He Saved A Dog But Let His Wife’s Father Die Chapter 12

He Saved A Dog But Let His Wife’s Father Die Chapter 12

“And unlike you, I don’t wear a military uniform while messing around behind someone’s back…”

Before he could finish, Joseph threw a punch.

Charlie’s head snapped to the side, blood instantly seeping from the corner of his lip. He didn’t hold back;

wiping his jaw, he returned the blow.

I rushed forward at once, positioning myself between them, arms spread to shield Charlie. “Stop it, both of

you!”

Joseph’s fist froze mid-air. “Camilla…”

“Have you lost your mind?” My voice trembled with anger. “This is a tourist overlook, not a training range! Take your tantrums somewhere else and leave other people out of it!”

Joseph stared at me intently, voice raw. “You’re defending him?”

I nearly laughed out of frustration. “I told you we’re divorced. Who I care about is none of your business!”

Joseph’s gaze slowly shifted to Charlie behind me, his eyes dark with a toxic mix of resentment and jealousy. “Camilla, you never used to treat me like this.”

Exhaustion settled deep in my bones. I looked straight at him, tone steady. “Joseph, you know that was the

past.”

The words shattered him. His face turned deathly pale.

I could not bear to look any longer. “Leave. I don’t want to see you.”

Joseph stood rooted, watching my figure fade into the twilight. Charlie walked beside me, murmuring

something I could not catch; I simply waved my hand.

He must have finally understood: some wrong turns can never be undone.

Three days later, Joseph submitted his application to leave active military service. No one knew where he went. Some guessed he became a traveling surgeon for border outposts; others claimed he returned to the

local military recruitment office in his hometown.

Ava’s fate was far less forgiving.

My lawyer filed the civil malpractice suit; separately, the military’s criminal investigation division referred

Ava’s case to court-martial.

After disciplinary investigators arrived at the Military Hospital, they reviewed surveillance footage and nursing logs from the day of the surgery.

They confirmed that after clear signs of post-op hemorrhage appeared, Ava failed to notify the attending surgeon per protocol and even altered timestamps on her nursing documentation.

This could not be dismissed as mere oversight,

‘Worse still, the core research paper she had published as first author was proven to contain fabricated experimental data; she had directly stolen and claimed credit for research completed by Joseph’s team.

Found guilty of academic fraud and medical negligence on multiple charges, the military court sentenced Ava to thirty months’ confinement and a dishonorable discharge.

On the day of sentencing, she sat on the defendant’s bench in prison uniform, her empty gaze fixed on the spectator section-every seat remained vacant.

Joseph didn’t come. No one came.

I learned of the verdict via a news alert. By then, I had completed the full Beartooth Highway route and parked my vehicle on the grass beside a lake.

Snow peaks and white clouds reflected on the lake’s surface. Wind swept through prayer flags, a quiet benediction carried on the wind.

I switched off my phone, retrieved my camera from the trunk, and captured the golden sunset stretching

across the distance.

Later, I opened a small photography studio in Fairbanks, specializing in shooting the Northern Lights and the faces of travelers.

Charlie occasionally flew to visit me, bringing crates of fresh fruit and staying to share a plate of apple pie I

cooked.

He never asked about Joseph, and I never spoke of him.

We would sit in the courtyard, watching stars flicker to life, chatting about trivial, unimportant things.

One late night, he suddenly asked me. “Camilla, do you feel free now?”

I paused on a photo I’d taken that morning, my thumb resting lightly on the screen. “Freedom isn’t something you arrive at. It’s something you keep choosing, every single day.”

Moonlight spilled over the snow-capped mountain ridges. The world stretched boundless. Winds blew in from every direction and drifted away again.

I lifted my camera, aiming the lens toward the bright full moon, and gently pressed the shutter.

Click. Each moment held still, preserved in silver and light.

At long last, I was living for myself.