The hospital's new resident Gloria claimed to see prophetic live comments. During surgery, she announced: "Dr. Reed will slip in one minute, severing the artery. The patient will die." A minute later, my scalpel slipped. The patient bled out. When grieving relatives arrived, Gloria warned colleagues: "In thirty minutes, the father will stab Dr. Reed - half an inch left of her heart." Thirty minutes later, the blade pierced my chest at the predicted spot. As my fiancé Mark rushed me to surgery, Gloria sighed: "They'll find Evie's pregnant during the operation...and the baby isn't yours." The pre-op scan confirmed her words. Mark swore he'd never touched me, breaking our engagement as I hemorrhaged. I died abandoned on the operating table. Gloria became legendary. When I reopened my eyes, it was her first prophetic day again. Gloria’s voice was a shot of panic in the sterile calm of the OR. "Dr. Reed, stop! You have to stop the surgery, you're going to kill him!" The entire medical team froze. "Gloria, what are you talking about?" the head nurse snapped. "The patient's life is on the line. This is no time for jokes!" But Gloria’s face was a mask of unnerving confidence. "I'm telling the truth. I can see comments—they predict the future!" She held up a hand as if to read from it. "If you don't believe me, I'll read them to you." "'In one more minute, Dr. Reed's hand will slip. She'll sever the patient's artery, causing a massive hemorrhage, and the patient will die.'" Every person in the room stopped moving, their eyes snapping to me. In that same instant, a wave of vertigo washed over me. I stared down at the scalpel in my hand, a disbelieving tremor running through me. I was… reborn. But before the reality could fully sink in, a shriek shattered the silence. "His artery is severed!" the head nurse cried, her face pale with panic. "Massive hemorrhage! We're losing him! Get cross-matched plasma, now! Prep for emergency resuscitation!" Her voice yanked me back to the present. I stared in horror at the blood pooling in the patient's chest cavity, the crimson tide rising with terrifying speed. "Evelyn, what the hell are you doing?" one of the other surgeons demanded, his voice thick with fury. "You're the lead surgeon! How could you be so careless? Do you have any regard for this man's life?" I bowed my head, my hands moving on instinct, suturing the wound with frantic precision. I didn't have time to argue. But inside, my mind was a raging storm. How? The second I realized I was back, I had gripped the scalpel with all my strength. I made sure it wouldn't slip. So why did it happen all over again? Why was his artery still cut? The operating room descended into controlled chaos, but Gloria remained perfectly still. She stood to the side, shaking her head with an air of tragic pity. "It's no use," she said softly, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "You can't save him." "The moment Dr. Reed's scalpel cut the artery, the prophecy of the comments was fulfilled. This patient was destined to die. No one can change that." As if on cue, the heart monitor shrieked. A long, piercing beep echoed through the room, signaling what we all knew was coming. His heart rate had dropped to zero. Just as Gloria had predicted, the patient on the table died from blood loss, our resuscitation efforts utterly futile. A heavy silence fell over the room. The other staff stared at the still body, their faces a mixture of disbelief and shock. "But… why?" one of them murmured, re-checking the vitals. "The sutures were immediate, the bleeding was controlled, the plasma was a perfect match… He should have stabilized." Instinctively, their gazes shifted to Gloria. In that moment, her credibility was forged in the crucible of our failure. They believed her. Gloria let out a somber sigh. "The future shown in the comments is immutable. Once a prediction comes to pass, the entire chain of events is set in stone. There's no escaping it." Her eyes, filled with a calculated worry, landed on me. "Dr. Reed, the patient is gone. There's no point in looking for another reason. The simple fact is, your hand slipped. Instead of trying to find excuses, you should probably be thinking about how you're going to explain this to his family." She then addressed the room. "Everyone, let's not just stand here. We all need to write our incident reports." Her words were a cold splash of reality. The patient had collapsed from a sudden heart attack at work. His family lived out of state and were on their way, expecting to hear news of a successful surgery. They would be here any minute. The team dispersed, a cloud of grim duty hanging over them as they left to document the tragedy. Gloria cast one last look at me, a subtle shake of her head, before turning to leave as well. I remained rooted to the spot, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I know I held that scalpel steady. So how was his artery still severed? Was Gloria right? Was the future truly unchangeable? While the others wrote their reports, I locked myself in the operating room, replaying the events for hours. Eventually, the family arrived, their faces etched with the fatigue of a long, frantic train journey. The first thing they saw was their son's body, his face a waxy, lifeless white. A gut-wrenching cry tore from his mother’s throat. "My boy! Oh, my baby boy! You were just on a video call with us last night! You said you were coming home for the holidays… How can you just be… gone?" "Open your eyes, son, please! Look at us! We're here, Mom and Dad are here to see you…" The parents’ sobs were like a physical blow. Even the most hardened nurses around me were wiping away tears. My own throat felt tight enough to choke me. In all my years as a surgeon, I had snatched countless patients from the jaws of death. I couldn't have lost one to a simple slip of the hand. It didn't make sense. As I struggled for an explanation, the father's grief curdled into rage. He rounded on us, his eyes blazing. "Which one