511-515

Chapter 511: What a Little Genius Medical Center. 

Emergency Room.  

“Dr. Duncan, there’s a five-year-old with a heart issue in Exam Room 1,” a nurse called out as soon as Adam walked in.  

“Got it,” Adam replied, heading over quick.  

A little Black girl lay there, struggling to breathe.  

“Coarctation of the aorta, sudden severe respiratory distress, respiratory rate 40, BP 180/100, tachycardia, mid-systolic murmur,” Adam said, checking her over. “Give her 20 mg of furosemide.”  

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse said, swiftly administering the diuretic.  

“What’s her name?” Adam asked.  

“Kalisha,” the nurse answered.  

“Hey, Kalisha, I’m Dr. Duncan,” Adam said gently, leaning down to the dazed little girl. “Did you touch something you weren’t supposed to, or eat anything you shouldn’t have?”  

Kalisha shook her head weakly.  

“Her family here yet?” Adam asked, glancing up at the nurse.  

“Her dad and sister are on their way,” she replied.  

“Doctor!” another nurse chimed in. “Her heart rate’s shifting.”  

“Ventricular tachycardia,” Adam said, frowning at the monitor. “20 mg lidocaine, IV push.”  

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse responded, jumping into action.  

“Got her chart yet?” Adam asked.  

“We’re pulling it from the database,” the nurse said.  

“Doctor, she’s running a fever,” another nurse pointed out.  

“Gastric lavage, stat—prep for irrigation,” Adam ordered. “Then run a tox screen.”  

“She’s poisoned?” the nurse asked, surprised.  

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “Tell the lab to rush it—find out what she got into.”  

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse said, drawing Kalisha’s blood with practiced ease and hustling it off to the lab for testing.  

After the lavage, Kalisha’s fever, irregular heart rate, high blood pressure, and anxiety—classic poisoning signs—started to ease up.  

The lab, seeing Adam’s name on the request, fast-tracked it. Soon, the tox report was in his hands.  

“Damn it!” Adam muttered, scanning the results.  

The nurse’s face twisted with anger too. The report showed five-year-old Kalisha had overdosed on cocaine.  

Cocaine! A hardcore drug—and she’s only five!  

“Dr. Duncan, should we call Child and Family Services?” the nurse asked.  

“Yeah,” Adam nodded.  

In the U.S., anything harming a kid—intentional or not—triggers a Child Protective Services investigation. Hospitals and doctors are legally bound to report it.  

“Dr. Duncan, Kalisha’s family’s here,” a nurse updated him.  

“Let ‘em wait,” Adam said, focusing on treating Kalisha.  

Now that they knew the cause, it was all about the right meds—no urgent need to grill the family on her history yet.  

Child and Family Services showed up fast—a middle-aged Black woman.  

“Ms. McGillis, here’s the situation,” Adam said, briefing her on Kalisha’s condition. “Family’s in the waiting area.”  

“Let’s go see them,” Ms. McGillis said, her face grim.  

“Alright,” Adam agreed, leading her over.  

A sturdy middle-aged Black man sat there, anxious, with a teenage Black girl leaning on his shoulder, earbuds in, eyes closed.  

“Mr. Freeman,” a nurse called out.  

“How’s my daughter?” Mr. Freeman asked, easing the teen onto the chair and standing up, voice tight with worry.  

“She’s okay,” Adam said, giving him a nod.  

“Thank God,” Mr. Freeman said, raising his hands in praise before stepping forward to shake Adam’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor! Can I see her now?”  

“Hang on,” Adam said. “This is Ms. McGillis from Child and Family Services. She’s got some questions.”  

“Your legal name and address?” Ms. McGillis asked, stone-faced.  

“What?” Mr. Freeman’s smile froze. He glanced at Adam, then at Ms. McGillis, who’d settled into a serious interrogator vibe. “What’s going on?”  

He wasn’t dumb. This wasn’t a good sign.  

“Please provide your legal name and address,” Ms. McGillis repeated, her tone shifting from request to demand.  

“Where’s Kalisha? I want to see her—now!” Mr. Freeman snapped, irritated.  

“Your five-year-old daughter overdosed on cocaine,” Adam cut in.  

