Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 149

Every time medication was needed for surgery, the pharmacy kept a strict log—dosages could be less, never more, to prevent dangerous overdoses.

No one understood the implications of surplus drugs better than the anesthesiologist. Realization dawned on his face. Whipping around, he glared at the nervous new assistant. “What’s going on with the meds you gave me?”

“I… I…” The assistant was trembling so badly she could barely speak.

“She’s new, it’s her first time in the operating room,” Charlotte stepped in smoothly, handing the vial to the anesthesiologist. “She made a mistake, but since nothing catastrophic happened, we can forgive her this once.”

But Charlotte’s gaze sharpened as she looked back at the assistant. “Still, I don’t think you’re suited for this job.”

The words struck like a blow; the assistant broke down in tears, overwhelmed by guilt and fear. “It was Director Winthrop who told me to do it! She said a little allergic reaction to the anesthetic wouldn’t matter, that a tiny bit extra wouldn’t put the patient’s life at risk.”

“Director Winthrop?” The anesthesiologist was furious now. “What does someone who’s never set foot in an OR know about this? For most people, the risk of an allergic reaction to propofol is about thirty-seven percent. But for patients who are sensitive, the consequences are even more severe—especially during surgery. It can suppress breathing, trigger shock—this could have killed someone!”

“Thank God Dr. Sterling double-checked everything. Otherwise, we’d all be in serious trouble because of her!”

Any goodwill toward Tricia evaporated among the staff.

One small mistake—even the tiniest extra dose—could jeopardize everyone’s career in that room.

Charlotte’s face darkened. If not for the warning she’d found scribbled on Vera’s note, she would never have suspected Tricia would dare tamper with a patient’s medications. If something really had happened, did Tricia honestly believe Evander could protect her?

“Alright, get her out of here,” Charlotte finally said, regaining her composure. She signaled for someone to escort the new assistant from the operating room.

Stepping over to her surgical assistant, Charlotte whispered something in his ear. He hesitated, then nodded and made a discreet hand signal.

…

The surgery lasted from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon—five exhausting hours.

Winston paced anxiously outside the recovery room, sick with worry.

Tricia made her way to the surgical wing, hoping for news. The operation was still in progress, and no one had come out to share an update—she had no idea how things were going inside.

Ten minutes later, the surgical assistant finally emerged.

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