My Wife, the Doctor Who Abandoned Us

The nurse's hands are trembling as she hands me the "Body and Cornea Donation Consent Form". She asks, "Mr. Stone, is Stellan's mother coming?" I gently wipe the blood from my son's lips and slowly shake my head. "No. She's saving someone else's child." My son, Stellan Stone, is born with a complex congenital heart defect. My wife, Sharon Claude, is the youngest cardiothoracic surgeon in the country. Five years ago, she tells me she's going overseas to study the most advanced surgical techniques so she can come back and perform Stellan's operation herself. For the past five years, she has sent home research papers, case studies, and handwritten surgery plans. She always says, "Just wait a little longer. Wait until I'm absolutely certain I can do it." So, I wait. I wait as Stellan grows from a little boy who can run and laugh to a boy who can only lie in the ICU, breathing with the help of machines. Today, I see the latest issue of a medical journal in the hospital lobby. On the cover, Sharon is smiling gently as she holds a little boy in her arms. The child is Aiden Ford, the son of her first love, Chris Ford. In the interview, she says, "He's just a child. I can't bear to let the one I love most face even the slightest risk." But our child is just a child too. I sign my name on the consent form and gently tuck Stellan's cold little hand back beneath the white sheet. I whisper, "Sharon, you safeguarded someone else's heartbeat, but you denied our child a chance to live." Chapter 1 My son's ashes were very light. They were so light that when I carried him out of the hospital, my arms felt strangely empty. When my father, Jacob Stone, arrived, his legs gave out. He nearly collapsed to his knees at the hospital entrance. "Eli, where's Stellan?" he asked. I tightened my arms around the white porcelain urn and said nothing. He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes immediately turning red. "Where's Sharon?" "She's busy." "Her son is dead. What could possibly be more important than that?" I looked toward the hospital lobby. An interview featuring Sharon Claude was playing on the giant electronic screen. On the screen, she wore a white coat as she lowered her head to straighten Aiden Ford's collar. The host asked, "Dr. Claude, why did you turn down a high-paying position at an overseas medical center just to stay in Southville as one child's private doctor?" She gave a small, polite smile and said, "Because he's afraid of pain. Practicing medicine can wait, but a child can't wait." The porcelain urn in my arms was cold to the touch. One of the country's top cardiac surgeons had willingly given up her prestigious position for Aiden to become a private pediatrician who treated common colds and fevers. Her job was reduced to accompanying him through blood draws and ultrasounds. How ridiculous. It wasn't that she didn't have time. She had simply given all of it to someone else's child. Stellan had been afraid of pain too. Every time he had his blood drawn, he bit the corner of his shirt to stop himself from crying. The nurses praised him for being brave, and he always responded softly, "Mom said I'm a little man." But when the pain became so intense that his whole body curled up, he still cried out for Sharon. Dad looked at the screen and studied Sharon for a moment before focusing his gaze at the little boy in her arms. In that instant, he seemed to age ten years as he asked, "Who's that child?" "That is Chris Ford's son, Aiden," I replied. "Chris?" "Sharon's first love." Dad opened his mouth, but no words came out for a long time. My phone rang. It was Sharon calling me. Dad stared at the screen and said in a shaky voice, "Answer it." I accepted the call. It was noisy on Sharon's end. It sounded like she was standing in a hospital corridor. "Elliot, why did you call me so many times just now? Didn't I tell you that Aidy has his follow-up appointment today. He starts crying the moment he sees a white coat. I really couldn't get away," Sharon rambled. I looked at the urn in my arms and said, "Sharon." "Hm?" "Stellan wanted to see the ocean." There was a brief pause on the other end before Sharon replied, "Now?" "Yeah." "Have you lost your mind? With his condition, how could he handle a trip like that? Once I come back home when I'm not so busy, I'll arrange for an ambulance to go with him." I closed my eyes and said tiredly, "There's no need." "What do you mean, 'no need'?" "There's no need for that anymore." Sharon didn't understand the meaning behind my words. She prattled, "Elliot, what's gotten into you today? Did Stellan throw another tantrum? Stop spoiling him. Even if he's sick, you can't constantly let him have his way." I let out a soft laugh. "He won't throw tantrums anymore." She fell silent for a few seconds. Then, a man's