Part 2The Medic's Exodus

The next day, military command held a victory banquet at the guest house. Amidst the clinking of glasses, no one noticed that I, the wife of the honored commander, was as pale as paper.

Emily, as a special guest, sat beside Arthur, obediently pouring drinks for the high-ranking officers, looking very much like the lady of the house.

Suddenly, Emily let out a low gasp, drawing everyone's attention.

She was holding a fountain pen; the nib was bent, and ink had stained the hem of her uniform skirt.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Emily's eyes reddened as she looked at me timidly. "I saw this pen drop on the floor and wanted to pick it up, but I accidentally stepped on it... Chloe, please don't be mad at me?"

It was my father's memento.

He had been a peacekeeping medical officer. After he died in the line of duty, this was the only thing he left me.

I valued it more than my life and never allowed anyone else to touch it.

I abruptly stood up, walked over quickly, and with trembling hands, picked up the deformed pen.

"It's just an old pen." Seeing my face change drastically, Arthur instinctively shielded Emily behind him. "I'll buy you a new one later."

My usually gentle eyes were now bloodshot:

"This is what my father left me. Arthur, you know that."

Arthur was momentarily stunned by my glare, a trace of panic flashing in his heart,

Which was immediately covered by the annoyance of losing face in public:

"Emily didn't do it on purpose. Why are you being so aggressive and ruining the mood for everyone?"

I clenched the fountain pen tightly, the broken nib piercing my palm. Blood dripped through my fingers:

"Fine, I won't hold a grudge. Have her drink this glass of alcohol, and we'll call it even."

I pointed to a full glass of high-proof liquor on the table.

Emily's face went white, and she clutched her chest:

"Arthur, my heart isn't good, I can't drink..."

Arthur's eyes completely iced over: "Chloe, you know her body can't handle it!"

He slammed the glass down heavily in front of me, "You want someone to drink it? You drink it for her. Drink it, and we turn the page."

The entire room fell dead silent.

Everyone knew my stomach had been severely injured. During the last mission, just a drop of alcohol had triggered massive internal bleeding, and I had barely survived after emergency resuscitation. The doctor's orders were explicit: absolute prohibition of alcohol.

Arthur glared at me: "Are you going to drink or not? If not, get out, and don't ever come back."

He was certain I wouldn't leave, certain I couldn't bear to give up these five years of life as a military spouse.

But I smiled. A smile that made Arthur's heart skip a beat for no reason.

"Alright. I'll drink it."

I picked up the glass and downed it in one gulp.

The strong liquor burned my esophagus and stomach lining. All color drained from my face, and cold sweat broke out.

I put the blood-stained fountain pen into my pocket, my voice so light it seemed it would dissipate:

"Arthur, this is the last time."

"Not just for forgiveness, but also the last time in these five years that I will degrade myself."

Violent cramps made my vision go dark. I gritted my teeth, not letting out a single groan.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the approval notification from the Rescue Corps:

"Comrade Chloe Miller, your application has been approved. Please report to the airport for assembly at 9:00 AM this Friday."