My Wife Betrayed Me. The System Chose Me

CHAPTER 6

The hospital’s administrative wing was colder than the rest of the building.

Not physically, emotionally.

Here, grief didn’t cry. It queued.

Caelan stood in line clutching a folder thick with forms he barely understood. Insurance statements. Payment breakdowns. Consent documents written in language that protected institutions, not people.

When it was his turn, the clerk barely looked up.

“Coverage doesn’t include experimental procedures,” she said, fingers already moving toward the next file.

“There has to be something,” Caelan insisted. “A program. A deferment.”

She sighed, finally meeting his eyes with a look that suggested she’d done this too many times to feel anything about it. “Sir, I understand this is difficult.”

No, he thought. You don’t.

“This is the best we can offer,” she continued, sliding a paper toward him. “Palliative support.”

He stared at the word until it blurred.

Outside the office, a child laughed. The sound echoed down the corridor like an accusation.

Caelan leaned against the wall, breathing slowly, deliberately. The building hummed around him, elevators rising, doors opening, lives intersecting and separating with mechanical efficiency.

This place wasn’t cruel. It was efficient.

And efficiency had no room for him.

He realized then that the hospital wasn’t trying to save Lyra.

It was trying to manage her.

The change was subtle—no shouting, no overt threats but Caelan sensed it immediately. Nurses who had been warm earlier now kept conversations short. A request for additional blankets took longer than it should have. The senior doctor avoided his eyes during rounds.

Nothing overt.

Everything deliberate.

Lyra noticed too.

“Why are they acting weird?” she asked, poking at her dinner with mild suspicion. “Did I break hospital rules?”

Caelan forced a smile. “You’re fine. Grown-ups just get strange when they’re busy.”

“Hmm,” Lyra said, unconvinced. “That sounds fake.”

He laughed quietly. “You’re getting too smart.”

She shrugged weakly. “I have a lot of time to think.”

The words lodged painfully in his chest.

Later that night, the doctor returned alone.

He closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Ashborne,” he said carefully, “I need you to understand something.”

Caelan didn’t speak.

“There has been… communication,” the doctor continued. “From people with influence.”

Of course they had.

“They are concerned about procedural irregularities,” he said. “They believe your daughter’s case is being handled… emotionally.”

Caelan leaned back. “And you?”

The doctor hesitated. “I believe she deserves care.”

“Then treat her,” Caelan said.

The doctor sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is when money talks,” Caelan replied.

The doctor flinched slightly. “I can keep her here for now. But if administration decides—”

“They’ll push her out,” Caelan finished.

“Yes.”

“How long?” Caelan asked.

The doctor glanced at the door. “Days. Maybe less.”

After he left, Caelan sat very still.

The system surfaced quietly.

 Escalation Detected: Institutional Suppression

 A new option appeared—faint, almost hesitant.

 Directive Available:

 Establish External Leverage

Caelan frowned. “Leverage how?”

 Information. Exposure. Claim.

He rubbed his face tiredly.

“Be clearer.”

Choose a line to draw.

Selene came back that night.

This time, she didn’t bring Harlan.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“You embarrassed him,” she said.

“Good evening to you too,” Caelan replied dryly.

“This isn’t a game,” Selene snapped. “You challenged people who don’t tolerate resistance.”

“I noticed,” Caelan said.

She stepped inside, lowering her voice. “You’re being stubborn out of pride.”

“I’m being stubborn because you’re trying to sell our child.”

“That’s not fair,” Selene said sharply.

“Isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then she exhaled. “Listen to me. If you don’t cooperate, they’ll remove Lyra from this hospital. She’ll ‘fail to qualify’ for continued care. Accidents happen.”

Caelan’s eyes hardened.

“You’re threatening her now?”

“I’m warning you,” Selene said. “Before it gets ugly.”

The system pulsed.

 Intent Detected: Coercion / Emotional Manipulation

Caelan stood.

“You chose your side,” he said. “Now live with it.”

Selene laughed bitterly. “You think you still have one?”

“I do,” he said. “It just isn’t you.”

Her expression shifted, anger giving way to something colder.

“Fine,” she said. “Then don’t say I didn’t try.”

She turned to leave, then paused.

“Oh,” she added lightly, “Harlan wanted me to tell you something.”

Caelan said nothing.

“He’s curious,” Selene said. “About where you learned to stand like that.”

The door closed behind her.

Caelan’s phone buzzed moments later.

Another unknown number.

Your refusal has been noted.

The system surfaced again, stronger this time.

Critical Choice Approaching

Three faint paths unfolded in his awareness—not images, but directions.

 Option 1: Capitulation

 → Short-term safety / Permanent submission

 Option 2: Exposure

 → Reveal suppressed lineage claim / High retaliation risk

 Option 3: Withdrawal

 → Evacuate / Uncertain survival odds

Caelan stared at Lyra.

She was asleep, curled slightly to one side, breathing shallow but steady.

Capitulation meant saving her for now at the cost of everything else.

Withdrawal meant running again. Hiding. Letting fear decide.

Exposure…

His mother’s face surfaced unbidden.

Do not kneel for comfort, she had once told him. Stand, even if it costs you.

Caelan’s jaw tightened.

“I’m done running,” he whispered.

 Option Selected: Exposure

The system paused.

 Warning:

 This action will make your existence undeniable.

“Good,” Caelan said quietly. “Let them choke on it.”

 Preparation Initiated

A final prompt appeared.

 Select Claim Type:

 • Bloodline Assertion

 • Property Reclamation

 • Public Record Activation

Caelan closed his eyes.

Bloodline would be loud. Dangerous.

Property would take time.

Public record…

That would force the world to look.

He made his choice.

The hospital lights flickered.

Not dramatically, just enough.

Somewhere in the city’s buried archives, a long-suppressed file is unlocked.

A name long erased re-entered circulation.

 Claim Prepared. Execution Pending.

Caelan opened his eyes.

The line was drawn.

There will be no quiet tomorrow.

The numbers didn’t lie.

Caelan sat in the hospital hallway with his laptop balanced on his knees, eyes burning as he scrolled. Treatment costs. Travel fees. Consultation deposits. Figures stacked on figures until they lost meaning.

He called every number he could find.

Some didn’t answer.

Some transferred him endlessly.

Some listened politely before saying, “We’re sorry.”

One woman, her voice practiced and smooth, said, “Perhaps you should consider palliative care.”

He hung up without replying.

By midnight, his savings were gone — not spent, just rendered irrelevant. Even if he sold the apartment, even if he emptied every account, even if he borrowed against a future he no longer believed in, it wouldn’t be enough.

A man in a tailored suit passed by, laughing into his phone.

“Yes, secure the slot,” the man said. “Money isn’t an issue.”

Caelan watched him disappear down the corridor reserved for private patients.

That was when it hit him fully: this wasn’t about effort. Or love. Or sacrifice.

It was about access.

And he didn’t have it.