Chapter 3

Wait a little longer...

Over these ten years, the phrase I'd heard most was "wait a little longer."

Last Christmas, the hospital was incredibly busy. The mother of a city government official had a sudden brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. Only I could save her.

The deputy director told me then that by spring this year, he'd definitely get me promoted.

Now, he'd personally let his son take my slot.

And he wanted to use smearing my name as a way to nail me to the pillar of shame.

"Thiago, the hospital still values you highly. You need to be grateful..."

He was still spouting official talk.

I interrupted him.

"Values me?"

"Because of 'valuing me,' I've waited ten years. In those ten years, I've worked tirelessly and given everything. But how has the hospital treated me?"

"They've stripped away my promotion opportunities again and again. I've watched people ten years younger than me, interns I personally trained, get promoted to attending physicians while I'm still an ordinary doctor. And you still want me to be grateful?"

How ridiculous.

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, as if I'd heard the world's biggest joke.

"I used to think that once I got promoted this time, I'd dedicate my entire life to the hospital."

"Now I realize how laughable I was."

I looked at him, my expression settling into calm.

"I really should thank you, Director Harrell."

Thank you for waking me from my stupidity.

I turned and left, walking numbly toward my office.

As soon as I sat down, Williams came in cheerfully with pastries, distributing them to all the colleagues.

Everyone congratulated him.

"Williams, is the promotion settled?"

"Congratulations!"

"You're only 24—you're the youngest person in our hospital to be promoted to attending physician!"

"Our department's counting on you from now on."

Williams smiled shyly.

I sat in the corner. Someone saw me and muttered uncomfortably under their breath.

"What about Dr. Thiago's situation? Are they really going to fire her?"

"I heard she just went to see Director Harrell. Is there still a chance to turn things around?"

"I heard that even if they don't fire her, she'll still get a disciplinary action."

"What can Dr. Thiago do?"

"What else can she do? Her parents are old and need support. Her kid's still in school. Middle-aged people's pain is mortgages, car loans, kids, and elderly parents."

"Forget about disciplinary action—even if they really fired her, she'd have to beg the hospital on her knees."

The office was very quiet.

Their voices weren't loud, but every sentence was clear, like knives stabbing into my heart.

The facts were harsh. Because of heavy family burdens and the hospital's job stability, I'd endured year after year.

I kept my head down, my chest tight with frustration.

Just then, a bag of pastries appeared in front of me.

I looked up to see Williams's smiling face.

"Dr. Thiago, these are my pastries. Please try them."

Before I could respond, he smiled again.

"Who knows—maybe we won't see Dr. Thiago anymore after this."

He blinked, as if concerned, but his eyes carried malice.

"Where are you planning to go for your next job, Dr. Thiago? Do you need my help?"

Other colleagues heard the commotion and looked over.

Their eyes were full of schadenfreude, watching Williams's mockery and passive-aggressive jabs at me.

His smile grew more brazen—the triumphant superior humiliating a complete failure.

I didn't say anything.

Seeing my silence, he lost interest and left.

I looked at that bag of pastries. It was glaring and painful.

The smiley faces on it seemed to mock my failure.