Part 3The Angel of Death in ICU

I went home, feeling lost and defeated, and collapsed onto the couch.

Something about this whole thing felt off.

What exactly did Tiffany mean by "Why not make a contribution?"

And Dr. Miller and the whole department—why were they protecting her so fiercely? Just because she was good at her job?

I didn't buy it.

Right then, my fiancé Daniel came home.

He was a sales director at a medical equipment company—usually polished and caring, my rock.

I clung to him like a lifeline, pouring out everything that had happened that day.

"That's outrageous! How could that nurse do something like that!" Daniel listened, clearly outraged, and hugged me, comforting me gently. "Don't worry, I'll handle this. I know President Thompson at City General—met him through work. I'll go see him tomorrow and make sure you get answers."

Leaning against him, the tension that had coiled in my chest all day finally loosened a little.

It was good to have him on my side.

The next day, Daniel kept his word and went to see President Thompson.

When he came home that afternoon, his expression was serious.

"How did it go?" I asked nervously.

Daniel sighed and pulled me down to sit beside him. "I met with President Thompson and told him everything. The hospital took it seriously and did an internal investigation all day."

"And the result? What are they doing about Tiffany?"

"The hospital investigation concluded it was... just a misunderstanding." Daniel avoided my eyes. "They said Tiffany's their top young nurse this year—impeccable skills and character. They don't believe she could do something like that. They think you might have been stressed and misinterpreted what happened."

The news hit me like a bucket of cold water.

"I didn't misinterpret anything! I saw it with my own eyes!" I stood up, shaking.

"Calm down." Daniel pressed my shoulders. "President Thompson said they'll reassign your dad's nursing team and waive part of the ICU fees as a goodwill gesture."

"I don't want their money! I want justice! I want Tiffany fired and apologizing!"

"Honey!" Daniel's voice sharpened. "Your dad is still in their care! We can't burn bridges right now! What if they retaliate with his treatment? We can't fight this."

His words cut like a knife, hitting exactly where I was most vulnerable.

He was right—Dad was in their hands.

I couldn't take that risk.

I caved in the end.

Not for the lousy compensation, but for Dad.

I swallowed my pride and accepted the hospital's so-called "misunderstanding."

They assigned an older, seemingly reliable nurse to Dad.

Tiffany never showed up in Dad's room again.

I thought that was the end of it.

But I was being naive.

A few days later, I was scrolling through Instagram when a friend who works in medical media reposted a blog article.

The headline read: The Most Beautiful Frontline Worker: Facing Misunderstanding and Grief, She Chooses to Repay the World with Love.

The story's protagonist? None other than Tiffany.

The article used overly dramatic language to "artistically reimagine" what had happened that day.

In it, Tiffany was cast as a selfless angel in scrubs who held no grudges.

And me? I was portrayed as a deranged family member, mentally unhinged by my father's critical condition, who viciously attacked medical staff with no remorse.

The comments section overflowed with praise for Tiffany and vitriol directed at me.

"This family member is nuts! Attacking the person trying to save her dad!"

"You go, Nurse Tiffany! Don't let people like that get to you!"

"Hospitals should ban unreasonable family members like her!"

The worst part? Tiffany herself commented: "Thanks for all your support! I'll keep doing my best. As for that family member, I get where she's coming from—I don't hold it against her."

Her sugary-sweet, holier-than-thou act made me sick to my stomach, even through the screen.