Chapter 1
For the three days Ethan Hayes was away at a medical symposium, his phone stayed completely off.
It was already nine o'clock at night when he walked through the front door.The house was completely dark, from the foyer to the living room.He felt around for the switch and flicked it on.That's when he saw me sitting alone on the couch.
"Why's it pitch black in here? Where's Mom?" he asked, dropping his luggage and loosening his tie. "That medical symposium was brutal. Three days with my phone off—finally, some peace for my ears."
"Check your phone," I said.
He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and pressed the power button. The moment the screen lit up, notifications exploded onto the display.
The alert tone kept going for nearly twenty seconds.
He frowned as he swiped open the screen. The top message was from the emergency department at St. Matthew Medical Center, sent three days ago at 11:47 PM.
[Dr. Hayes, your mother was in a car accident. She suffered a comminuted fracture in her right leg and urgently needs surgery. Immediate family signature required. Please call back as soon as possible.]
******
He looked up at me, the color drained from his face, like he'd just been punched in the gut.
"What happened to Mom? Where is she?" he asked.
I didn't answer. Instead, I slid the printed call log across the coffee table to him.
There were eighty-nine outgoing calls, all from me to him. Every single one ended with the same message: [Call failed.]
"Your leg is gone," I said, staring straight into his eyes, pausing on every word. "No—it's your mom's leg. Her right leg, below the knee. Amputation."
Ethan's face drained of color.
He grabbed his keys and bolted for the door, and I made no move to stop him or go after him.
I sat on the couch, listening as his car engine roared to life. The tires screeched against the pavement, then faded into the night.
The living room fell silent again.
I glanced down at the coffee table. Next to the eighty-nine call logs, there was something else.
It was a printed screenshot from a Social Media Platform. Sophia Bennett had posted an update with two VIP concert tickets, tagged at the Grand Metropolitan Theater, three hundred kilometers away.
The post was dated three days ago.
My name is Lina Parker. I'm twenty-eight years old. I've been married to Ethan for three years, and for all three of those years, I've been a stay-at-home wife.
Before I married Ethan, I was a graduate student at Westbridge Medical School. My mentor, Katherine Morgan, an expert in orthopedics, always said I was the most gifted student she'd ever taught.
She helped me secure a state-level research project, and I was set to stay on at the hospital after graduation.
Ethan was known for his exceptional surgical skills, and half the nurses in the department seemed to blush whenever someone mentioned his name.
He spent six months winning me over, showing up with breakfast every morning and hurrying to the lab to pick me up after finishing surgery.
My mother used to say, "He's dependable. That's the kind of man you marry."
On our wedding day, he said, "You don't need to study anymore. I'll take care of you."
The whole room erupted in applause. Everyone said I was lucky to have found such a responsible man.
I believed him. I dropped my research project, withdrew from school, moved into the house he bought, and became a stay-at-home wife
In our first year of marriage, Ethan was promoted to Associate Chief. The following year, he was fast-tracked to Chief of Orthopedics, becoming the youngest department head in the city and one of St. Matthew Medical Center's biggest stars.
He got busier and busier—meetings, business trips, medical symposiums. He was home less than ten days a month.
My days were spent grocery shopping, cooking, and looking after his mom.
Ethan's mom, Grace Hayes, was an incredibly picky woman. Whether the food was too salty or not salty enough, she'd find something to complain about. After I mopped the floor, she'd run her hand across it to check for water streaks.
If a towel wasn't folded exactly the way she liked it, I'd be hearing about it for the rest of the day.
I put up with it for three years. Because Ethan said, "Treating my mom well is the same as treating me well."
Three days earlier, Ethan told me he was heading to a medical symposium and would be unreachable for the next three days because all attendees had to turn in their phones.
I didn't think much of it. This wasn't the first time.
The night he left, I made Grace's favorite Slow-Cooked Pork Stew, brought it to her room, and sat with her to watch an episode of her favorite show.
The next afternoon at four, Grace said she wanted to go to the market to buy some fresh fish. I offered to go, but she refused, saying I never picked fish fresh enough and insisted on doing it herself.
As she headed out, I reminded her, "Mom, watch out for cars on the way."
By seven that evening, she still hadn't come back.
I tried calling her, but her phone was off.
At eight, I got a call from the emergency department at St. Matthew Medical Center.
"Are you a family member of Ethan Hayes? The patient, Grace Hayes, was in a car accident. She suffered a comminuted fracture in her right leg and is losing a lot of blood. She's in critical condition and needs immediate surgery. We need her next of kin to come sign the consent form right away."
I got to the hospital in fifteen minutes.