of you was his surgeon? My son was supposed to be fine! You said it was a ninety-percent success rate! You will give me an answer, or so help me, you'll pay with your lives!" He scanned our faces, a predator seeking his prey. One of the nurses, hoping to placate him, began to recount what had happened in the OR. The moment he heard I was the lead surgeon, that my hand had slipped and caused the fatal hemorrhage, his entire demeanor shifted. He spotted the name tag on my white coat: Dr. Evelyn Reed. His eyes locked onto mine. He shoved through the crowd and stormed towards me, yanking me forward by the collar of my coat. "You're Dr. Evelyn Reed? You're the one who killed my son!" His face was a mask of pure hatred, a mirror image of the one I remembered from my past life. And with his rage came Gloria’s perfectly timed, panicked cry. "Oh no! The comments! They're saying the father is about to pull a knife and stab Dr. Reed! The blade… it’s aimed for the left side of her heart." Her words hung in the air as the father began to drag me by my collar toward the hospital exit. He was strong, his grip like a vice. I couldn't break free. The other staff, hearing Gloria's prediction, started to move forward to intervene. But the father suddenly ripped a sharp paring knife from his pocket. "You doctors… you don't care about a single life!" he roared, his voice cracking with pain. "My son was healthy! How does he just die during surgery? I don't care anymore! Today, one of you worthless butchers is going to pay for what you did!" He pressed the cold steel of the knife against my throat, dragging me backward toward the entrance. The chill of the blade was a ghost of a memory, a phantom from my previous death. In my last life, it had played out just like this. He had dragged me outside, and in the ensuing struggle, he had driven the knife straight into my chest. This time, I could have run. I could have left the hospital before he even arrived. But if Gloria was right, if the future was truly unavoidable, then running would be pointless. He hauled me out into the open air of the hospital entrance. The medical staff followed, forming a nervous semi-circle. Gloria stood among them, her voice a placating balm. "Sir, we are all devastated by your son's death, but he can't be brought back. You can't blame us for what happened. Dr. Reed is a wonderful, moral doctor. She's saved countless lives. Your son's death was a tragic accident." Her words were like gasoline on a fire. "Shut up!" the father screamed. "She's one of you! Of course you'd defend her! It was my son who died, not yours! You talk like it's nothing!" He was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. "He was my only child! He just graduated college! He was only twenty-five! Twenty-five years old, and he's gone!" He brandished the knife, forcing everyone to back away. Once they were at a safe distance, the pressure on my neck eased slightly. But before I could even draw a full breath, his voice dropped to a venomous whisper in my ear. "Evelyn Reed. You incompetent butcher. You killed my son. Now you're going to pay for it with your life." In a flash of movement, he whipped the knife away from my throat and lunged, aiming directly for my chest. I saw the glint of the blade coming for the left side of my heart and twisted my body, trying to dodge. For a split second, I thought I’d made it. But it was as if the blade had a mind of its own, correcting its course in mid-air. His other hand shot out, clamping down on my shoulder, and he guided the knife with chilling accuracy into the exact spot Gloria had predicted. Why? I dodged it! Why did it still hit me in the exact same place? The searing pain sent my world blurring at the edges, and I didn't have time to think. As I staggered back, hospital security, who had been circling around, finally saw their opening. They tackled the father from behind, wrestling him to the ground. "Let me go! Let me go!" he shrieked, struggling against them. "You murderers! You killed my son! I'll kill you all!" Ignoring his crazed screams, my colleagues swarmed around me. "She's bleeding! Get her to an OR, now!" "Where's the gurney? Someone get a gurney!" Within seconds, a stretcher appeared. As they lifted me onto it, I could still hear the father's curses and threats. While they rushed me back inside, their voices were a low hum of awe and fear, all directed at Gloria. "Gloria, your comments… they're unbelievable." "You predicted everything, down to the exact spot. It's… terrifying." Gloria basked in their reverence, a flicker of smug pride in her eyes before she masked it with humility. "Of course," she murmured. We finally reached the surgical ward. Just like last time, my fiancé, Mark, came running, his face a mess of panic and fear. "Evie!" he cried, his eyes red-rimmed. "I heard you were stabbed! How bad is it? Are you okay?" I tried to speak, to tell him something, but Gloria beat me to it. She placed a gentle hand on Mark's shoulder, her expression dripping with pity. "Mark… there's something… I don't know if I should say." "What is it?" Mark demanded, his voice strained. "If it's about Evie, just say it!" The surrounding staff fell silent, their attention fixed on Gloria. Under the weight of their gazes, she glanced at me, then shook her head sorrowfully. "Aigh, I really didn't want to be the one to say this. Evie's my mentor, she brought me into this hospital… But what she's done… it's just… I saw another comment, and I can't believe it…" "Gloria, spit it out!" Mark snapped. "Yeah, stop drawing it out," a colleague added. "Dr. Reed needs surgery. We don't have time for this!" Finally, Gloria spoke. "Alright, but you all forced me. Don't blame me for being the one to tear them apart." She turned her pity-filled eyes to Mark. "When they get Evie into surgery," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "don't be surprised if they find out she's pregnant. And, Mark… the baby isn't yours."
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