Chapter 8

The evidence against Nelson and Olivia for assaulting me and causing me to lose my baby was undeniable. They were both convicted and sentenced to prison.

Rosina, refusing to accept the verdict, threw everything she had into appealing for Nelson. But it was all in vain.

While they served their time, I wrapped up the divorce and made sure to secure full ownership of all our marital assets.

At first, Rosina tried to harass me—at home, at the hospital where I worked. But with a grandson to care for, she quickly ran out of steam.

I needed a fresh start, far away from the gossip. So, I transferred to a quiet hospital in a small town. Life there was peaceful—no complicated cases, no drama. I finally found contentment.

From time to time, I heard updates from friends and family about Nelson and his family.

Their child was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

At first, Rosina blamed the baby's condition on the fall at the party, but tests later revealed it was genetic.

Rosina tried to shift the blame onto the hospital where Olivia had given birth, hoping to get some kind of compensation. But the hospital had all the evidence to shut her down—every procedure followed to the letter. And then, they revealed video footage of Rosina and Nelson assaulting medical staff, leading to Rosina's brief detention.

Eventually, Rosina abandoned the child, leaving him with Olivia's parents. She didn't want any part of the responsibility. She went back to her carefree life, but it didn't last long. A car accident left her paralyzed from the neck down, completely dependent on others for everything.

When Nelson and Olivia were finally released, their relationship was beyond repair. Olivia tried to dump the child back on Nelson, but he refused. Their fights escalated, and one day, in a fit of rage, Nelson stabbed Olivia. She died in the hospital.

Less than a year after his release, Nelson was back in prison, this time facing a life sentence. His life was officially ruined.

The villains had all gotten their comeuppance.

Years later, my career had taken off. I was recognized as an exemplary medical professional and invited to give a lecture at a local prison. Standing at the podium, I addressed the inmates, who were hanging on every word.

That's when I saw him—Nelson.

He was unrecognizable, his eyes empty and dull. The arrogance and confidence he once had were gone. He stared at me with a strange mixture of sorrow and regret.

I caught sight of his inmate number—3527.

But I didn't let him distract me. I continued with my speech, keeping my focus.

Afterward, as the prisoners filed out, the warden escorted me to the exit. We were talking when a guard rushed up to him.

"Sir, inmate 3527 just attempted self-harm!"

"What happened?"

"He had a hidden piece of metal. He slit his wrists!"

The warden excused himself and left with the guard.

I walked out of the prison gates, my eyes turning toward the bright, clear sky. I felt nothing, no sympathy, no guilt. Just a sense of finality.