So Done With Her

On the night before our engagement party, my fiancée went radio silent for five hours—just to buy her male assistant stomach medicine.

When she finally came back, I gave her two choices: fire him, or call off the wedding.

She disappeared for three full days.

The next time I saw her, she showed up at our doorstep soaking wet. She threw her arms around me and said, "I don't want anyone but you."

Then, on our wedding night, she vanished again.

I'm an ER doctor. I got called in for an emergency.

When I got to the hospital, I found out the patient was her assistant. He had a groin injury. My fiancée was standing by his bedside, disheveled, her clothes a mess.

I didn't raise my voice. I just looked at her and said, "Cut ties with him right now. We can still make this work."

Her eyes filled with conflict. She hesitated.

Then she reached down and took his hand.

My fiancée didn't look at me. Just kept her head down.

That gesture was more brutal than if she'd said, "I choose him."

I heard something inside me shatter.

"Fine."

I turned to the nurse who had just walked in. "Prep the OR. I'm doing the surgery."

Claire Bishop immediately grabbed my arm, panicked. "No! Ethan, you can't operate on him. Get another doctor. You have to get someone else."

I looked down at her hand gripping me and let out a cold laugh.

"You ran off with another man on our wedding night. You're not afraid of that.

"But now you're scared I'll do something to him on the operating table?"

I laughed again—bitter this time—and pulled my arm away.

"Don't worry. You might not have any ethics, but I still have mine. I'm a doctor, first and foremost. After this surgery, we're getting a divorce."

Claire's lips parted. Guilt washed over her face.

But before she could say anything, the guy in the bed—Noah Patterson—grabbed the hem of her coat.

"Claire, I'm scared," he whimpered. "I don't want him. Please. Not him."

He shrank back from me, his eyes full of fear.

Claire's guilt vanished. In its place, pure tenderness. She shoved me aside and planted herself in front of Noah like a shield.

"Get away from him! I'm demanding another doctor. Ethan, you are not doing this surgery."

She couldn't look me in the eye. Her voice dropped, soft and pleading.

"I know I've wronged you. I know that. When this is over, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

My heart turned to ice.

My life. My marriage. The betrayal and humiliation I'd suffered on my wedding night.

And in her eyes, all of it was just something she could compensate me for.

The scene unfolding outside the ER doors had become a full-blown spectacle. Everyone was watching.

"Wait, isn't that Dr. Anders? Isn't he supposed to be at his wedding today?"

"His wife ran off with another guy on their wedding night. To the hospital. Of all places."

"Think there's something wrong with him? You know, down there?"

Malice. Gossip. Pity. Contempt.

All of it wrapped around me like a net, choking me.

And my new wife—the woman who had just promised to love and cherish me—stood there defending another man, offering me up as public entertainment.

Claire got what she wanted. She threw a fit, and the department head caved.

The chief patted my shoulder. His eyes were complicated. Finally, all he said was, "Go take a break."

I didn't move.

I stood there and watched Claire carefully escort Noah into the operating room.

She didn't look back at me. Not once. All her focus, all her concern—it all belonged to him.

My colleagues wanted to say something comforting, but no one knew how. They just looked at me with those half-open mouths and pitying eyes.

I leaned against the cold wall and called my assistant.

"Put a freeze on all current projects and funding with the Bishop Group."

There was a pause on the other end. "All of them, sir? Some of these projects are already mid-execution."