Chapter 1
626words
"The baby's heartbeat is strong. Try to relax—let nature take its course," I told Vivian Woods, the expectant mother in VIP bed 3, offering her a reassuring smile.
She returned a polite smile, though her eyes darted repeatedly to the door, clearly waiting for someone else.
Back in my office, I'd barely started writing prescriptions when Dr. Wilson appeared in my doorway, her face a mask of awkward discomfort.
"Sophia." She glanced over her shoulder before sliding her phone across my desk.
"The nurses are passing this around... God, isn't that... your husband?"
The phone showed grainy security footage from some forgotten storage room in Cardiology.
There was no mistaking that ramrod-straight posture—Ethan, my husband. And wrapped in his arms was tiny Rachel Miller, that fresh-faced nursing intern who'd started last month.
Then Ethan dipped his head and kissed her full on the mouth.
My world stopped. The hospital noises—whispers, computer fans, ringing phones—all faded to a distant buzz as I stared at the screen.
My fingers turned to ice, trembling as I hit pause. The image froze with their lips just separating, a thin strand of saliva still connecting them.
Rachel Miller... that girl who always gazed at my husband like he hung the damn moon?
I watched him lose himself in that kiss, giving away the tender gaze that I thought belonged only to me.
I sleepwalked through the afternoon. Cut, suture, prescribe, document—my body on autopilot while my mind screamed.
Waves of betrayal crashed over me again and again until I could barely breathe.
That night, I waited in our darkened living room, a statue growing colder by the minute.
Keys jingled in the lock. Ethan stepped in, flicked on the lights, and flinched slightly at the sight of me before his perfect smile slid into place.
"Why are you sitting in the dark, sweetheart?" He shrugged off his coat with practiced grace, as if I hadn't watched him betray me hours earlier.
"I saw you." My voice cracked like dead leaves underfoot.
His hand froze mid-motion. He turned, his face a masterclass in calculated confusion. "Saw what?"
"The security footage. You and Rachel Miller getting cozy in the storage room." I locked eyes with him, searching for even a flicker of remorse.
Surprise flickered across his face before morphing into that patronizing smile I suddenly couldn't stand.
He reached for my hair—his usual patronizing gesture. "That's all? She had a rough day with a handsy patient. The poor thing was a mess. I was just comforting her. You know how these kids are—all emotion."
I jerked away from his hand.
"Since when does 'comfort' involve tongue?" I spat the words.
His hand hovered awkwardly before dropping. His smile dimmed, but his voice stayed infuriatingly calm: "Sophia, you're my wife. She's just a girl. She doesn't threaten your position."
Just like that, he admitted everything.
Watching him stand there, so unruffled after being caught, I realized I'd been married to a stranger.
Bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter.
So that's how he saw it—women ranked by "position," with me as the dutiful main wife while he enjoyed his harem.
His calm control—the certainty that I would fall in line—transformed my grief into something harder, colder.
His reaction cut deeper than the betrayal ever could.
"Ethan," I rose to my feet, my voice shaking with the effort not to scream, "you make me sick."
"We're done."
I turned away, walked to our bedroom, and locked the door behind me. My back against the wood, I slid to the floor.
The tears finally came, silent and scalding down my face.