Mr. Freeman froze, then turned away, bracing his hands on the counter, head shaking in disbelief.  

He got it now.  

“Tim Morgan Freeman, address…” After a long pause, he steadied himself, turned back, and gave Ms. McGillis his info.  

“It wasn’t me—I don’t know where Kalisha got cocaine,” he said.  

“Okay,” Ms. McGillis said, closing her notepad. “Child and Family Services will follow up with a home visit…”  

“That’s it?” a nurse blurted, incredulous. “He endangered a child!”  

“Mr. Freeman’s middle-class, employed, owns a home,” Ms. McGillis explained. “I’ve got families living in cars on my list. I trust Mr. Freeman, and we’ll keep tabs on this.”  

Adam nodded. He got it. This kind of thing was way too common in the States. Without fixing the root problem, a handful of overworked agency staff couldn’t keep up.  

Back when Adam first crossed over, they’d even pulled that jaw-dropping move—legalizing it outright, decriminalizing it. The logic? If you can’t control it, let it loose. Government takes over, regulates the market—saves billions in drug busts and rakes in the massive profits dealers used to pocket.  

Win-win, right? Tons of cash either way. And the guy who dreamed that up? True little genius.  

Most Americans loved it. Drug users? Thrilled—no more hiding. Cops? No more shootouts with dealers or junkies. Taxpayers? Happy their money wasn’t flushing down a hopeless drain. “I don’t use, so who cares if others OD?”  

Emmm. Everyone’s happy.  

Except in a world like that, kids like Kalisha—zero self-control, curious about everything—get way too close to drugs. Accidental ingestion or “trying it with friends” odds skyrocket.  

It’s like Adam’s childhood—sneaking cigs with his buddies, mimicking the grown-ups. A few coughs, and he ditched it, never smoked again. But his pals? They loved the “adult treat”—most grew up hooked.  

Cigarettes are one thing. Drugs, with addiction a million times worse? Good luck.  

Those middle-and-upper-class folks who think, “I don’t use, my taxes are safe,” might wake up screaming when they realize they can’t shield their own kids. That legendary nation, supposedly dead from drugs, might just pull a sneaky comeback—East meets West, rising from the ashes.  

Life’s wild like that.  

Chapter 512: Guo Qiangwei Arrives 

Medical Center. Emergency Room.  

“So, can I see my Kalisha now?” Mr. Freeman asked in a low, steady voice.  

“Of course,” Adam replied with a nod. He gestured toward an African-American girl leaning against the wall, eyes closed, lost in her music. “But your older daughter could use some of your attention too.”  

A flicker of panic crossed Mr. Freeman’s face.  

“This way, please,” Adam said with a quiet sigh, motioning for him to follow.  

Mr. Freeman trailed behind Adam into the hospital room, where he shared a sweet moment with his younger daughter, Kalisha. You could tell he really adored her.  

“Doc, when can Kalisha come home?” Mr. Freeman asked, stepping up beside Adam.  

“A few hours of observation should do it,” Adam answered. “But before she’s discharged, can you promise me she won’t get near cocaine again? If I’m reading this right, your older daughter’s hooked on the stuff, right? And she’s the one bringing it home.”  

“Doc, you got kids?” Mr. Freeman didn’t deny it. After a long pause, he just asked.  

Adam’s mouth twitched. “Nope,” he said, shaking his head.  

“Then you wouldn’t get what it’s like to be a parent,” Mr. Freeman said, glancing toward his older daughter with a sad look. “My wife passed away last year. Around that time, my oldest, Sandora, was fighting with her nonstop—classic teenage rebellion stuff. After my wife died, I didn’t know how to talk to Sandora anymore. But I could tell… sometimes, it’s like she doesn’t even want to live.”  

“I can recommend a good therapist,” Adam offered with another sigh. “Sandora needs help, but this kind of thing can’t keep spreading. It almost took Kalisha out today.”  

“Thanks, Doc,” Mr. Freeman said, forcing a weak smile.  

That smile was dripping with helplessness, and Adam got it.  

Addiction’s a beast—once it grabs hold, it’s usually a one-way ticket to ruin. A therapist alone isn’t gonna cut it. The rational move would be sending Sandora to a rehab facility for forced detox. But with someone like her, who’s already half-checked out of life, how could Mr. Freeman, as a dad, risk that? Drop her off in the morning, and she might not make it to night—she could end herself. That’d feel like he’d killed his own daughter.  

