When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 33

Amelia

The next day, during my night shift, the question Ethan raised about the housekeeper kept lingering in my mind.

I tried to suppress the unease and focus on the evening rounds, but the restless feeling refused to go away. Just then, the TV in the hospital hallway switched to breaking news. The report of a massive pileup on the interstate echoed from the main lobby, causing an immediate stir.

Ambulance sirens wailed through the broadcast as smoke billowed from crumpled vehicles.

I paused mid-step, a chill running down my spine as the reporter's voice cracked with emotion describing the scene.

"This is one of the worst accidents we've seen in years," she was saying, her professional composure barely holding. "At least fifteen vehicles involved, multiple casualties reported."

I barely had time to process the footage when my phone buzzed. It was Dr. Matthews, our department head.

"Amelia, this is an emergency. We need you at the crash site immediately. We need every available doctor with ER training, and I know you can handle pressure. Meet me at the emergency bay—we’re heading out with the ambulance team now."

"I'm on my way," I answered without hesitation, already heading toward my office.

I yanked open my bottom drawer where I kept my emergency medical kit—a habit I had kept since my residency days.

Minutes later, I met Dr. Matthews at the emergency bay, where we boarded an ambulance with a team of EMTs.

The ride to the interstate was tense, the sirens blaring as we sped toward the scene. When we arrived at the police barricade, the chaos was straight out of a nightmare—twisted metal, shattered glass, and the unmistakable smell of gasoline and blood mingling in the air. I flashed my hospital ID to the officer alongside Dr. Matthews.

"Dr. Thompson, OBGYN, here for emergency response," I said, slipping into my professional tone.

"Thank you for coming, Doctor. They need help over there," he pointed toward the center of the wreckage where a Mercedes had been crushed between two larger vehicles.

I pulled on my gloves and grabbed my kit, the white coat I'd thrown over my scrubs flapping in the wind as I jogged toward the scene with the team. Family members were crying behind the police tape, and first responders were already triaging victims on the asphalt.

"I'm a doctor," I announced, approaching the worst-hit vehicle. "Let me through."

The driver was barely breathing, his pulse so faint I had to press hard to find it. I was setting up for initial assessment when his heart stopped completely. Without missing a beat, I began CPR, counting aloud as I performed chest compressions.

"One, two, three, four..." My arms worked mechanically, muscle memory taking over. After a full cycle of compressions, I felt a flutter beneath my fingers. A pulse. Weak, but there.

"We've got a rhythm!" I called out, only then noticing the CNN camera crew filming nearby. The thought flashed through my mind that I was probably being broadcast live, but I pushed it away. Nothing mattered except keeping this man alive until we could transport him.

As the EMTs moved in to take over, I heard a weak cry from the passenger side of another vehicle. A woman with a severe head laceration was struggling to sit up. As I approached, my trained eye immediately noticed her distended abdomen.

"You're pregnant," I said, quickly assessing her bleeding scalp while reaching for my stethoscope.

"Seven months," she whispered, eyes wide with fear. "My baby—"

"I'm going to check on your baby right now," I said urgently, pressing the stethoscope to her belly while simultaneously applying pressure to her head wound. The fetal heartbeat was rapid but steady—about 150 beats per minute—within the normal range. But given the trauma and the possibility of worsening conditions, we had to act quickly and keep a close watch, especially since contractions can sometimes occur suddenly after such incidents.

"Are you feeling any contractions right now?" I asked, my voice tense with urgency.

She shook her head, tears mixing with the blood on her face, her expression strained and anxious.

"That's good," I reassured her quickly. "But we need to get you to the hospital immediately—this could change at any moment. Take slow, deep breaths for me." I gently palpated her abdomen to check for uterine activity. "You might be having some contractions, which can happen after the trauma. We don’t have time to wait—stay calm, and we’ll get you the help you need right now."

When the transport team was ready, I gave the EMTs a rapid-fire assessment: "Seven months pregnant, head laceration with controlled bleeding, fetal heart rate 140-150, no signs of contractions or placental abruption. Prioritize OB evaluation on arrival."

For the next two hours, I moved from victim to victim alongside Dr. Matthews and other medical personnel who had arrived. By the time we'd stabilized everyone for transport, it was deep into the night. Incredibly, not a single life was lost at the scene. The pregnant woman and her baby were stable, the cardiac arrest patient was responsive, and even the most critical injuries had been managed effectively.

I returned to the emergency room and slumped down on the corridor floor. Jenny, who had been scrambling to manage the incoming patients, also sat down next to me, looking exhausted.

"My arms are shaking so bad I look like I have Parkinson's," she said, holding up her trembling hands. "I can't even imagine getting home after this."

"Let's get an Uber," I suggested, both of us laughing weakly at our disheveled state. We were covered in dirt and dried blood, but there was a profound satisfaction in knowing what we'd accomplished.

As we waited for our ride, I noticed three missed calls from Michael on my phone. Whatever it was would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone deal with what was unfolding in my complicated personal life.

The security guard helped us into the waiting Uber, and as we pulled away from the hospital, I leaned my head against the window, too exhausted to even process the day's events. Tomorrow there would be paperwork, follow-ups, and probably questions about being filmed for national news.

But tonight, I'd done what I was trained to do. I'd saved lives. And for the first time in weeks, I felt like myself again.