Chapter 7
“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Eliza,” Michael’s mother said, unusually calm. “And I’m not sure where things stand with Sabrina. But I think it’s safe to say Eliza has given up on you.”
Michael froze mid–step and turned to look at her, his brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
His mother held up the bank card she had shown him earlier. “There’s $1 million in this card. She transferred it for Noah’s sake. She told me she wants a divorce, and she’s giving you and Sabrina her blessing. She even said that once you two get married, you’ll probably
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have children of your own, and you won’t
have the time to take care of Noah. She asked
your father and me to ensure he’s cared for, and I agreed.”
Michael’s face darkened in an instant. The air between them thickened, heavy with tension.
“Who gave you the right to agree to that?” he snapped, his voice rising. His mother flinched, startled by the sudden anger. “She wants a divorce, and you’re fine with it? I
won’t allow it!”
His mother could only stare at him for a moment, thrown off by his outburst. She had never seen him like this. He was
uncharacteristically emotional.
“When did she transfer the money?” Michael
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asked, trying to steady his breathing, though
the tremor in his voice betrayed his calm facade.
“Three months ago,” she replied hesitantly. “Right before you came home.”
“What else did she say?”
His mother glanced away, her voice softening. “She said she’d leave with nothing… and
wished you happiness.”
Michael didn’t wait for any more
explanations. He grabbed his car keys and stormed out of his parents‘ house, slamming the door behind him.
The drive to Eliza’s hospital was a blur.
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Michael couldn’t remember the turns or the traffic lights, just the growing urgency clawing at his chest. He was going to her workplace for the first time in years- something he had avoided doing all this time.
When he arrived, though, it wasn’t what he expected. The hospital wasn’t an ordinary facility. It was a world–class infectious disease research center specializing in tropical diseases and epidemic prevention. He dreamed of working at the kind of place years ago when he was a fresh–faced doctor trying to make his mark. The exact center that had rejected his application despite his accolades.
Armed security guards patrolled the entrance, and the building itself was imposing, its steel- and–glass facade cold and uninviting. He
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hesitated momentarily before walking in and heading straight to the reception desk.
“I’m looking for Dr. Eliza Smith–Lawrence,” he said, his tone clipped but polite.
The receptionist didn’t even glance up from her screen. “We don’t have a doctor by that name here,” she replied flatly.
“There must be a mistake,” he pressed. “Eliza works here. Please check again.”
But the answer didn’t change. “There’s no
record of a doctor named Eliza Smith-
Lawrence.”
Frustrated, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed her number. The mechanical voice on the other end nearly made his knees buckle.
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“This number is no longer in service.”
A wave of panic surged through him, cold and relentless. It felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet.
He turned back to the receptionist, his voice rising. “I need to speak with the director. There has to be someone here who knows
her.”
The security guards moved in quickly, their presence a silent warning. One of them placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but not aggressive. “Sir, you need to leave if you don’t have an appointment.”
The situation escalated.
In desperation, Michael tried to push past them, shouting that he wouldn’t leave until he
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got answers. He didn’t even realize when one of the guards restrained him, the scuffle leaving him with a minor scrape on his arm.
Finally, with no other options, he made a call to someone he had always avoided relying on -his old medical school dean.
“Sir, I need your help,” Michael said, his voice low but urgent. “Find out where Eliza is. I’ll take every project you’ve been trying to get me on. Every surgery, every case–whatever you need, I’ll do it. Just help me.”
The dean was silent for a moment, clearly surprised. Michael, the brilliant but fiercely independent prodigy, had never been one to make concessions, let alone beg for
assistance.
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“Alright,” the dean finally said. “I’ll see what I
can do.”
Within hours, the dean reached out to his
extensive network. But his answer remained.
“No one by the name of Eliza Smith–Lawrence is working at that center.”
“How is that possible?” Michael growled, pacing the length of his office. “She’s not some ghost. No one can just vanish into thin air.”
The dean’s tone turned somber. “That facility operates under the direct jurisdiction of the WHO. If there’s no record of her, she’s likely on a classified assignment. Whatever she’s involved in, it’s beyond what we can access.”
Michael stood still, his mind racing.
Every word the dean said felt like a slap. “You
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always said you wanted to spend more time with your wife and son,” the dean continued. There was a hint of reproach in his voice. “But now it turns out you didn’t even know what your wife was doing. Did you?”
Michael didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His chest
felt tight, and his thoughts were in a storm of regret and confusion.
Then, the dean softened. “Look, it might be a special mission. She probably had no choice but to keep you in the dark. Don’t take it personally.”
