Six hours.
Hunt had been standing in the waiting room for six hours. The ashtray near the emergency exit was overflowing with his cigarettes. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't drunk water. He just stared at the OR doors.
Jeffrey walked up, holding a tablet. He looked pale.
"Boss," Jeffrey said quietly. "I got the dossier."
Hunt snatched the tablet.
Dr. Dianna Campbell.
Board Certified Cardiothoracic Surgeon.
M.D., Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.
Residency and Fellowship, University of Zurich.
Heir to the Campbell Medical Group.
Hunt felt the blood drain from his face. The Campbell Medical Group? One of the largest pharmaceutical conglomerates in the world? He remembered her talking about medical school before they were married, but he'd dismissed it as a silly hobby. He had encouraged her to drop out.
"She's not a gold digger," Hunt whispered. The realization was a physical blow to his gut. "She's richer than I am."
The red light above the OR doors turned off.
Hunt dropped the tablet on a chair and straightened his jacket.
The doors opened. Dianna walked out. She had removed the surgical cap, and her honey-blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders. She looked exhausted. There were lines from the mask pressed into her cheeks.
She saw him. She didn't flinch.
Hunt walked toward her, stopping three feet away. The air between them crackled with four years of silence.
"Dianna." His voice was rough, like gravel.
"Mr. Brennan," she replied. Her tone was professional, distant. "The surgery was successful. We repaired the valve. She's stable."
She tried to walk past him.
Hunt stepped in her path. "Mr. Brennan? Is that what you call your husband now?"
Dianna looked at him, really looked at him. "My husband died four years ago, the night he threw me out into the rain."
Hunt flinched. "I didn't throw you out. You left. You disappeared." He reached for her arm. "Where have you been? Why did you hide this?" He gestured to her scrubs.
Dianna side-stepped his touch, jamming her hands into the deep pockets of her white coat. It was a barrier.
"You never asked," she said simply. "You assumed. You decided I was a trophy, so I played the trophy. It was easier than trying to convince you I had a brain."
"We need to talk," Hunt demanded. "Come home."
Dianna laughed. It was a dry, brittle sound. "I have a home. It's not with you."
"We are still married," Hunt hissed, leaning in. "I shredded the papers, Dianna. I never signed them."
Dianna's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. "The law says otherwise. Abandonment. Separation. I'll have my lawyers send you a copy."
"I don't care about the law!" Hunt's voice rose, turning heads in the waiting room. "You are my wife!"
"Lower your voice," she commanded. "This is a hospital."
She stepped around him. "I have rounds to finish. Goodbye, Mr. Brennan."
She walked away. Her back was straight, her head high.
Hunt watched her go. He wanted to chase her, to tackle her, to drag her back to his reality. But the Chief of Staff intercepted him to discuss Clare's recovery.
Dianna made it to the locker room before her knees gave out. She sat on the bench, putting her head between her knees, breathing deeply.
He shredded the papers.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out. A video message from the nanny.
It was Leo. He was wearing Spiderman pajamas, holding a book. "Mommy, come home! You promised to read the dragon story!"
Dianna smiled, the ice in her chest melting instantly. She kissed the screen.
"I'm coming, baby," she whispered.
She quickly changed into a beige trench coat and oversized sunglasses. She checked the hallway. Hunt was gone.
She slipped out the side exit, ducking into a waiting black sedan.
"Grandfather," she nodded to the old man in the back seat.
"Did he see you?" Arthur asked.
"He knows," Dianna said, looking out the window as the city lights blurred by. "He knows who I am."
"And?"
"And he thinks he still owns me." Dianna's hand curled into a fist. "He's wrong."
