During a moment when the seizures subsided, Geoffrey opened his eyes, saw her, and asked weakly, — Who are you?

  • I’m just Zoe, from the staff, she replied softly.
  • Am I… dying? Fear resonated in his voice.
  • We’re trying to do everything to stop that from happening. Please, just hang on.
  • My wife… Thorne’s lips moved, he wanted to say something more but couldn’t. — Tell her… I…
  • Don’t say anything, Zoe felt her heart ache with compassion. — You need to save your strength.
  • I’ve made too many mistakes, he murmured, closing his eyes. — And now… now I’m lying here, and maybe it was all for nothing. What kind of life was that? Zoe knew he was feverish, but his words touched her soul. She squeezed his hand and whispered, — Everything will be alright. Don’t give up. The most important thing now is to believe. But she herself felt a chill. He was in so much emotional pain, and he was, in his own way, repenting. Sometimes people who are given so much make so many mistakes. And perhaps Mr. Thorne was now realizing that all his money and status couldn’t protect him from a mortal threat.

Morning came. The lab results started to trickle in. And many of the markers confirmed that this was more than just cirrhosis. They found the autoantibodies characteristic of autoimmune hepatitis. His condition was still critical, but with the right therapy, the patient now had a chance.

Dr. Wallace convened a brief emergency meeting. With Zoe present, he announced, — Colleagues, we have every reason to believe that Mr. Thorne’s condition is indeed autoimmune in nature. This means we must begin immunosuppressive therapy immediately. His liver is already in a terrible state, but we can try. If we do everything on time, we might be able to save his life, albeit with major complications.

  • But first, we need to stabilize his overall condition, added the gastroenterologist. — You can see he’s having seizures, likely due to encephalopathy. We need a comprehensive approach.
  • Of course, Wallace nodded. — We’re putting in a stat order for the necessary combination of drugs. It’s a matter of hours. In the meantime, he’ll remain in the ICU under constant monitoring. Everyone nodded in understanding. Then, several of them turned to look at Zoe. Their faces showed a strange mix of gratitude and shame. Gratitude for pointing them in the right direction. Shame for having missed such crucial details themselves and nearly writing off a patient as a lost cause.

Most surprisingly, Dr. Wallace decided to say it out loud.

  • Zoe, he said with a heavy sigh, — you may have saved this patient’s life. I don’t know how to thank you. You did a job that wasn’t even part of your duties. Believe me, if Mr. Thorne pulls through, it will be largely thanks to you.
  • It’s… it’s alright, the young woman interrupted, sensing he wasn’t used to apologizing. — The main thing is that he gets better. Wallace nodded and, for the first time, smiled. It was a slightly crooked smile, but it clearly said, “Thank you.” Dr. Silver stood nearby, scowling at the floor. But perhaps even he was starting to realize that he had acted without integrity.

As she watched the doctors spring into action to save Mr. Thorne, Zoe felt a wave of relief, but at the same time, a new anxiety began to bubble up inside her. This anxiety was about herself. The incident in the lounge had unleashed something she had kept hidden for years—her desire to be more than just a tech. She was drawn to medicine, to knowledge, to the act of saving lives. And now, having tasted a moment of recognition, she couldn’t just go back to her old life, where she was only noticed when there was blood to be cleaned from the floor.

After the emergency procedures were done and Mr. Thorne was settled in the ICU, the head nurse, Angela, a woman with over thirty years of experience who was kind but strict about protocol, intercepted her.

  • Zoe, she said, looking at the young woman with a slightly reproachful gaze, — you’ve become a legend overnight. Everyone’s talking about how smart you are. But please, remember your position. You are not a doctor, and technically, you have no right to interfere in the treatment process without authorization. I’ve already gotten a hint from upstairs that there will be… talks.
  • Talks? Zoe repeated, a flicker of fear in her eyes. — But I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, I just saw he was in a bad way…
  • I know, I know, Angela nodded. — And I’m glad you helped. But be careful. This is a hospital system, full of bureaucracy. They’ll start investigating how you saw his chart, who gave you access to his labs, who you spoke to. There are strict HIPAA laws. And I don’t want you to get fired or transferred. You’re a good kid, and I value you, but you know there are jealous people and gossips. Be smart.

Angela’s words weighed heavily on Zoe’s heart. She realized that her open display of knowledge could backfire. She could be accused of overstepping, of exceeding her authority. But what was she supposed to do with her sense of responsibility and her desire to help people? For a moment, she thought about going back to school. But she had no money, no connections, and so much time had passed. Did she even have the stamina for it anymore? Too many questions. And then she remembered standing by Mr. Thorne’s bedside, feeling like she was doing something important.

  • Thank you, Angela, she said quietly. — I understand. I’ll be careful.
  • Good, the head nurse managed a small smile. — You’ve already done a great thing. Now, just be smart. Go get some rest. You’ve been up all night. But Zoe didn’t go home to rest. She went to check on the ICU, asking the on-duty nurses how Mr. Thorne was doing. They said his condition remained critical, but there was a faint glimmer of hope. The body’s response to the new therapy would become clear within the next twenty-four hours.