And even rehab’s no guarantee. Plenty of dealers run their game right inside those places. On one hand, you’ve got the agony of withdrawal; on the other, drugs within arm’s reach. Guess what most pick? Even the legit centers, the ones dealers can’t touch—if she got clean and walked out, the odds of relapse would still be sky-high.  

It’s a no-win mess.  

That’s why the big shots—like that fried chicken guy—don’t let their crews touch the stuff. And those creeps who trap women into selling their bodies? Step one’s always getting them hooked. Addicts have no limits. When the craving hits, they’ll do anything for a fix—humiliate them, beat them, whatever. They’ll keep coming back, no shame, no quit. Compared to that, even Wei Xiaobao’s magic pills are small fry.  

If Mr. Freeman can’t toughen up, he’s not just losing Sandora—Kalisha’s probably next. He’s just a regular middle-class guy; he doesn’t have the cash to bankroll Sandora’s habit forever. And when the money dries up? Adam had no doubt Sandora, in a desperate haze, might even sell Kalisha out to score.  

He knew it. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.  

After a quiet moment of shared gloom with Mr. Freeman, Adam turned and walked off.  

This was the first case like this he’d seen. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.  

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“Adam!”  

“Hey, Amy! Back to spruce up Leonard’s office again?” Adam grinned as he bumped into a stylish woman.  

“Yup!” Amy Green—Leonard’s second daughter, Rachel’s younger sister—gave Adam a warm hug. “I’m an interior designer, you know,” she said proudly.  

“Uh-huh,” Adam chuckled, playing along. “Leonard’s always raving about the office vibes you whip up.”  

Emmm. Truth is, Leonard didn’t have much choice. Keeping her busy was better than letting her stir up trouble. That was his big hope for his second kid.  

Interior designer? Yeah, self-appointed. She had a knack for hype, though—total marketing genius vibes. If she brushed up against something, she’d spin it into gold. “Interior designer” sure beat “jobless wanderer,” right?  

“You didn’t go to Rachel’s baby shower tonight?” Amy asked with a smile.  

“What, are there guys there?” Adam shot back, deadpan.  

Rachel was a week from popping, and tonight’s party—thrown by Monica and Phoebe—was a ladies’ thing. Just her gal pals showering the soon-to-be-born Emma with gifts, mostly stuff a new mom needs. Tradition says no dudes allowed.  

“Oh, there’s one,” Amy said. “Some guy—I thought he was Rachel’s new boyfriend at first. I even complimented him, said he was way cuter than her old goofy ex. But then he kept insisting he was the ex! Like, dude, I’d know if it was the same person, right? So I explained I meant this weird guy from high school who’d been crushing on Rachel since, like, ninth grade. He still looked confused, like I was talking about him. So I had to get specific—y’know, Rachel’s chubby sidekick’s brother with that ridiculous Afro? And then he got mad! I don’t even get why! I was just worried Emma might inherit Rachel’s big nose. But now, seeing both her parents are like this, I just feel bad for her. If it were me, I wouldn’t even wanna be born…”  

“Ahem!” Adam coughed, cutting her off as she went too far. “The only guy at that party? That’s the high school weirdo who’s been into Rachel forever. Also her ex. Also Emma’s dad.”  

“Who’s Emma?” Amy asked, dead serious.  

“Rachel’s baby—due any day now. They’re naming her Emma,” Adam clarified. “Not Emily.”  

“Oh, whatever,” Amy said, waving it off. “But you know how awful Rachel is? I’m swamped, right? Still made time to hit her party and bring a gift I hand-picked. And what do I get back?”  

“What?” Adam asked politely.  

“Humiliation!” Amy’s face flared with anger. “I’m her sister—her real sister! She works at Ralph Lauren, has a discount card—30% off! But she won’t let me use it. Says I’ve gotta pay full price. Can you believe her?”  

“Rachel’s still pregnant, y’know,” Adam said, trying to calm her. “Maybe butter her up a bit, make her feel the family love. She’d probably let you borrow it then.”  