voice came through the phone. "Shay, Aidy's test results are back. The doctor wants to see you." Sharon immediately lowered her voice. "I've got to go. I'll call you later." With that, the call ended. She always said, "Just wait." When Stellan coughed up blood for the first time, she said that. When the hospital issued his critical condition notice, she said that again. Finally, when his heart stopped beating, she still said the same thing. But some people couldn't afford to keep waiting. Dad reached out and gently touched the urn. The back of his hand was covered with bulging veins. "Is Stellan cold?" he asked. My throat felt raw, and it hurt to speak. "No. He was always afraid of the cold." Dad lowered his head, and teardrops splashed onto the porcelain urn. "When he was little, he always snuggled into my arms. He was so tiny. How could he be gone just like that?" I didn't answer. The wind was blowing fiercely outside the hospital. It carried the voice from the electronic screen in broken fragments. "…but a child can't wait." Sharon's words echoed over and over in my ears. Holding Stellan in my arms, I walked down the steps. Dad, who was trailing behind me, suddenly asked, "Eli, are you still going to wait for her?" I paused for a moment before answering, "No. I'm not waiting anymore." Chapter 2 I took Stellan to the seaside. There were hardly any people there in the winter. The howling sea breeze cut across my face like rusted blades. I placed the urn in the front passenger seat and fastened the seat belt around it. This had been Stellan's habit. Every time he got into a car, he always carefully checked his seat belt, even if we were only going to the hospital entrance. "Dad, Mom said doctors hate patients who don't listen," Stellan had said. Back then, I always laughed at him. "What a nosy little butler." He would put on a serious expression and correct me. "I'm a little doctor." Stellan had adored Sharon. The walls of his hospital room had been covered with newspaper clippings about her. One headline read, "The youngest cardiac surgery genius in the country." Another read, "Her hands are a miracle god sent to the human world." Stellan still hadn't learned to read many words, but he recognized Sharon in the photos. Whenever a nurse came in to change his dressing, he pointed at the wall and said, "That's my mommy." The nurses would smile and praise, "Your mommy is amazing." Hearing that, Stellan would beam proudly. After that, he would quietly ask me, "Daddy, when is Mommy coming back?" I always told him she would be home soon. I had lied to him for five years. The waves rolled onto the shore and receded. I sat on the beach and opened Stellan's little backpack. Inside it was a drawing book. On the first page was a family of three. I was drawn very tall, and Sharon wore a white coat. Stellan stood between us with a red heart drawn on his chest. Next to it, in crooked handwriting, were the words, "My heart will get better." The second page showed the ocean. He had been scribbled all over the page with a blue crayon. In the lower right corner were three little stick figures. He had said, "When Mom comes back, the three of us will go to the beach together." I ran my fingers over the three little figures, and my fingertips went numb. Tucked into the inner pocket of the backpack was a neatly folded wish card. The children's ward handed them out every Christmas. Other children wrote that they wanted toys, cake, or to go home. Stellan had drawn a pair of eyes. Underneath, he had written, "If I can't see the ocean anymore, then let someone else borrow my eyes and let them see it for me." At the time, the nurse had asked if he understood what he was writing. He nodded and said, "Yes. Mommy saves peoples' hearts. I want to save something for someone too." Back then, I thought he had simply heard too many stories of people in need at the hospital ward. I never imagined that he had truly taken it to heart. My phone rang as a call from the hospital director, Timothy Zahn, came in. He said, "Mr. Stone, we've submitted all the paperwork for Stellan's body to be donated for medical research. His corneas meet the requirements and will be able to help two patients." My throat tightened as I croaked, "Thank you." Timothy sighed and said, "This was Stellan's own wish." I looked out at the sea. Grayish-white waves rolled in one after another. They looked like the heart monitor in the emergency room with its line growing flatter and flatter. Timothy spoke again. "Should we formally notify Dr. Claude about this?" "No," I said. "She is Stellan's mother, after all," Timothy added. I lowered my gaze to the drawing book. "The hospital already notified her before the resuscitation." Deafening silence came from the other end of the line. On the day of the resuscitation, Timothy had personally contacted the