Surgical Exit from Marriage

Synopsis

I traced invisible suture patterns on my forearm, a nervous habit I'd developed during my residency years. The plush velvet armchair in the Fifth Avenue hotel lobby should have felt luxurious, but after two hours of waiting, it had become my prison. The crystal chandelier overhead cast a warm glow that felt increasingly mocking as the minutes ticked by. 7:30 PM. The Broadway show would start in thirty minutes. I checked my phone again and typed another message to Marcus. *Are you on your way? The show starts at 8.* The three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared. My heart quickened. Finally, a response after my fifth message of the evening. *Can't make it. Emergency conference in London with the European Neurology Board. Amanda's presenting our research. Taking the red-eye tonight. Don't wait up.* I read the message twice, my fingers hovering over the screen. This trip—our first real date in months—had been planned for weeks. Marcus had even suggested it himself, a rare occurrence that had filled me with pathetic hope. *But we planned this weeks ago.