Secrets of a Plastic Surgery Addict and a Desperate Young Lady

My wife, Luna Collins, always had blood in her urine.

But she never let me go with her to the hospital.

On her birthday, I secretly went to the hospital to pick her up.

I walked in on her in the clinic, her clothes pulled up to her chest.

"Be gentle," she said.

The doctor's hand, holding a stethoscope, was inside her bra.

"Wait a second, since when did blood in the urine affect the chest?"

...

Through the gap, I could see Luna's back blocking the doctor's face. Her clothes were lifted, her pale skin framed by thin black straps. I could only see his hand moving with the stethoscope in front of her.

I thought about pulling out my phone to take a picture, but Luna suddenly gasped and threw herself into his arms.

Suspicion gnawed at me. This didn't seem like a check-up; it felt more like flirting.

I overheard the doctor whisper something, but I couldn't make it out.

Just then, a nurse approached me from behind, about to knock on the door, and I quickly stepped aside.

"Ms. Collins always takes an hour every time she's here. There's a line outside," the nurse complained.

"Yeah, we've been waiting forever," someone in the waiting room chimed in.

The nurse knocked softly on the door.

After a while, Luna finally came out, looking flustered.

But I noticed a sly glint in her eyes.

"Luna, I..."

The moment she saw me, she frowned and cut me off.

"Didn't I tell you not to come with me? This place is full of women. You're a man. It's so awkward for everyone else!"

I didn't even have a chance to ask her anything before she stormed off.

The waiting patients were all whispering and staring at me.

"Ugh, the doctor said she's got an infection. No bedroom stuff for her."

She turned away, sounding irritated, and skillfully kept her distance from me.

But all I wanted was to hold her and sleep next to her.

I'd always wanted a child, but her condition never seemed to improve.

After what I saw at the hospital today, the more I thought about it, the angrier I got as a man.

Her explanation was, "Since when does a doctor need your permission to do his job? And doctors don't see gender. If you're going to start doubting me, we might as well end this marriage!"

She was so self-righteous, and her words left me completely confused.

I switched to asking about her health and requested to see her medical records, but she lashed out, saying she got sick because of marrying me.

But we hardly ever had sex, and I was perfectly healthy during our premarital checkups. Every time we did it, we took precautions.

And that doctor, Jayden Stewart. His name was the same as her ex's. He just didn't look quite the same.

I could only console myself that she was sick and emotionally unstable.

I took the day off, spent the whole afternoon cooking her favorite dishes, and used my entire paycheck to buy her a designer bag to make up for her birthday.

A thought suddenly struck me when I looked at the black ribbon on the package.

Yesterday at the hospital, she was definitely wearing lingerie!

Before, I had asked if she'd wear something like that for me, and she blew up at me, giving me the silent treatment for a week, saying I was disgusting and treating her like some cheap woman.

I apologized, but what man doesn't want to see the sexy side of the woman he loves?

I'd seen those styles a hundred times. There was no way I was mistaken.

Her coldness toward me over the years had been obvious. She definitely wasn't wearing that for me.

I scrolled through our chat history. It was mostly me sending multiple texts, followed by her short, distant replies.

I had loved her for five years, but ever since we got married, she had been hot and cold with me.

Just then, a new message from her popped up.

It was a mirror selfie of her in lingerie, with a man's arm wrapped around her waist from behind. The pose was so bold that I almost didn't recognize her.

I hit save, but she retracted it a second later.