Lorraine
I clenched my fists as I stared at my phone, my mind racing with everything I had just uncovered. My breath came out in ragged gasps, my body trembling with a mixture of fury and heartbreak. I had just known Hendrix was unfaithful, that he was a liar, a cheater, a man who had thrown away our marriage like it was nothing—but this? This was beyond anything I could have imagined.
My mother hadn’t died naturally.
She had been sacrificed.
Tears blurred my vision as I pressed the phone to my ear, my fingers shaking as I called Dr. Patel, my colleague in the U.S. where my mother had been confined. He picked up almost immediately.
“Lorraine?” His voice was filled with concern. “I didn’t expect to hear from you. Is everything alright?”
“Dr. Patel,” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I need to know the truth about my mother’s death. I was just told… told that she was taken off life support, that her heart was donated. But I never signed anything. I need to know why this decision was made.”
There was a long pause on the other end. Then, he sighed. “Lorraine, we thought you knew. The decision was made based on a legal document. It stated that your mother’s appointed guardian had opted for withdrawal of care to prevent prolonged suffering. Her coma prognosis, while not hopeless, had uncertain outcomes. Some families choose to discontinue life support when they believe their loved ones wouldn’t want to live in a vegetative state.”
My stomach churned. “But she wasn’t in a vegetative state. She had a high probability of waking up. Ninety percent! How is that considered hopeless?”
“Her guardian made the call.” His voice turned hesitant. “And, Lorraine… the documents had your signature.”
I went still. “What?”
“Hendrix came in with the papers. It had your signature on it. We assumed you discussed it with him beforehand.”
A sharp ringing filled my ears. I struggled to process his words. My signature? But I never signed anything. My mother had still been alive, fighting, and I—
I hadn’t even been there.
That day, I had been in another hospital, presenting my research. I hadn’t even known she was being taken off life support until it was too late.
My blood ran cold.
Hendrix had forged my signature.
That monster had taken my mother’s life to save his mistress.
The betrayal hit me like a physical blow. I staggered back, gripping the edge of the hospital desk for support. A strangled cry escaped my throat, my vision turning red with fury. How could he? How could the man I once loved, the man I married, do something so vile?
Tears streamed down my face, my chest heaving. My colleagues on the other end of the line were calling my name, but I couldn’t respond. I felt like I was suffocating. My mother had been murdered. She had been stolen from me. And I had spent all this time blind to the truth, wasting my grief on believing it had been fate, when it had been Hendrix all along.
I wiped my tears and took a deep breath.
No more.
I would make him pay.
I would make sure he suffered for what he did.
Without another second to waste, I turned to my hospital’s administrator in Mexico. “I need to leave early. Something urgent came up.”
They hesitated, but my expression must have told them not to argue. Within an hour, I had rescheduled my flight. My hands were steady now. My heart, though broken, was burning with a newfound resolve.
On the way to the airport, I pulled out my phone and sent Hendrix a single message.
[Let’s get divorced.]
No explanations. No warnings. Just those three words.
Then I turned off my phone, knowing the storm I had just unleashed.
By the time I reached the airport, my phone buzzed with countless missed calls and messages.
Hendrix was panicking.
I didn’t answer a single one.
I boarded my flight, staring out of the window as the plane ascended, leaving behind the city that had held so much pain.
Hendrix would soon realize that his carefully constructed world was about to collapse.
—
Meanwhile, back at the hospital, Hendrix’s phone slipped from his hand, his eyes wide with disbelief as he read the message over and over again.
“What the hell?” he muttered, immediately calling Lorraine.
No answer.
He tried again. And again. And again.
Still nothing.
Althea, noticing his distress, frowned. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“Lorraine,” Hendrix said through clenched teeth. “She just texted me saying she wants a divorce.”
Althea smirked, unconcerned. “Good. It’s about time.”
Before he could respond, a nurse walked into the room with a clipboard. “Ms. Althea, your discharge papers are ready.”
Althea raised a brow. “That was fast.”
The nurse smiled. “Doctor Lorraine gave the approval earlier.”
Hendrix’s breath caught in his throat. “What did you say?”
The nurse turned to him. “Doctor Lorraine Scott. She was the one who helped during your wife's emergency earlier.”
Hendrix felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “Wait! What did you say? Lorraine?! ”
