Steam hissed into the quiet room as I pressed the iron over the pristine white fabric. I was preparing the lab coat Alex Delgado was scheduled to wear the next morning.
Then the front door clicked open. He walked in, bringing with him the sharp tang of hospital antiseptic layered over the cloying sweetness of a woman's perfume.
"She's pregnant."
His voice was calm, clinical. He might as well have been discussing a tumor or a fractured rib.
"Yolanda is an orphan," he continued, loosening his tie. "She needs me."
My hand froze mid-air. The steam curled up, blurring my vision.
A memory forced its way to the surface—the night I burned with a forty-degree fever. He had sat by my bedside, cooling my forehead with a damp towel, his eyes tender. In this life, I'll only take care of you, Lexi. No one else.
"Then what about me?" My voice was so faint it barely disturbed the air.
He frowned, impatience flickering across his face. "Lexi, you know the pressure I'm under at the hospital. Yolanda understands my ambitions. She supports me."
I didn't answer. I simply stopped fighting the gravity of my own exhaustion.
I let the heavy iron drop.
It landed flat against the chest of the white lab coat. A sharp hiss filled the silence as heat seared into fabric. Smoke rose, carrying the acrid smell of burnt cotton. I watched the brown scorch mark spread like a cancer, burning a hole right through the left breast pocket—right where his heart should have been.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I turned off the iron, walked past him into the bedroom, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.
Before I left the next morning, I placed the divorce agreement and my wedding ring on the entryway console. Beside them, I left the ruined lab coat. On the unburnt fabric, in my neatest handwriting, I left a final diagnosis:
Dr. Delgado, consider your patient, Alex Henson, permanently discharged.
——
I boarded the first flight to Seaside City.
For ten years, I had carved away pieces of myself to fit into the mold of Alex Delgado's perfect wife. I had given too much.
Silver Beach had always been on my bucket list. Every time I mentioned it, he brushed it off. Too busy. The hospital needed him. I just had to wait.
Wait, wait, and wait again.
I looked out the plane window at the billowing clouds. I was done waiting. From now on, I would be the bird soaring past the glass, living only for myself.
The moment I landed and turned off airplane mode, my phone vibrated violently. Thirty messages from Alex Delgado flooded the screen.
Alex Henson, are you seriously making a scene about divorce just because Yolanda is pregnant?
How can you be so selfish? You know I'm up for a promotion to Chief. You just can't stand to see me succeed, can you?
What I have with Yolanda is a responsibility. She has no one. Do you want me to be the kind of man who abandons a vulnerable woman? Why can't you understand me?
Where are you? Why is your location off?
Alex Henson, what the hell did you say to Yolanda before you left? She's spotting now. If she loses this baby, it's on you.
You vindictive woman—if you leave now, don't you dare come crawling back!
The barrage of narcissism filled the chat window. In ten years of marriage, he had never texted me this much. And every single message was an accusation, every word revolving around Yolanda.
I didn't bother to reply. I blocked his number, powered down my phone, and vanished into the vibrant streets of Seaside City.
For half a month, I lived. I felt the sun on my skin and the salt in my hair. When I finally felt like myself again, I moved to a quiet coastal town nearby and rented a small space. I opened an art studio, returning to the painting career I had abandoned for his sake.
I thought Alex Delgado was history.
I was wrong.
One morning, as I unlocked the glass doors of my studio, a shadow fell over me. A man stood by the entrance, looking out of place in his tailored suit.
He moved fast, catching my arm before I could step inside. His grip was tight.
"Why did you block me?" he demanded, staring down at me. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?"
I wrenched my arm free. "Mr. Delgado, we are divorced. Have some dignity."
He blinked, taking a step back as if I had slapped him.
He hadn't expected this. He was used to the old Alex Henson—the docile wife who anticipated his every whim. He wasn't ready for the stranger standing before him now.
He hesitated, adjusting his stance. When he spoke again, he pitched his voice lower, adopting that gentle, persuasive tone he used on difficult patients.
"Lexi, look, I know you're still sulking. But you need to be reasonable. Yolanda is different from you. She's fragile. She can't live without me."
He took a breath, delivering his next words with sickening confidence.
"I came here because I need you to come back. I need you to take care of Yolanda during her postpartum confinement."
My blood ran cold.
"Don't worry," he added quickly, mistaking my silence for consideration. "Once Yolanda recovers, I'll give her a severance package. We'll take the child, raise it as our own, and send her abroad. She won't bother us again."
I stood with my back to him, my vision blurring with rage.
For a split second, I had foolishly thought he might have come to apologize. That he might have felt a shred of remorse.
I should have known better.
I spun around, my eyes burning.