Meanwhile, events of a non-medical nature began to swirl around Mr. Thorne. His friend and business partner, Leo Yakubov, a man with an imposing presence in an expensive suit and the entitled air of someone used to being in charge, stormed into the hospital. He immediately demanded to see Dr. Wallace, yelling at the front desk staff, — I need to see his attending physician, now! My firm is a major donor to this hospital, what is this incompetence?

He was calmly informed that Dr. Wallace was currently in the ICU, saving his friend’s life, and had no time for conversations. Leo, tempering his fury, sat down on a bench in the hallway next to Anna, Mr. Thorne’s wife. She glanced at him with obvious dislike, though she tried to hide it. A chill passed between them. Leo nodded politely. — Anna. Hello. How is he?

  • No better. The doctors are trying, she shrugged. — They said they diagnosed something rare. Your donations didn’t seem to help much, I see. The equipment in his room looks like it’s from the last century. Leo scowled. — My donations went to the new cardiac wing, not this department. Anna, let’s not discuss this in public. I need to know what’s happening with my friend, my partner. He’s a crucial part of our new venture. What if he…
  • What if he what? Anna shot back in an icy tone. — Dies? Are you already thinking about business? About your venture? Leo tried to keep his voice down, but it was still tense. — We both know that Geoffrey is irreplaceable on a number of key deals. If something happens, everything could collapse. I just need to know if we can count on him coming back to work, or if we need to start making other arrangements, quickly. Anna laughed bitterly. — Such a friendly approach, Leo. I’m not even sure why you’re here. I’m sure you just want control of his assets.
  • That’s not true, Leo retorted, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. — I am genuinely worried about him. We’ve been through a lot together. But I’m a businessman. And if he’s out of the picture, we have to make decisions fast. I’m sorry, Anna, but that’s the reality. I’m not here to prey on him; I’m here to help. Maybe we should move him to another hospital, a more modern one.
  • The doctors said moving him now would be a death sentence. He’s too weak. And they’re doing everything they can in the ICU. So all we can do is wait.
  • Fine, Leo shook his head. — I’ll wait. If you need any special equipment or drugs, let me know. I’ll get it, I’ll pay for it. I don’t want Geoffrey to die because of red tape. Anna didn’t reply. She knew that, in the midst of this crisis, all this business talk was out of place. But deep down, she was afraid. If Geoffrey really didn’t recover, would she lose not just her husband, but her entire life? They had a massive business together, and Anna knew nothing about running it. Their marriage hadn’t always been happy, but she didn’t want him to die. And another sadness weighed on her heart. Mr. Thorne had never given her the child she dreamed of. It was always postponed—business was more important, then his health wasn’t right. And now he could die, having never fulfilled his promise. Anna wasn’t sure what she was more worried about: her husband’s life, or her own future, which could crumble without him.

While the financial and family drama unfolded in the hallways, Geoffrey Thorne was fighting for his life in the ICU. The machines he was connected to showed unstable readings. The doctors administered immunosuppressants, started adjusting his liver therapy, and monitored his blood ammonia levels. It was a war for every breath. Zoe, when allowed, would slip into the ICU, help in any way she could, and talk to the patient, even though he was mostly unconscious. Hospital routine remained her primary job; no one doubted that. But now she felt like part of something bigger. When Dr. Wallace appeared at the nurses’ station, they would exchange a few words about the patient’s condition.

  • Well, Zoe, Wallace said one time, stepping away from a monitor, — for now, there’s neither improvement nor decline. That’s not so bad, considering yesterday’s crisis. We wait. We continue the therapy.
  • Will he make it? Zoe asked quietly, afraid of a negative answer.
  • It’s hard to say, Wallace sighed. — But there’s a small chance now. If the drugs work and we can stabilize his liver, he’ll have a long road to recovery. We just have to see some positive momentum.
  • Please, don’t give up on him, Zoe looked at the department head with such intensity that he seemed to lose his usual sternness for a moment.
  • Don’t worry, he said, trying to regain his professional tone. — I’m doing everything in my power.

It would seem that the melodramatic rescue of a patient was a dramatic enough story. But more events unfolded in those days. It turned out that Mr. Thorne had not only a friend and a wife but also, as whispers suggested, a mistress—and she was none other than one of Zoe’s former classmates from her pre-med days.

The rumor reached the department when someone saw a young woman named Maria at the admissions desk, desperately asking about Mr. Thorne’s condition. She was told to wait and not to cause a scene. Maria was an attractive, well-dressed woman in her early thirties, with expressive brown eyes and delicate features. She paced nervously by the reception desk, asking who could give her information about patient Thorne. The staff waved her off—information was for family or official representatives only. In despair, she made a call on her cell phone, then dropped it and burst into tears.