Infertile Lies: My Ex-wife is a Renowned Urologist

The screeching of the tires made Vanessa's back bounce on the seat as her grip tightened around the steering wheel. “This better not be true.” She muttered,pressing her lips as she stared at the hospital's gate. Her throat burned. Was this marriage a lie even after she had forfeited her career? Was it a waste of commitment and effort?” She sucked her teeth, feeling the weight of the betrayal settle like a stone in her chest. She grabbed her bag, and unfolded the document across her lap. As she scanned through the file for the umpteenth time, her fingers hoovered around. She swallowed hard, reached for the door handle and shoved it open. The door slammed behind her. Vanessa clutched the file in her hand, her heels clicking across the parking lot and through the automatic doors. The sharp, pungent sterile scent of isopropyl alcohol mixed with antiseptic dettol and sweet acetone clung to her nostrils but she didn't flinch. Her eyes were too busy searching, scanning fo

“You haven't been picking my calls? Travis said in a hoarse voice, his chest thrusted out, eyes gleaming from Vanessa to Franklin. They folded their arms allowing their silence stretch the room. Travis declined back, his eyes catching the strain that laid on Vanessa's veins. For every long glare, her grip on the paper tightened even more, her knuckles digging through it like she was about to tear it to pieces. “Can someone answer me? What the hell is going on here?” His eyes flushed. Vanessa pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I hate suspense.” He sneered, swirling back slowly. “Attorney Franklin. Has she brought you here as a witness while she signs the surrogacy agreement?” He turned to a seat, his back pressed to the couch.No response came from them.Vanessa stepped forward, pinching her lips tight to keep them from trembling. Lifting her chin, she swallowed hard, stifling back the weakness that burned in her throat. “Travis.” She exhaled deeply. “Fo

The first week of lectures was like drinking from a fire hose. Vanessa was always in the front row of every class, her pen moving across the page of her notebook in tight, neat lines. Urological pathology. Surgical anatomy. Pharmacological interventions. The professors talked fast, assumed literacy, demanded expertise.She worked late in the lab, her eyes stinging as she studied slides under the microscope. Prostate tissue. Bladder biopsies. Renal cell carcinoma. She cross-referenced every slide with her textbooks, scribbled notes in the margins in three different colors, and highlighted sections until the pages resembled abstract paintings.The rest of the experts, most of them younger, just out of residency, were ganging up. They invited her once. She declined politely. They didn't ask again.By Friday her shoulders ached. Not from sitting, from tensing so tightly That I forgot to Breathe. She had a sore jaw from clenching. Her hands tied themselves in knots while she held her pen