I’m Not Emily: Your Ass Is Toast!

Caroline

My consciousness slowly surfaced from the darkness, like struggling to swim up from the ocean floor toward the light.

The splitting headache nearly dragged me back under, but then a flood of foreign memories crashed into my brain—memories that weren't mine!

My name is Caroline Smith, thirty-two years old, attending cardiac surgeon at Boston General Hospital.

Just yesterday I was in the OR performing heart surgery on a five-year-old, when the defibrillator malfunctioned...

But the memories flooding my mind now belonged to another woman. Emily Clarke, twenty-eight, timid, kind, a pathetic doormat trampled by everyone around her. And her life was straight out of that trashy romance novel I'd read—"Angel in White."

Oh God, had I been transported? Into the body of that infuriating pushover heroine who made me want to throw the book across the room?

"Emily, you're awake."

The gentle male voice made me snap my eyes open. A handsome man sat beside the bed, wearing that sickeningly fake smile I knew all too well.

Michael Clarke, "my husband," and the biggest scumbag in this whole story.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with feigned concern, placing a document on my nightstand. "The doctor said you're physically fine—just stress-induced fainting."

I sat up, my eyes falling on the papers. I didn't need to look to know what they were—divorce papers.

Sure enough, he spoke up: "Emily, we need to talk. For Noah's future, you should do the right thing. Sarah will be a better mother."

That gentle but firm tone, like he was discussing the weather. As if destroying a woman's entire world was just some trivial inconvenience.

Emily's memories told me she'd heard this speech countless times. Each time, she'd beg through her tears, only to be crushed by even crueler words.

But I wasn't Emily.

"Do the right thing?" I let out a cold laugh. "Michael, when did you become such a shameless piece of shit?"

He was clearly stunned, obviously not expecting this reaction.

Just then, the hospital room door swung open. A blonde woman walked in wearing scrubs, slim-waisted—Sarah Wilson, the head nurse and Michael's mistress.

"Michael, how's Emily doing?" Sarah's voice dripped with fake concern, but she strutted in like she owned the place.

Right behind her came an elegant woman in her sixties—Michael's mother, Evelyn Clarke. This seemingly sweet old lady was actually one of the main architects of Emily's torment.

"Emily, you look well," Evelyn's tone was dismissive. "I hope you'll be reasonable and stop this pointless struggle."

Sarah was even more brazen, boldly walking over to Michael and wrapping her arm around his waist, shooting me a challenging look: "Some people just don't know when to quit. They know they're not good enough but keep clinging on. How pathetic is that?"

Evelyn chimed in with a cold smile: "Emily, this selfishness isn't good for Noah. Look at your performance these past three years—what can you do besides cry? Sarah is much better suited to be his mother."

Three years of humiliating memories flooded back—countless sneers and taunts, endless isolation and exclusion, relentless psychological torture.

The original Emily had been slowly ground down in this toxic environment, stripped of all her fight until she became a lamb for slaughter.

But now they were dealing with me—Caroline Smith.

I shot up from the bed and grabbed the divorce papers from the nightstand, tearing them to shreds right in front of all three of them!

"You cheating bastards can dream on!" I roared. "I'm not giving you one fucking penny! Want my house, my savings, everything I've worked for? Over my dead body!"

Sarah's jaw dropped: "You... how dare you talk like that? Emily, have you lost your mind?"

"Lost my mind?" I jumped off the bed and got in her face. "Bitch, today I'm ripping off all your fake masks! Sarah, you think you're so clever, don't you? Real proud of being a homewrecker?"

I whirled on Michael, my eyes blazing: "And you, Michael, don't think I don't know what you've been up to these past three years! Hiding marital assets, conspiring with mommy dearest to isolate me, making my life hell at the hospital—you think I'm completely clueless?"

"Emily!" Evelyn's face went white with rage. "How dare you speak to Michael like that? He's been more than patient with you!"

"Patient?" I laughed bitterly. "Patient enough to parade his side piece in front of me? Patient enough to try stealing custody of my son? Evelyn, you old hag, don't think I don't know all the poison you've been spreading behind my back!"

The room's temperature plummeted to arctic levels. All three of them were shocked speechless by my fierce counterattack.

Just then, the door burst open again.

A small figure rushed in—Emily's son, seven-year-old Noah. Well, I guess he was my son now.

"Mommy!" The little boy threw himself into my arms, terrified. "Are you okay? I heard you fighting and got scared..."

My heart instantly melted. This little guy, with his big eyes full of worry and fear, was just as adorable as described in the novel.

No wonder the original Emily loved him so much she'd endure any humiliation rather than leave.

"Mommy's fine, sweetheart." I held him tight, feeling his small body trembling. "Don't be afraid. Mommy will protect you."

That's when my eyes caught something on my nightstand—Noah's insulin injection log.

As a cardiac surgeon, I was sensitive to all medication dosages. When I saw the numbers clearly, ice-cold dread shot up my spine!

This dosage... was way too high! For Noah's weight and age, this amount would cause severe hypoglycemia, maybe even...

I snapped my head up, staring at the three people standing there. Michael's eyes were shifty, Sarah looked uncomfortable, and Evelyn acted like nothing was wrong.

These monsters! Not only did they want to steal everything from me—they were trying to kill my son!

"Noah," I fought to control my voice, "after your insulin shots, do you feel really tired? Really weak?"

The little boy nodded: "Sometimes I get really sleepy. Aunt Sarah says that's normal..."

"Aunt Sarah said that?" My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"She... she said she's a professional nurse and knows how to take care of me..." Noah said timidly.

I pulled Noah closer. In that moment, my rage reached a boiling point—not just because they wanted my money, but because they dared to hurt my child!

"Since you want to play games," I said each word deliberately, my voice carrying deadly menace, "let's fucking play!"

The room's temperature seemed to drop below freezing. Michael, Sarah, and Evelyn were all stunned by the murderous intent in my eyes.

I was Caroline Smith, a doctor who'd saved countless lives on the operating table.

And now I was going to use that same precision and cold calculation to destroy everyone who dared hurt my son!