“Hmph!” Amy huffed. “30% off? I don’t even care!”  

“It’s 50% now,” Adam corrected. “Rachel got bumped up to management…”  

“That bitch!” Amy exploded.  

50% off at a luxury spot like that? That’s serious cash saved. Not that Amy cared about the money—her dad’s a fancy doctor, plenty to burn (RIP Leonard’s wallet for three seconds). What she wanted was the bragging rights with her girlfriends, flashing that discount. And Rachel, who had it, wouldn’t share!  

“With that attitude, you’re not borrowing squat,” Adam pointed out.  

“Rachel, my dearest big sis…” Amy smirked, holding up a finger to pause Adam. She fished her phone out of her LV bag and dialed Rachel, laying on the sweetest, most syrupy tone to butter her up.  

Oh yeah. She was all in now.  

True vibes!  

Chapter 513: Respect the Spirits and Keep Your Distance Medical Center 

“Bitch!” 

Amy had barely been sweet-talking for a minute when she started bickering with Rachel over the phone again. 😣 

Adam was about to head out, but Amy waved a hand, signaling him to stick around for a sec. So, being the polite guy he is, Adam stayed put, catching an earful of the daily drama between the Green sisters. 

Amy was laying into Rachel, calling her selfish as usual—classic Rachel vibes. She even brought up how, back in middle school, Rachel had sabotaged her thing with some hotshot named Dimi. 

Then came Rachel’s furious roar from the other end: “Dimi was my boyfriend!”  

You didn’t need super hearing to catch that—it was like the phone was on speaker with a megaphone attached. 📢 

Amy blinked, suddenly remembering that little detail. But she’s a pro at this game. Without missing a beat, she fired back, “That’s ancient history! Why do you keep dragging it up?” 

Emmm. Adam, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but admire Amy’s mental toughness. 😏 

Rachel couldn’t take it anymore and hung up. Amy, though, kept grumbling under her breath. 

“Dimi? Psh, whatever. Barry…”  

She stuffed her phone away, muttering a few more complaints. When she caught Adam giving her a weird look, she instantly flipped the switch—putting on her classy-lady face, tossing her hair back, and flashing her brightest smile. 

“Adam, wanna grab a drink?” 😊 

“Sorry, I’m still on shift.” 

Adam turned her down as usual, giving her an apologetic smile before heading toward the nurses’ station. 

“Boring!” Amy called after him. “You’re worse than some old geezer! Such a waste of your good looks!” 

Adam didn’t look back, just waved a hand over his shoulder. He knew her jab wasn’t out of nowhere. 

Lately, Amy had been “busy” redecorating Leonard’s office—her dad. Adam kept running into her because of it. More than once, he’d overheard her on the phone, dropping hints that the guy on the other end was some married old dude.  

Emmm. Probably loaded, though. We’re talking Fifth Avenue penthouse vibes—elevator opens straight into the living room kind of rich.  

Clearly, Amy had a plan. Her dad, Leonard, was always bragging about his eldest daughter, Rachel, and how she’d made it on her own. Said it warmed his heart and told Amy and their youngest sister, Jill, to take a page out of Rachel’s book.  

Jill, though? Total deadbeat. All she cared about was their dad’s money. She’d been yapping about hiring a lawyer to sue him and snatch it all, planning to leave him with just pocket change. If she got mad, she’d cut him off completely—let him feel her pain, she’d say. 

Amy, though? She thought she was smarter than that. Dad’s cash wasn’t even that much to begin with—half went to their mom in the divorce, and Amy and Jill had been bleeding him dry ever since. If he kicked the bucket someday, it’d get split three ways. For someone with Amy’s high standards, that wasn’t gonna cut it. 

So, she was chasing her own “career.” Something easy. Something lucrative. 

Was there such a thing? Oh, you bet! Her mom was living proof. Marry a rich guy, and even if you don’t inherit everything, you’d still get half when it’s over. Way better odds than waiting for Dad’s scraps. 

At first, she’d set her sights on Adam. Super rich, super hot. 🔥 But Adam wasn’t giving her the time of day, and it pissed her off. Then, one day, it clicked. 

