Chapter 4 Finally, Some Good News
Miranda's POV
After leaving the Mandarin Oriental, I'd already decided to leave New York. Having lost my internship at NYP, I needed to find another hospital to complete my internship year, but job hunting could take weeks or even months.
And an intern's meager salary wasn't enough to cover another year's rent in New York.
Maybe going back to LA was a good idea. At least I had a home there—well, a home in name only.
I made the call. "Prof. Moore, how are you? I need your help!"
"Hi, Miranda, how are things in New York?"
Charles Moore sounded happy. He always said I was one of the few excellent students in his teaching career. I'd stayed in touch with him after graduation.
"Sorry, Prof. Moore, hope I'm not interrupting a meeting!" I joked.
Three years ago, Charles left his teaching position at Columbia University's Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons to become chairman of the physician management committee at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center's Smidt Heart Institute.
At the time, he'd complained to me that he never realized his greatest talent wasn't wielding a scalpel, but sitting through endless meetings.
"Haha. Meetings are the least important thing in the world."
"Charles, I... I have to leave NYP now. I can't stay here anymore." My voice grew quieter.
Silence on the line, then Charles said, "I'm sure you have very good reasons. Come on, come to LA. I'd love to have you as a colleague. I'll arrange an interview with the chief of cardiac surgery and strongly recommend you for an internship here!"
My eyes welled up. He was still the same—the teacher who'd always trusted me unconditionally, like a father!
"Thank you, Charles, you're an angel!"
"Haha, angels don't have wrinkles all over their faces!"
Used to Manhattan's skyscrapers, I felt a bit disoriented when I landed in LA, facing the flatter cityscape. Soon, I took the subway home.
My house was a three-story white building with a good-sized garden.
But I was only familiar with the first floor. As a young girl, I'd slept in the stairwell room next to the kitchen. Upstairs were my parents' and Eleanor's bedrooms and walk-in closets—I was never allowed up there unless it was an emergency.
I pushed open the small room to a cloud of dust. There was no trace of my life here anymore—it was filled with boxes, turned into a storage room.
I smiled bitterly. It made sense, I guess. I'd been boarding at school since eighth grade—that was almost ten years ago.
But Eleanor's room upstairs would be different. I could imagine it untouched, neat and clean, with Mom dusting it weekly. If Eleanor came home, she could lie down comfortably anytime.
After all, this was her home, not mine.
Before coming home, I'd called Mom. She was furious about my sudden return to LA, expressing strong displeasure at having this burden she couldn't shake off. Only after I promised multiple times that I'd move out within a month did she finally allow me to stay.
Mom and Eleanor had been living at her fiancé's mansion, preparing for the wedding.
From her tone, that mansion seemed to be some top-tier estate comparable to the Biltmore Estate.
I sneered. What did it matter to me?
After all, I could only temporarily stay in this dust-covered house, with no bed of my own, having to sleep on the living room couch tonight.
Though the couch cushions were quite hard, exhausted from cleaning for so long, I quickly fell asleep.
I dreamed of my father—more precisely, my adoptive father, Theodore Blackthorne.
In the dream, though he was starting to go bald, he looked young, maybe in his thirties.
He approached me with a warm, loving smile, patted my shoulder, and fixed my hair, just like a real father. I couldn't help but lean in, wanting a hug.
The next second, the smile on his face suddenly turned twisted and sleazy. A big hand reached under my shirt and grabbed my breast.
I struggled constantly, but he held me tightly in his arms.
I woke from the dream with a scream, my forehead covered in sweat.
The evil from ten years ago still appeared in my dreams, making me breathe rapidly, my body covered in cold sweat and goosebumps.
I seemed to see him again in the darkness, masturbating at me, sitting on the living room couch.
He said, "Come on, my Miranda, want to play a game with Daddy?"
Then he lifted my skirt and put his head under it.
Disgusting.
I couldn't help but dry heave.
In my miserable childhood, I don't know how many nights I curled up in my little bed, trembling all over, terrified this demon would open my door.
I don't know how many times I struggled helplessly, only to still be violated by his hands.
It's not like I didn't ask for help.
I tearfully told Victoria about her husband's disgusting behavior toward me, but instead of protection and comfort, I got her angry accusations.
As if I were the one who'd ruined her family.
"Bitch! Look at you, sticking out your big chest, attracting male classmates' attention at school, and now you're seducing your father at home! My God, are you a demon sent by God to punish me and destroy my family's happiness?"
Hearing this, I was truly stunned.
I knew Victoria didn't like me, but I didn't expect it wasn't just dislike—she actually loathed me, hated me. If I continued staying in this house, I'd either go crazy or die.
So I chose to leave this hell.
How old was I then?
Thirteen? Fourteen? Maybe.
I asked a teacher I was close to at school for help, and transferred to a boarding school. Luckily, with my excellent grades, the school waived my tuition and room and board.
From then on, I lived a life of supporting myself and taking care of myself, right up to today.
The next morning, I checked an email on my phone.
Official notice from NYP.
"Miranda Blackthorne, we formally notify you that after evaluation by the chief of cardiac surgery, your direct supervisor, Dr. Carl Sanchez, your professional capabilities did not pass the assessment and do not meet the standards required of official staff at this hospital, so your internship is officially terminated."
Dr. Sanchez?
That rapist? He's qualified to evaluate me?
Scum!
But a sense of loss still overwhelmed me, and I lay back down on the couch.
After all, I only had one month left of my intern year at NYP. If not for Carl, I could have endured one more month and become a full employee, but now I had to ask Charles for help and come to LA to restart my intern year.
But I wouldn't let Carl off.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated—a message from an unknown number.
"Miranda, congratulations! Got the hospital notice, you must be surprised, right?! How does it feel? Full of regret? Bitch, if you're willing to get on your knees and give me a proper blowjob, I can forget about your rude behavior that night. And getting you back to NYP is just a signature away for me!"
Bastard!
I was especially glad right now that I'd finally escaped his clutches.
If I saw Carl again, even just once, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from picking up a scalpel and removing certain organs that shouldn't exist.
I had to do something now.
Otherwise, even if I escaped, he'd extend his claws to other female doctors and nurses around him.
So I quickly took a screenshot, opened Gmail, entered NYP's HR email, and quickly typed a line.
"Please carefully investigate this rapist! I don't want my departure to make him more arrogant and hurt more female colleagues working at the hospital."
Send!
Even if I couldn't actually get him fired, I could at least trouble him for a while.
At least during this time, he wouldn't harass other female colleagues at the hospital.
After breakfast, I got a call from Charles.
"Miranda, tomorrow morning, come to Cedars-Sinai's Smidt Heart Institute. The chief of cardiac surgery, Dr. Radcliffe, will interview you personally. Prepare well."
I was so excited I almost jumped up.
At least it wasn't all bad news, right?
