My fiancé is one of the world’s leading urologists.
He performed my mother’s kidney transplant.
But the day after the operation, my mother died despite resuscitation efforts after suffering an acute renal artery embolism.
I held my mother’s cold body, nearly fainting.
He held me tightly, his voice hoarse and full of regret. “Darling, I’m so sorry. This is an extremely rare postoperative complication.”
“I have to fly to Germany tomorrow for a summit. When I get back, we’ll take care of your mother’s funeral together, okay?”
The next day, a nurse who worked with him posted a photo on social media.
The location tag was in Germany.
[So annoying! My period started halfway through the surgery. Good thing the director was thoughtful and got me a sanitary pad.]
The words “sanitary pad” made my blood run cold. I immediately requested a forensic autopsy.
The result sent a chill through me: a used sanitary napkin had been left inside my mother’s body.
Trembling, I called my fiancé, only to find his phone switched off.
I hung up, grabbed the autopsy report and the screenshot, and rushed to the police station.
He destroyed my mother, and I’ll personally send him to hell!