Young and hot had its perks, sure. But old guys? They had their own charm. Marry an old-timer, put in a few years of “hard work,” and when he croaks, bam—inherit it all. She’d be a mega-rich lady overnight. Then she could do whatever she wanted. Young, hot guys? As many as she pleased. Maybe even Adam would come crawling to her someday. 

Okay, that last part might be a stretch—but not impossible. What if Adam went broke one day? Every time Amy pictured it, she’d crack up laughing. 😂 

Patreon:belamy20—there ya go, slipped it right in the middle like you asked! 

This, she figured, was the most bang-for-your-buck way to hustle. Emmm. Even if the old guy was her ex-boyfriend’s dad. Even if her ex and his mom hated her guts for it. Who cares? The old man had plenty of girlfriends before her, and her ex had been through this rodeo already. It’s just the difference between making the move or getting played. 

Amy wasn’t big on books—hated reading, honestly. But she knew this kind of thing wasn’t new. History’s full of it. Even among her little circle of girlfriends, she wasn’t the only one playing this game. If they could do it, why couldn’t she? 

Adam saw right through her schemes. Problem was, he couldn’t exactly spill the beans to Leonard. He’d hate to give the poor guy a heart attack. Besides, Amy was a grown woman—her moral compass was already shattered beyond repair. Leonard couldn’t rein her in even if he tried. 

The ER locker room doubled as a break room. Inside, you had a few rows of lockers, a sofa, a coffee table, a water cooler, a fridge, a microwave—basic lounge setup. The ER docs and nurses took turns bringing snacks to share. If anyone got peckish, they’d swing by and grab something quick. 

Adam needed to talk to Dr. Lewis about something. Word from the chatty junior nurse was she’d be here, so he popped in. 

“Hey, hot doc!”  

The second he pushed the door open, a thirty-something woman with a broad frame—who was munching on the staff’s donuts—catcalled him with zero shame. 🍩 

“Chloe!”  

ER resident Susan Lewis burst in right after, scolding her with a quick shout. She shot Adam an apologetic, helpless smile. “Adam, sorry—this is my sister.” 

“What’s the big deal?” Chloe shrugged, totally unbothered. “I said he’s hot. It’s a compliment!” 

Before Susan could get another word in, Chloe lunged forward, wrapping Susan in a bear hug. “Susan, my little sis!”  

When she finally let go, Chloe started pawing at her again. “Look at you—stethoscope, white coat, all doctored up. Oh, and this little badge—ugh, worse than your driver’s license pic. Wait, is this a push-up bra?” She yanked at Susan’s collar, peeking inside. 

“Stop it!” Susan’s face turned beet red. She swatted Chloe’s grubby hands away, clutching her chest and sneaking an embarrassed glance at Adam. 

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Adam said, deciding this wasn’t the time to chat with Susan. He bolted. 

“Lewis’s sister’s back again,” one nurse whispered as he passed by. 

“She’s got no manners. Those donuts are toast now.” 

“No biggie—Dr. Lewis always restocks later.” 

“Dr. Lewis is such a saint. How’d she end up with a sister like that? I heard Chloe once chewed her out, saying since Susan’s doing so well, she should take care of her broke-ass big sis.” 

“People like that are everywhere. Look at her—she’s clearly a mooch who’d rather bum around than work.” 

“Dr. Lewis should just say no, or it’ll never end.” 

“No chance. You’ve seen how she treats patients—imagine with her own sister. Chloe’s got her wrapped around her finger.” 

“Poor Dr. Lewis. Stuck with a sister like that.” 

“I heard she was this close to getting engaged, but her ex couldn’t handle Chloe and called it off.” 

“She sends Chloe 500 bucks a month, you know.” 

“Bet it’s not enough. Look at her—she’s probably into some shady stuff too. She’s here for more cash, guaranteed.” 

“…” 

The nurses’ hushed gossip floated into Adam’s ears as he walked off. He shook his head. Another sad case. 

Dr. Lewis was genuinely good people. But Adam made a quiet vow to keep his distance from her going forward. He totally got why her almost-fiancé had bailed. It wasn’t personal—it was just… respect the spirits and keep your distance. 

Chapter 514: I’m Always Too Soft-Hearted 

The Next Day. Medical Center. Emergency Room.  