Southville Children's Cardiac Center, asking Sharon to participate in a remote consultation. Stellan's congenital heart defect had been extremely complicated. For five years, Sharon had personally organized every piece of his medical data. Timothy had said even she might not have been able to save Stellan. Nevertheless, she knew his cardiac imaging better than anyone. Even a single opinion from her might have prevented the resuscitation team from making unnecessary treatment attempts that didn't help. Maybe they could have extended his life for another 12 hours. That was enough time for me to take him to see the ocean just once. But she refused. Her email reply contained only one sentence, "I'm currently handling a sensitive pediatric case and cannot spare any extra attention elsewhere." I didn't find out until later that so-called "sensitive pediatric case" was none other than Aiden. He was recovering from myocarditis, and all his health indicators were stable. The recommendation was just to have routine follow-up assessments. Even so, Sharon had stayed by his side for an entire day. She bought him balloons and coaxed him throughout his ultrasound. She sat with him while he ate strawberry cake. She was a top surgeon who was supposed to wield a scalpel. But for Aiden, she lowered herself and did every one of those little, ordinary things that should never have been her responsibility. While Stellan lay in the resuscitation room, his blood pressure dropping to nothing… She had looked into the camera and said, "He's just a child. I can't bear to let the one I love most face even the slightest risk." The wind grew stronger and stronger. I held the urn and sat by the sea all night. Just before dawn, a pale glow spread across the water. It looked like the patch of blue in Stellan's drawing book that had been smudged with crayon. I rested my face against the urn. Very softly, I said, "Stellan, I'll take you away. We're not waiting for your mom anymore." Chapter 3 Three days later, I returned to my home with Sharon. It wasn't because I couldn't bear to leave it. I had returned to clear it out. The house was registered in my name. My parents had paid the down payment before I got married, and I had been paying the mortgage on my own. Sharon had only lived here for three months. After that, it became like a hospital room no one ever visited. The night lamp in Stellan's bedroom was still on. A sheet of paper was taped to the headboard. A line was written on top of the paper, "Countdown Until Mom Comes Home". The number had stopped at 1826. I stood in the doorway for a long time. Stellan had updated it every night before bed. From 100, it became 300. Then, from 500, it progressed to 1,000. Later, his hands had trembled so badly that I wrote the numbers for him. He would stare at the door and ask, "Daddy, is Mommy really coming back?" I always said yes. Then, he would ask, "Will she not remember me anymore?" I would stroke his head and assure him. "She will remember." But the truth was, Sharon had indeed almost forgotten about Stellan. She remembered that Aiden couldn't eat mangoes and that he was afraid of alcohol wipes. She knew which story he wanted to hear before bed. However, she didn't remember that Stellan's medication had been adjusted three times. She wasn't aware that he could no longer lie flat. She didn't know that what he feared most wasn't surgery. It was that his mother never came home. I pulled open a drawer. Inside were all the gifts Stellan had prepared for Sharon, neatly arranged. There was a little paper medal. On the back, he had written, "Thanks for your hard work, Mommy." There was also a tiny star-shaped hair clip. Stellan had said that Sharon wouldn't be able to wear it during surgery, so she could wear it at home instead. There was also a box that contained pieces of chocolate that had melted and hardened again. The wrapping papers were badly wrinkled. Stellan saved one piece on his birthday every year. "This is for Mommy to eat when she comes home," he had said. I picked up the box of chocolates. The separated cocoa butter had seeped out. It stuck to my fingertips. In that moment, I felt like they symbolized a hopeless sense of prolonged waiting that had begun to rot from the inside. When the movers arrived, they looked at the various medical equipment in the house and hesitated. "Mr. Stone, should we move these too?" they asked. I replied, "Donate anything that's still usable to the hospital." "What about the child's bed?" I looked at the little bed. There were several bite marks on the rail. Stellan had bitten it when the pain became unbearable. "Take it apart," I said evenly. While they were carrying out the oxygen concentrator, I found a document folder at the very bottom of the nightstand. Inside were the treatment plans Sharon had mailed back. The earliest ones