don't do anything foolish! ...Okay, wait there, I'm on my way!"

She returned, her face etched with anxiety, beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead.

"Jackson, the exhibition's off. He's on the edge of the rooftop... He said if I don't go, he'll jump!"

I looked at her pale face and the hand instinctively protecting her stomach, my voice so cold it felt foreign even to myself.

"So, our date, our baby, once again, less important than his little show? Ashley, just look at your own face!"

She painfully clutched at her hair, her body trembling slightly.

"Just this once! I swear it's the last time! To completely resolve this! Otherwise, if he really dies, I'll live with that shadow forever, and our baby won't be happy either!"

She turned and ran towards the parking lot, her steps a bit unsteady, but her back showed no hesitation.

I stood alone on the bustling street, surrounded by people coming and going.

A cold dread settled in my chest.

When she returned that night, her condition was even worse.

Abdominal pain intensified, and the bleeding was noticeably heavier.

Rushed to the emergency room, the doctor diagnosed "threatened miscarriage" and ordered bed rest.

On the hospital bed, she held my hand, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson, I'm so sorry, baby... I never thought it would come to this."

My heart twisted in agony, but all I could say was, "Let's just focus on saving the baby for now."

Ashley's hospital was celebrating its anniversary.

She insisted I accompany her.

"Let everyone see how wonderful my husband is."

She gently caressed her slightly rounded abdomen, her face showing a fragile hope.

I looked at the weariness in her eyes and her forced smile, and eventually nodded.

I chose a suitable suit, trying my best to hide the exhaustion of the past few days.

The hall was filled with glamorous guests, their conversations a soft hum.

Her colleagues came to toast, offering congratulations and blessings.

Ashley smiled and responded, her hand gently resting on the back of my chair, her other hand occasionally protecting her stomach.

This carefully maintained calm only lasted until Lucas appeared.

He wore a stark white suit, his face pale and gaunt, like a ghost, his gaze piercing through the crowd, locking onto Ashley.

Then, in full view of everyone, he rushed over and grabbed Ashley's arm.

Tears streamed down his face, his voice quiet but every word clear, laced with a broken tremor:

"Dr. Ashley! You said I was the most understood person you'd ever met! Why are you abandoning me now? Is it because you have a family, a child, so I've become an extra burden? Is it because Mr. Jackson... can't tolerate me?"

The entire room fell silent.

All eyes, like spotlights, swiveled to me, a mix of shock, scrutiny, and unspoken pity.

Ashley was completely frozen.

The next second, she even instinctively switched into professional mode, saying in a gentle, soothing voice:

"Lucas, don't do this, calm down, this isn't appropriate, let's just..."

I stood there, stripped bare of all pretense, my dignity trampled into the dust by the two of them.

Finally, the hospital director's face was dark with anger, and he motioned for security to escort Lucas away.

He struggled, turning back to stare fixedly at Ashley, and shrieked desperately:

"Ashley! I'll really die without you! You promised you wouldn't give up on me!"

The drive home was a deathly silence.

Only the low hum of the engine, and the pounding of my own blood rushing to my head.

Ashley's face was ashen, her hand tightly covering her stomach, her lips trembling, trying to say something, but no sound came out.

Suddenly, she let out a stifled groan, her body curling up.

"Ashley?" My heart tightened sharply.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her voice trembling: "My stomach... it hurts a little..."

I looked down and saw a small, stark patch of bright red visibly spreading on her light-colored skirt.

"To the hospital!"

In the emergency room, the doctor's expression was grave after the examination.

"We must admit her immediately for bed rest to prevent miscarriage! The pregnant woman's emotions absolutely cannot be stimulated any further!"

Ashley was wheeled into the ward, lying on the stark white bed, her face utterly bloodless.

Standing by the bed, looking at her tightly closed eyes and the hand protecting her stomach, my heart felt utterly cold.

What did I, and this family, even mean to her?