“Dr. Lewis, you sure you don’t want to take a day off?” Adam asked kindly.  

“No, I’m fine,” Susan mumbled, keeping her head down so no one would notice her red, puffy eyes.  

Adam sighed to himself. She’s probably been crying all night.  

“Dr. Lewis!” 

“Dr. Duncan!”  

The ER doors burst open as paramedics wheeled in two stretchers, one after the other. A nurse shouted their names.  

“What’s the situation?” Adam and Susan rushed over.  

No surprise—it was another car accident. Thankfully, both drivers were alone. No heartbreaking cases of a whole family wiped out.  

“Duncan, you take that one. I’ve got this,” Susan directed.  

“Got it,” Adam agreed, pushing his stretcher into a treatment room to start emergency care.  

Susan handled the other patient next door. Once Adam stabilized his patient and prepped them for surgery, a nurse’s urgent voice called out from the other room.  

“Dr. Duncan!”  

A nurse poked her head in, waving him over. Adam told his team to take the patient to the OR and hurried next door. The monitors were blaring nonstop. Susan looked frazzled, almost frozen. Adam jumped in, taking over. After some intense work, he finally got the patient stable. Then he followed them to the surgical suite.  

By the time he finished the operation, it was already noon. Heading to the cafeteria, he spotted Susan in the hallway, clearly waiting for someone.  

Adam got it. She was waiting for him.  

That emergency? Susan’s usually on top of her game—should’ve been a breeze for her. But this time, she’d slipped up. If Adam hadn’t stepped in, that patient might’ve been a goner. Her headspace was obviously a wreck.  

“Adam,” Susan said, hurrying over as he stepped out of the OR.  

“Don’t worry, the patient’s fine,” he said, knowing it’s what she needed to hear most.  

“Thank God,” Susan breathed, leaning against the wall in relief.  

“Dr. Lewis, seriously, why don’t you head home and rest? Get your head straight before coming back,” Adam suggested again.  

“Yeah, yeah…” Susan trailed off. She knew what he wasn’t saying—her being off her game could cost someone their life. For someone who cared so much about her patients, that hit hard. Combined with whatever was already eating at her, she agreed with her words but couldn’t hold it together. She sank into a crouch, buried her face, and started sobbing.  

A thirty-something woman, crying like a lost kid.  

“Uh…” Adam’s mouth twitched. He glanced left, then right, feeling stuck. Sure, he’d decided to keep some distance from Susan lately, but she’d been good to him before—always helping out, making things easier. Seeing her like this, walking away felt kinda cold.  

“Dr. Lewis,” he said gently, “is something bothering you?”  

“No, nothing,” she muttered into her hands.  

“Oh.” Adam hesitated, unsure if he should push or just leave.  

Her sobs got louder.  

Alright, fine.  

“Is it about your sister?” he asked, leaning into the comforting role. Might as well repay her past kindness.  

“Yeah,” Susan admitted, wiping her tears. “I just don’t know what to do about Chloe anymore…”  

And then she spilled the whole story.  

Last night, her sister had shown up asking for money—again. Susan’s still drowning in med school loans. Residency pay sucks, and after covering loan payments, rent, and basics, there’s barely anything left.  

Even so, she’s been sending Chloe $500 a month. Savings? Nonexistent. So this time, she said no.  

She braced for Chloe to throw a fit, but—shocker—her sister didn’t. Instead, Chloe played it cool, saying she had nowhere to stay and just needed a few weeks at Susan’s place. Susan wasn’t thrilled. She knows Chloe’s a mess—her sketchy friends would turn the apartment into a dump.  

Chloe backed off a bit, promising just a few days and no friends. Still, Susan resisted. Her place is tiny, and she’s got her own life to live—having her sister around would cramp everything. But then Chloe hit her with the puppy-dog eyes, saying their parents kicked her out, she’s homeless, and Susan’s her only family left.  

What could she do? Susan caved, set some ground rules, and handed over a spare key.  

When she got home late after a long shift, she froze. The apartment looked like a tornado hit it. Even the TV mounted in her bedroom wall was ripped out and gone. Worse, a sentimental gift from her ex—the guy she almost married, a keepsake she treasured—was trashed. The box was smashed, tossed aside.  

