The Day I Asked for Divorce

Synopsis

It was two o'clock in the morning when Arthur Russell finally peeled off his surgical gown. The scrub nurse was struggling to keep her eyes open. Murmuring a quiet, "Thanks for staying late," he stooped to count the remaining instruments himself, laying them one by one into the tray. Under the harsh white lights of the operating theatre, his shadow stretched across the floor like a long stain. At the sink, he turned on the tap and let the cold water run over his hands. The pale indentations left by years of surgical gloves stood out against his skin in the unforgiving light. Along the inside of his left forearm ran an old 3 inches scar, faded to a chalky white. He lifted his head and caught sight of himself in the mirror. His dark brown eyes were webbed with red. Today was his thirtieth birthday. It was also the third anniversary of his marriage to Maisy Russell. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Drying his hands, he pulled it out and checked the screen. The message had arrived at seven that evening, while he had still been in surgery. It was from Maisy. [Dinner with investors tonight. We'll celebrate another day.] That was all. There was no "Happy birthday." There was no "Happy anniversary." He stared at the screen until it dimmed and went black, leaving only his own reflection staring back at him. Then he opened the keyboard, typed a single reply, and pressed send. [Okay.]