Chapter 55: Doctors Without Borders
Emma Johnson's POV
After spending a cozy afternoon with Louis, I knew he still had work to handle, so I left early.
The early autumn afternoon was bathed in warm sunlight, the streets bustling with people.
I strolled alone through the pedestrian district, savoring a rare moment of leisure.
Since my rebirth, I'd been constantly swept along by one crisis after another. Moments like this—purely my own—were few and far between.
Sitting on a bench by the roadside, I closed my eyes to bask in the sun's warmth when suddenly, a commotion erupted ahead.
"Quick! Someone's collapsed!"
"Call an ambulance!"
"I think it's an elderly man!"
My eyes snapped open, my pulse quickening. Instinct took over as I pushed through the gathering crowd.
An older gentleman with silver hair lay on the ground, his face turning blue-gray, breathing labored, hands clawing desperately at his chest.
Heart attack? Acute asthma?
As I hesitated, panicked onlookers frantically dialed for help. But traffic was gridlocked at the intersection ahead—the ambulance wouldn't arrive for at least fifteen minutes.
Too long.
If we waited that long, this man could die.
Without a second thought, I pushed forward.
"Everyone, please step back! I'm a doctor!" My voice cut through the chaos with practiced calm. In my past life as a field medic with Doctors Without Borders, emergency situations like this triggered muscle memory that overrode everything else.
The crowd parted immediately.
I dropped to my knees beside the man, quickly assessing his consciousness, breathing, and pulse.
His pulse was weak and rapid—consistent with acute left ventricular failure or severe asthma attack.
I turned to a young man on his phone. "Tell them the patient appears to be suffering acute cardiac or respiratory distress. They need to hurry."
I quickly loosened his clothing, checking for any medical devices or emergency medication.
Nothing.
I looked up urgently. "Does anyone have nitroglycerin? Aspirin? Any kind of emergency heart medication or inhaler?"
Blank stares. Heads shaking.
I swallowed hard.
No time to waste.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself into absolute focus.
I carefully repositioned the man into a semi-reclined position, elevating his head and shoulders to keep his airway open.
Then I took his hand, guiding him through slow, controlled breathing.
The surrounding crowd watched in stunned silence, helping me adjust his position as I directed.
I began rhythmic chest compressions, monitoring his response.
Gradually, his breathing steadied slightly. The blue tinge in his face began to fade.
My whole body was drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs, when finally—
A siren wailed in the distance.
"The ambulance is here!"
Someone in the crowd shouted.
Paramedics rushed over, transferring the man onto a stretcher.
I quickly briefed them on his condition and my preliminary assessment, then finally allowed myself to exhale.
"Miss, thank God you were here. Are you a doctor?" one of the paramedics asked.
I shook my head. "No. I just... learned some emergency first aid a while back."
"Well, your technique was incredibly professional. If you don't mind, could we get your contact information? The patient's family will want to thank you properly."
"That's not necessary." I urged them to leave quickly—the man's condition was still critical.
After the ambulance departed, the crowd didn't disperse. Instead, people turned toward me with admiring looks, some even pulling out phones to take photos and videos.
"You were amazing!"
"So calm under pressure—beautiful and brave!"
The sudden attention made me uncomfortable. I managed a weak smile and quickly slipped away.
Once I'd escaped to a quiet corner, I leaned against a cool brick wall, trying to steady my breathing.
Saving that man had triggered memories I'd buried deep.
During my time with Doctors Without Borders, I'd worked in makeshift field hospitals in war zones and disaster areas. I'd seen countless critical cases like this—and worse.
I'd witnessed death more times than I could count.
In those bomb-torn battlefields, I'd treated soldiers with injuries far more horrific than anything I'd seen today. I'd delivered babies in refugee camps cobbled together from canvas and prayer.
The smells—gunpowder and dust, antiseptic and blood—all came rushing back.
For a moment during the rescue, I'd been transported back to those chaotic, desperate days.
I let out a long breath, my chest suddenly heavy.
---
When I got home, the housekeeper informed me that Louis had called. He had to fly out for an emergency business trip and wouldn't be back tonight.
I nodded, ate a quiet dinner alone, then headed upstairs to rest.
In my dreams, I was back in those field hospitals again, my emotions tangled and raw.
---
The next morning, my phone jolted me awake.
I answered groggily to hear Josie's voice practically vibrating with excitement.
"Emma! Check your phone! You're all over the news!"
I frowned, still half-asleep, when a notification popped up on my screen.
#Mystery Good Samaritan Saves Elderly Man—Refuses Recognition
Below the headline were multiple videos shot from different angles by bystanders.
My face was clearly visible in every single one.
"Oh my God, you know CPR? Emma, you're incredible!" Josie sounded more excited than I'd ever been about anything.
I tugged at the corner of my mouth. "It's nothing. I just happened to know a little first aid."
"You're way too modest! Do you know the man you saved is looking for you? And the police just released an official statement clearing your name in the Jason case! Double good news, Emma!"
I froze.
"Looking for me?"
"Yeah, obviously to thank you! You should reach out. Oh, and—"
Josie rattled on about a dozen other things before we reluctantly hung up.
I opened my browser. Sure enough, the police had issued a formal statement clearing me of any involvement in Jason's death and commending my cooperation with the investigation.
The gallery had reopened. Despite the brief scandal, we were now seeing record visitor numbers—people coming to show support, curious about the controversy, or simply drawn by the publicity.
---
After a long day managing the gallery, I locked up and turned to find Louis leaning against his car, holding a bouquet of flowers.
He was smiling, clearly having left work early. In his hands was a small bundle of white tulips.
"Emma. Happy end of workday." He handed me the flowers, his eyes warm.
I accepted them with a soft smile. "Thank you."
"I made reservations for dinner—candlelight, the works." He stepped closer, his voice playful. "So, beautiful lady... would you do me the honor of joining me tonight?"