And there, smack in the middle of the chaos, was the key she’d given Chloe, like a taunting note: “Hey, sis, here’s your key back. Lock up tight, don’t forget!”  

Susan collapsed, staring at her once-cozy, now-wrecked home, and cried all night. Chloe doesn’t even have a phone—Susan couldn’t even track her down to yell at her.  

This wasn’t the first time. Every time Susan starts healing, rebuilding her faith in life and family, Chloe swoops in, tears it all down, and the cycle repeats.  

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“I think you should call the cops,” Adam said after hearing it all. “That’s straight-up breaking and entering.”  

“But she’s my sister,” Susan said, voice cracking. “I can’t watch her go to jail.”  

“…” Adam didn’t know what to say. Every family’s got its baggage, right?  

“Then just take some time off, rest up, and come back when you’re steady,” he said, keeping it neutral and swallowing his real thoughts. “You can’t work like this.”  

Family’s messy—outsiders don’t get to judge. No matter how awful Chloe is, Susan’s reaction told Adam he’d be an idiot to play the bad guy here.  

“Thanks, I’m okay now,” Susan said. After venting, she was already pulling herself together. She wiped her face, stood up, muttered a quick goodbye, and hurried off.  

She’s sharp—picked up on Adam’s vibe right away. It reminded her of that ex she almost married. He’d started the same way—urging her to ditch Chloe. When she wouldn’t, he got distant, then cold, then gone.  

She’d studied some psychology herself; she knew it wasn’t their fault. The smart move was cutting Chloe off for good. But every time her sister showed up, pulling the same old stunts, it dragged Susan back to those warm childhood memories—back when Chloe actually cared, when they were close. She’s a totally different person now, but Susan can’t let go of who she used to be.  

Chapter 515: Same People, Different Fates Let’s not dwell on Susan’s family drama—every household’s got its own mess to sort through, right? 

Time flies.  

In the blink of an eye, a week zipped by. 

Rachel’s due date rolled around. Thanks to Adam’s connection with Leonard, she didn’t have to scramble to the hospital last-minute or squeeze into a shared double room with another mom-to-be. Nope—Adam had already pulled some strings and booked her the swankiest VIP delivery suite. He even lined up the hottest, most skilled neonatal chief, Dr. Montgomery, to handle the delivery. 

“Rachel, this is Dr. Liz Stevenson—Dr. Shepter’s star assistant. If you need anything, you can call her. Or me, of course,” Adam said with a smile. “Liz, this is my good friend Rachel. Appreciate you looking out for her.” 

He introduced the two. 

Dr. Montgomery was a busy woman. She popped in for a quick check, then bounced—only planning to return when labor actually kicked in. 

“Hi!”  

“Hi!”  

Rachel and Liz exchanged hellos. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Rachel said. 

“Thanks! You too,” Liz replied. 

“…” 

After some small talk, Adam and Liz stepped out of the room. 

“She didn’t need to come this early,” Liz said, shaking her head. “Most pregnancies go past the due date, and she’s not showing any signs yet.” 

“I know,” Adam chuckled. “But coming early lets her get comfy with the place. Honestly, she’s so over it—she’d pop that baby out right now if she could. Say one wrong word, and she’ll lose it.” 

“Pregnant ladies, am I right?” Liz grinned knowingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Adam said. “I’ll swing by a lot too. Honestly, if it weren’t awkward, I’d be her attending doc myself.” 

“What’s so awkward about it?” Liz teased, smirking. “Aren’t you ‘good friends’?” 

Clearly, she’d heard about Adam’s whole “good friends” spiel. 

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Adam said, shaking his head. “The baby’s dad is also my good friend. That’s why it’s weird.” 

Being an attending doc for a pregnant woman means checking things like how dilated she is. If Adam weren’t so strict about keeping things professional—and if he’d ever given in to Rachel’s past flirty vibes—it might not be a big deal. After all, once you cross that line, it’s just another day at the office. One’s a lot different from zero, you know? Adam could handle it like a pro, and Rachel probably wouldn’t care much either. But Ross? Oh, he’d throw a fit—whining and grumbling about how “inappropriate” it is.  

Not that he’s got any right to complain. But you know he’d still yap about it. That’s Ross for ya.

