Part 2The Angel of Death in ICU

The innocence drained from Tiffany's face instantly, replaced by a chilling mix of indifference and mockery.

She stepped closer to me, and in a voice only we could hear, she chuckled,

"He's dying anyway. Why not make a contribution?"

A contribution? What kind of contribution?

Before I could fully process her words, she'd already put on a tearful expression, on the verge of crying, and started complaining to the doctor and head nurse who'd rushed in.

"Dr. Miller, I was just trying to help by suctioning Mr. Hayes's phlegm, but Charlotte burst in accusing me of deliberately pulling the tube to kill her father... and taking photos... I only wanted to document my work, to stay motivated..."

She sobbed dramatically, shoulders shaking, like she'd been horribly wronged.

The man called Dr. Miller immediately frowned and snapped at me, "Miss Hayes! Calm down! This is the ICU, not a place for tantrums! Tiffany's one of our top nurses—she's saving your father!"

"Saving my father? I saw her pull that tube out and take a picture with my own eyes!" I pointed at Tiffany, ready to explode with rage.

"Enough!" Dr. Miller cut me off sharply. "Your father's condition is unstable. We get that families get emotional, but don't be unreasonable and disrupt our work! Get out!"

Two security guards "escorted" me out of the ICU.

The glass door closed behind me, sealing off my world.

I watched as Tiffany, comforted by Dr. Miller, wiped her tears and slipped back into her sweet, hardworking nurse act, bustling around the ward.

And her colleagues—they looked at me with scorn, like I was some irrational lunatic.

Overwhelming helplessness and rage washed over me.

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 without hesitation.

"I need to report a nurse at City General Hospital's ICU for attempted patient homicide."

The operator on the other end sounded startled but professionally took down the information.

A short time later, two police officers arrived.

I thought my rescuers had arrived, but reality hit me hard again.

Dr. Miller, the head nurse, and Tiffany "recounted" the incident to the police.

Their stories lined up perfectly, all claiming Tiffany was performing necessary suctioning, and that I—stressed over my father's critical condition—was hallucinating.

"Officers, here's our hospital surveillance footage—you can see for yourselves." Dr. Miller pointed to the corner camera, calm and confident.

The police reviewed the footage.

But the camera was too far from the bed at an awkward angle. It only vaguely showed Tiffany working at the bedside—no clear view of her pulling the tube or taking photos.

Instead, the footage clearly showed me bursting into the ICU like a maniac, yelling at Tiffany.

Next to that, I looked like the troublemaker.

"Ms. Hayes, based on our information, we can't confirm any illegal activity by Nurse Tiffany." The young officer looked at me apologetically. "The surveillance video doesn't back up your claim."

"What about the photos on her phone! She took pictures!" I clung to this last hope.

Tiffany immediately handed over her phone. Her photo gallery lit up the screen.

There were a few work-related ICU photos, but no close-ups of my dad—certainly none with her triumphant grin.

She must have deleted them.

"Officers, I really just wanted to document our medical team's daily work for Snapchat—spread some positivity... I never thought it would cause such a misunderstanding." She hung her head, looking wronged.

The police checked her phone, handed it back, then turned to me with sympathetic tones. "Ms. Hayes, we get how tough this is with your dad so sick, but we need evidence. Why don't you go home and rest? We can talk again once you've calmed down."

And just like that, they left.

Leaving me alone in the cold hallway, feeling like a clown putting on a show.