Page 193 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
“Because I can’t condemn her to this.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
My voice sounds rough.
Broken.
“To a doctor who killed a patient.”
The pub suddenly feels quieter.
Or maybe I just can’t hear anything except blood roaring in my ears.
Jamie says nothing.
He waits.
And like an idiot stripped bare by too much alcohol and zero self-control, I keep talking.
“It happened in Edinburgh. A year ago.”
The words fight their way out like they’ve been lodged inside me for too long.
“An eight-year-old girl. Fever. Fatigue. I told her parents she just needed rest at home.”
I drink again.
The whisky doesn’t even burn anymore.
“Fulminant meningitis. She died forty-eight hours later.”
I lower the glass.
My hands shake slightly.
My words come out fragmented now, but I’m too far gone to stop.
“The investigation cleared me. Technically. Nonspecific symptoms. Difficult diagnosis. No malpractice.”
I let out a bitter laugh that scrapes painfully against my throat.
“But I know that if I’d been more attentive, less rushed, if I’d ordered more tests… she’d still be alive.”
I finally look at him.
Jamie’s face has gone still, but there’s something in his eyes I don’t want to see.
Pity.
Maybe understanding.
“Her parents trusted me. And their daughter died.”
Jamie slowly shakes his head.
“So you came here to hide.”
