“Send them,” he said. “Let her see them.”
I took in his words, letting them settle. “We’ll see,” I finally replied, the resolve I’d been missing taking root as I spoke.
She wasn’t worth letting go, and neither was this tradition.
Chapter Eighteen
RONAN
Present Day
NEW YORK CITY
Owning General Wellness hospital meant lives were in my hands—lives that required more than good intentions. My family’s wealth helped build it, but that legacy came with a duty to heal. When I took over at twenty-seven, the hospital was on the verge of collapse, with neglected patients and overstretched staff. Driven by my family’s suffering in a place like this, I pooled some money from my inheritance and invested heavily to restore its integrity and purpose.
As the youngest to take on such a monumental task, I held a medical degree from NYU Grossman, all while completing myoncology residency and fellowship. This was my first time in the media spotlight, not only for my age, but for the radical changes I implemented. I introduced advanced diagnostic equipment, electronic health records, and state-of-the-art surgical technologies, significantly improving patient outcomes and recovery times.
The hospital transformed from near bankruptcy to regional acclaim by prioritizing staff well-being, improving infrastructure, and fostering empathy and excellence. Collaborations with top medical schools, expanded community outreach, specialized care units, and the addition of a mental health department reinforced our commitment to holistic care.
“Dr. Romano?” Nurse Maria’s voice was gentle yet insistent.
“Come in,” I called, setting aside the papers.
She stepped in, her expression serious. “It’s time for your appointment with a new patient.”
I nodded, gathering my notes and slipping my stethoscope around my neck. As I stood, Maria paused at the door, concern on her face.
“There’s one problem,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
I paused, my heart sinking slightly. “What is it?”
“This patient… they can’t afford the necessary treatment.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling a familiar pang in my chest. In this line of work, there were few things more heartbreaking than the intersection of illness and poverty.
“How bad is her state?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Her eyes met mine, a silent plea in them. “You’ll see for yourself.”
I took a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what was to come. “Alright. Let’s go.”
We walked down the sterile, gleaming corridors, the hum of activity around us a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside.Each step echoed the gravity of the situation, the knowledge that someone’s life hung in the balance.
When we reached the patient’s room, I paused outside the door, gathering my thoughts.
Inside, a beautiful figure, older in age, lay on the bed, her eyes reflecting both hope and fear.
“Good morning, Ms.,” I grabbed her file, my eyes stuck on the name, “Leann.”
This name sounded oddly familiar, and I had no idea why.
I introduced myself and felt a deep ache in my chest. This was someone who needed our help, someone who was facing a battle without the means to fight it.
“How are you feeling today?”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Scared.”
I nodded, taking a seat. “I understand. We’ll do everything we can to help you. I promise.”
