Chapter 1
When I stepped down from the operating table, the nurse handed me a divorce agreement.
Three months ago, my husband, Jonathan Grant, broke both my legs with a golf club, right in front of all our friends and family.
He forced me to grovel and confess I was a "slut", all just to please his first love, Wendy Stone.
But what they didn't know was that I was the only surgeon in the country capable of extracting special shrapnel.
The next day, Jonathan was rushed to the ER. His secretary reported, "Mr. Grant, Mrs. Grant is the only one in the country who can remove the shrapnel in your abdomen, but she moved abroad yesterday."
Jonathan went berserk, smashing everything in sight, but it was already too late.
*****
I stepped down from the operating table, my legs still in casts.
The nurse helped me into the wheelchair and handed me a document.
It was a divorce agreement.
Jonathan's bold signature in the signatory section practically burned into my vision, making my eyes ache.
The nurse said softly, "Dr. Evans, Mr. Grant's lawyer just dropped this off. He said you should sign it once you're awake."
I nodded, took the pen, and tried to steady myself.
My fingers were still numb from the anesthesia, refusing to cooperate.
The memory of that afternoon three months ago came rushing back to me.
Jonathan hauled me out onto the villa's lawn, right in front of all our friends and family.
He held a golf club in his hand, his gaze icy. "Grace, apologize to Wendy."
Wendy, his precious first love, stood behind him, crying like a fragile flower.
She accused me, the wife, of cursing her behind her back.
I never did.
I just told her to stay away from a married man.
Jonathan refused to believe me.
He only ever believed his precious Wendy.
The crack of the golf club against my legs still rang in my ears.
It hurt—an excruciating, soul-piercing pain.
Jonathan forced me to grovel and confess I was a "slut", a jealous, spiteful woman—all just to please his beloved Wendy.
Not a single friend or family member spoke up for me.
They just watched, like I was some kind of joke.
Jonathan broke both my legs.
By the time I got to the hospital, I almost passed out from blood loss.
My own colleagues at the hospital were the ones who operated on me.
They looked at my legs, their eyes red from holding back tears.
I lay in that hospital bed for three months, and Jonathan never once showed up.
Only his lawyer, right on cue, showed up the moment I could finally stand, handing me the divorce agreement.
Great.
I picked up the pen and, letter by letter, signed my name at the end of the agreement.
I wrote it slowly, with deliberate force.
The nurse watched me, clearly taken aback.
She probably thought I'd cry, throw a fit, or go crazy and rip the agreement apart. But I didn't.
I calmly handed the signed agreement back to her. "Thank you."
She said, "Dr. Evans, you..."
"Help me with the discharge papers," I said. "Now."
My friend May had already packed up all my things a month ago.
I would never set foot in the Grant residence again.
That place was my hell.
After the nurse left, I slowly wheeled myself over to the window.
Down below, Jonathan's lawyer was leaning against a black Bentley, smoking.
He was probably just waiting for the signed agreement, so he could hand it over to his boss and be done with it.
My phone buzzed softly.
It was a message from May. [Grace, everything's ready. The apartment's in Newport City, just a short walk from the hospital where you're gonna start working. Your flight's booked for 7 tonight.]
I replied: [Okay.]
Right there in my pocket was another phone, with a fresh SIM card already in place.
My new life began the moment I signed my name.
Jonathan, this was goodbye for good.
*****
I didn't bother with the lawyer. I just slipped out through the hospital's back door.
May's car was already waiting for me.
When she saw the casts on my legs, her eyes filled with tears. "That bastard!"
I patted her hand. "It's over now, May. It's all in the past."
"Are you really sure about this? You're just going to leave everything behind and walk out with nothing?"
I looked out the window, watching the city streets fly by.
I'd spent twenty-eight years in this city, loving one man for ten of them.
And in the end, all I got were scars.
"Yeah," I replied.
Jonathan made sure the divorce agreement stated that all marital assets would belong to him.
I left with nothing.
He thought it would humiliate me.
But what he didn't realize was that my greatest wealth was never his money. It was my skills and my mind.
I was Grace Evans, the only surgeon in the country capable of extracting specialized shrapnel from beside complex arteries.
*****
At 7 PM, the plane took off right on schedule.
I ditched my old SIM card for good.
As the city lights faded away outside the window, I closed my eyes.
Everything from my past stayed behind, thirty thousand feet below me.
When I opened my eyes again, I'd be the new chief surgeon at Newport City Hospital.