Chapter 10: Hidden Corridors
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whispered, gripping Adrian’s arm tighter.
The nurses’ conversation echoed in my head like a death knell. Twins. Emergency surgery.
“Let me get you some air,” Adrian said immediately, his hand warm and steady on my back.
“No, I—” I pressed my hand to my mouth, genuinely nauseous now. “I think I need to use the restroom. Maybe splash some cold water on my face.”
His silver eyes searched mine with concern. “I’ll come with you.”
“Please, I just need a moment alone.” I managed what I hoped looked like an embarrassed smile. “Women’s problems. You understand.”
He hesitated, clearly torn between his protective instincts and social propriety.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised. “Five minutes.”
“The ladies’ room is just down that corridor,” he said reluctantly, pointing toward a hallway that led deeper into the medical facility. “But if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming to find you.”
I nodded and made my way toward the indicated hallway, my heels clicking against polished marble. But as soon as I was out of sight, I veered away from the restrooms and deeper into the building.
The gala’s noise faded behind me as I moved through increasingly clinical corridors. Gone were the elegant decorations and soft lighting—this was the real Rosegate Medical Pavilion, all sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lighting.
I didn’t know what I was looking for exactly. Some evidence, some proof that what I’d overheard was true. Some explanation for the fragmented memories that had been haunting me since my “recovery.”
Room 237. The number appeared unbidden in my mind, and I realized I was looking for something specific after all. That had been my room number during my stay here. Maybe there were records, files, something that could tell me what had really happened during those lost hours when they’d supposedly saved my life.
The corridor stretched ahead of me, numbered doors marking private patient rooms and consultation suites. 231, 233, 235… I was getting close.
“Ma’am?”
I froze at the sound of a voice behind me. A security guard in a crisp uniform was approaching, his expression polite but firm.
“I’m sorry, but this area is restricted to authorized personnel only.”
“Oh!” I pressed my hand to my chest, feigning confusion. “I’m so sorry. I was looking for the ladies’ room and got completely turned around. These hallways all look the same.”
His expression softened slightly. “It happens all the time during events. The restrooms are back that way, past the main reception area.”
“Thank you so much.” I started to turn, then paused as if something had just occurred to me. “Actually, while I’m here… this is going to sound silly, but I was a patient here a few months ago, and I think I might have left some earrings behind. Would it be possible to check with lost and found?”
“Of course, ma’am. If you’d like to come with me to the main desk…”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit faint again.” I swayed slightly, one hand on the wall. “Could I just sit down for a moment?”
Concern replaced suspicion in his eyes. “Of course. There’s a chair right here.”
As he moved to guide me to a nearby seat, I caught a glimpse of Room 237’s nameplate. Dr. Miranda Chen - Obstetrics and Gynatal Surgery.
My blood went cold. I remembered that name from somewhere, buried deep in the haze of my recovery.
“Ma’am? Are you alright?”
“Yes, sorry. Just dizzy.” I sat heavily in the offered chair, my mind racing. “You know what? I think I should probably get back to my husband. He’ll be worried.”
“Would you like me to escort you back to the gala?”
“That’s very kind, but I think I can manage.” I stood carefully, projecting fragility while my pulse hammered with adrenaline. “Thank you for your help.”
I made my way back toward the main reception area, but my thoughts were spinning. Dr. Harrington. Obstetrics and gynatal surgery. Room 237, where I’d supposedly recovered from losing my baby.
Where I’d apparently given birth to twins and only been told about one.
The gala was winding down when I rejoined Adrian. He immediately moved to my side, silver eyes scanning my face with sharp attention.
“Better?” he asked, though I could see the suspicion lurking beneath his concern.
“Much, thank you.” I managed a weak smile. “I think it was just the champagne on an empty stomach.”
“We should get you home.”
“Actually…” I glanced around the thinning crowd. “Could I use the restroom one more time before we leave? I want to make sure I look presentable.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course. But make it quick.”
This time, I actually headed for the ladies’ room near the main entrance. But I made a detour to the reception desk, where a young woman was efficiently handling the evening’s final administrative tasks.
“Excuse me?” I approached with what I hoped was a confident smile. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
She looked up with professional courtesy. “Of course. How can I assist you?”
“I’m Calla West—well, Calla Thorne now.” I gestured vaguely toward where Adrian was waiting. “I was a patient here several months ago, and I’m trying to get copies of my medical records for my new physician. Is that something I could request tonight?”
“Certainly. We can start the process now if you’d like to fill out the paperwork.” She reached into a desk drawer and produced a form. “We’ll need photo identification and there’s a small processing fee.”
My heart sank. “Oh. I don’t have my license with me—it’s in my other purse at home.”
“That’s no problem. We can mail the forms to your address for completion, or you can call our medical records department during business hours.”
“Actually,” I said, lowering my voice slightly, “I was hoping to keep this private from my husband. We’ve had some… disagreements about my medical care. Would it be possible to use my maiden name for the request? Calla West? And maybe have the records sent to my old address?”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the request.
“I understand it’s unusual,” I continued quickly, “but I’m concerned about potential… complications at home if he finds out I’m seeking a second opinion. You understand.”
Something in my tone—perhaps the hint of fear I didn’t have to fake—made her expression soften with sympathy.
“Let me see what I can do,” she said quietly, pulling out a different set of forms. “If you can provide your old address and date of birth, I can process this as an amendment to your existing file under your previous name.”
Relief flooded through me. “Thank you so much. This means everything to me.”
I quickly filled out the forms with my maiden name and my father’s address—somewhere Adrian wouldn’t think to intercept mail. When I handed them back, the receptionist gave me a reassuring smile.
“We’ll have these processed within three to five business days. The records will be mailed to the address you provided.”
“Thank you again. And please—”
“Complete confidentiality,” she assured me. “We take patient privacy very seriously.”
As I walked back toward Adrian, my hands were trembling with nervous energy. In a few days, I would have concrete proof of what had really happened during my time at Rosegate. I would finally know the truth about my surgery, my recovery, and whatever had happened.
“Ready?” Adrian asked, offering his arm.
“Ready,” I said, managing what I hoped looked like a tired but genuine smile.
As we made our way out of the medical pavilion, I caught one last glimpse of the corridor that led to Room 237. Soon, very soon, I would have answers to the questions that had been haunting me.