spanned pages and were covered with dense handwriting. Every annotation had been meticulous. "Handle Stellan's right ventricular outflow tract with extreme caution." "Long-term monitoring of pulmonary artery pressure changes is required." "Wait for me to come back." But the later treatment plans became thinner and thinner. In the end, the final update had stopped two years earlier. After that, what she mailed back were mostly Aiden's medical reports. She had asked me to take a look at them because Chris didn't understand medicine and was prone to worrying. Back then, I hadn't even thought her request was absurd. I had simply believed she was too kind and took her job as a doctor too seriously. Only now did I understand that she hadn't been saving lives. She had been making Stellan pay, little by little, for the debt she felt she owed Chris. Hurried footsteps came from the front door. In the next second, Sharon rushed inside. She was wearing a white coat, and her hair was slightly disheveled. The moment she stepped in, she frowned at the sight before her. "What are you all doing?" No one answered. So, she turned to me. "Elliot, have you lost your mind?" I packed the medicine from the cabinet into bags, one box at a time. "Donate everything that hasn't expired." I said. Sharon strode over and grabbed my hand. "Who said you could throw away Stellan's medicine?" I looked up at her and said grimly, "He doesn't need it anymore." "What do you mean by that?" Sharon asked, her expression darkening. "I came back to take Stellan to Jervale for a medical evaluation. I've already assembled the team. Within three months, I'll perform the surgery myself." I looked at the little blue star pin on her chest. In a medical magazine photo, Aiden had stuck a star sticker with the same design onto her white coat. He had said to her, "Mama Shay, this is your reward." Mama Shay. What an intimate name he had for her. When I remained silent, Sharon's voice softened as she said, "Eli, I know you've suffered these past few years. Once Stellan's surgery is successful, our family can start over." I pulled my hand away and responded curtly, "There's no need." Sharon frowned with displeasure. "What exactly are you making a fuss about?" I ignored her. She picked up one of the medicine boxes and glanced at the expiration date. Then, she spoke in an even more accusing voice. "Stellan can't just stop taking his medicine. What kind of father are you? Aidy cried today because he didn't want to have his blood drawn, and it broke my heart. But look at you… You've even moved Stellan's monitors out." I laughed upon hearing that. Sharon was taken aback. "What are you laughing at?" I picked up a document envelope from the table and handed it to her. "Sign it." "What?" "The divorce agreement." The movers all stopped in their tracks, and the moving sounds halted abruptly. Sharon stared wide-eyed at the agreement as though she had seen the most absurd thing. "Elliot, this isn't funny." "I'm not joking," I deadpanned. Exasperated, Sharon argued, "Is it just because I accompanied Aidy to his follow-up appointment? He's only six years old. He trembles whenever he sees a hospital. "Chris is a single father. He can't handle taking care of Aidy by himself. I'm a doctor. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." I nodded. "Yes. You're a doctor." Her expression eased a little as she huffed, "I'm glad you understand." I pushed another stack of papers toward her. She lowered her head and glanced at them. It was a death certificate, and the name at the very top read, "Stellan Stone". Her hand froze. I looked at her and said gravely, "Stop looking for the medicine. His medicine, his bed, his monitors… He doesn't need any of them anymore. "Stellan's heart beat for the last time on the day you accompanied Aiden to his follow-up appointment." Sharon didn't cry. She simply stood there and stared blankly at the death certificate. It was as if she suddenly couldn't recognize a single word on the page. After a long time, she let out a laugh and said, "It's fake." I said nothing. She picked up the paper, her fingertips trembling violently. "Elliot, I can't believe you actually forged something like this just to force me to come home." She turned and rushed into Stellan's room. The little bed was gone. The monitors were gone. The medical reports had all been torn down from the walls, leaving only pale adhesive marks behind. Upon seeing that, the color slowly drained from her face. She rushed back out and grabbed one of the movers by the arm. "Where's my son? Where's the boy who lived here?" The mover was startled by her crazed reaction. He responded, "Ma'am, we don't know." Sharon turned to me and asked, "Where's Stellan?" I pointed at the white box on the table. Inside it was the confirmation receipt for his organ and tissue donation.