Chapter 1
After my husband, Michael Shaw, the head of surgery, confessed that he'd fallen for the new resident, he said flatly, "The houses, the cars, and the stocks are all yours. I'm going to be with Claire Bennett."
I didn't cry or make a scene. I nodded, took out my phone, opened the calculator app, added up the three properties, two cars, and every investment account, and signed the divorce agreement without hesitation.
He froze. He had thought I would scream myself hoarse asking why, and that I would refuse to let go the way I once argued with a fruit stand owner over a thirty-cent difference.
But all I said was, "I wish you happiness." Seven years later, he appeared in front of me with that woman. Beside me was a little girl who looked exactly like him.
*****
There was a new resident in the department.
That night, when Michael Shaw came home for dinner, he casually mentioned, "We got a new resident. She's pretty inexperienced, so I'm planning to show her the ropes."
I paused mid-bite.
In six years of marriage, he'd never talked about anyone at the hospital to me.
Besides, he was the head of thoracic surgery, with a dozen people working for him. When did he ever personally train a resident?
I set my fork down and looked at him. "Is it a guy or a girl?"
He kept his eyes on his plate. "A girl. Just graduated. Her name's Claire Bennett."
He sounded almost indifferent.
I let it go.
But from that day on, he started working overtime a lot more. He'd come home at eight, then ten, then half past eleven. Sometimes, he'd come back smelling like perfume that wasn't from the hospital.
I noticed everything.
Three weeks later, I waited for him to come home, set the table, and sat across from him.
"Michael," I said.
He looked up at me.
I held up two fingers. "You have two choices. One, get Claire transferred to another department. Two, we get divorced."
He set his fork down and stared at me for a long time.
He didn't deny it, didn't explain, and didn't make a choice.
That night, he slept in the study. The door was shut, and as I passed by, the smell of cigarettes lingered, he must've been chain-smoking. Michael never smoked, not even when he was stressed.
I went back to the bedroom, turned off the lights, and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
When morning came, I heard the study door open. Footsteps approached, stopping right outside the bedroom door.
The door opened.
Michael stood in the doorway, holding a stack of papers. He hadn't slept all night, and his eyes were rimmed with exhaustion.
"Rachel," he said as he walked over and set the stack of papers on the nightstand. "This is the divorce agreement. I wrote it myself."
I sat up but didn't take the papers.
He stood by the bed, his hands hanging at his sides.
"I owe you for the past six years. Everything's yours, three houses, two cars, the stock accounts. I'm not taking a dime," Michael said.
I looked at him.
"I'm choosing Claire," Michael said.
There was a moment of silence.
I reached for the agreement and flipped to the first page.
"I'll use the calculator on my phone to check the numbers," I said.
The three properties were worth a little over 4.7 million dollars altogether.
Two cars, his Mercedes and my Porsche.
There was still about 670,000 dollars in the stock accounts.
I checked each item, and he stood quietly by my side, watching.
He didn't utter a single word throughout.
When I was done, I opened the nightstand drawer and grabbed a pen.
I flipped to the last page, to the signature line.
I signed my name, Rachel Lane, and set the pen down.
"It's done," I said.
Michael was stunned. He stared at the page where I'd signed, not moving for a long moment.
"You signed it, just like that?" he asked.
"You want to be with her, right? I'm making it easy for you," I replied.
He frowned and said something so absurd I nearly burst out laughing.