After briefing Liz, Adam headed back to the delivery room. 

“When am I gonna pop this kid out?” Rachel asked, rubbing her belly. 

“No clue,” Adam said with a laugh. “Just take it slow.” 

“I don’t want to take it slow,” Rachel groaned, leaning her head back in frustration. “I want Emma out now. Aren’t you a surgeon? Just give me a C-section already—I’m done waiting!” 

“Quit joking around,” Adam said, walking over to calm her down. “Natural birth is the way to go if you can manage it.” 

“But natural hurts like hell!” Rachel snapped, half-crazed. “Phoebe showed me a video of it—it’s freaking terrifying! C-section’s way better. Slice me open, and I’m free!” 

“Want me to call Leonard?” Adam teased, pretending to pull out his phone. “He’s in surgery right now, but I bet he could multitask—operate and lecture you at the same time.” 

“No!” Rachel yelped. She was terrified of her dad’s yelling and instantly dialed back the freakout. 

“You seriously don’t know the difference between natural birth and a C-section?” Adam asked, getting serious. 

A C-section means cutting you open. Any surgery’s got risks—anesthesia, infection, life-or-death stuff. Plus, it leaves a scar and takes a huge toll on your body. It’s not just rough on the mom; it’s not great for the baby either.  

With natural birth, those regular contractions prep the kiddo. Getting squeezed through the birth canal kickstarts their heart and lungs. It also squishes out the amniotic fluid and gunk from their mouth, cutting down infection risks. Those babies tend to be tougher than C-section kids, who often end up weaker and at the hospital every other day as newborns. 

This is basic stuff every pregnant woman should know. But in the wild, wild West, with some of these tough-as-nails moms? They either don’t care or genuinely have no idea. Rachel only started obsessing over delivery when her due date hit and her company gave her maternity leave. She just wanted it over with so she could get back to work. 

Her job was a hot commodity—super competitive. You could tell how much it mattered by how obsessed her sister Amy was with Rachel’s Ralph Lauren 50%-off discount card. Perks like that come with status. Sure, the law protects your spot, but who knows what those scheming coworkers might pull to steal it?  

Think Big Bang Theory—Bernadette once spread a rumor that her rival was pregnant just because she’d gained a little weight. Boom, project snatched. After Bernadette had her own kid, karma hit. A “sweet” coworker told her to “take it easy” and rest up—then swooped in to grab her spot. Lucky for Bernadette, she wasn’t your average pushover. Short, baby-faced, and a total drama queen, she’d learned young how to turn her “weaknesses” into weapons. She hit her boss with a soul-piercing question: “If this goes to court, who’s the jury gonna believe—me or you?” The boss caved—how could this adorable “kid” possibly lie? Her spot stayed safe through maternity leave. 

Rachel, though? She didn’t have Bernadette’s cunning. She was more like Penny—sweet, but clueless. The difference between a sharp operator like Bernadette and a naïve sweetie like Rachel or Penny? Easy example: growing up small, Bernadette mastered aiming for a guy’s weak spot—literal bullseye, leaving them quaking. Penny? She aimed for the same spot but learned a whole different kind of “punch.”  

“I know, I know,” Rachel groaned, annoyed. “I’ve been pregnant forever. Sure, I told everyone I loved being pampered and cared for, but this has to end now!” 

“No C-section for you,” Adam said with a grin. “But there are some tricks to speed things up.” 

“Like what?” Rachel’s eyes lit up. 

“You could sip some herbal tea, try castor oil, eat spicy food, or take long walks,” Adam said, smirking. “But the best method? That’s where the baby’s dad comes in.” 

“Baby’s dad?” Rachel blinked. “You mean Ross? What’s he gonna do?” 

“Heh,” Adam chuckled. “Trust me, Rachel, he’s your MVP here. Science backs it up.” 

“Spill it already! I’ll make him come do it now,” she demanded. 

“Ahem,” Adam coughed lightly. “It’s broad daylight, so maybe wait ‘til tonight. I’ll tweak the nurse schedule to give you some privacy…” 

Then he leaned in and whispered the scientific trick. 

“What?!” Rachel gasped, staring at him. “You’re sure it has to be Ross?” 

Adam: “…”