My Cheating Surgeon Wife

Shawn's POV

"These past three years, I couldn't have won this award without Dr. Ann Hartigan's support..."

Ann stood at the foot of the stage, unable to hide the pride on her face. Around me, admiring murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Dr. Hartigan has always been fierce about protecting her own from the start. Her mother-in-law nearly died on the operating table, and she still never pushed for accountability."

"That's not even the half of it. With her backing, Craig's been racking up awards at this hospital nonstop. They're basically a power couple."

By the time I came back to myself, my face had gone ice cold. The woman who'd once sworn to get justice for me was coddling the man responsible for the crime like some prized flower.

After Craig McDermott stepped down from the stage, he suddenly pulled Ann close by the waist, his face full of wounded feelings.

"So many people keep bringing up what happened three years ago. Do you blame me for it?"

Ann pinched his cheek, doting.

"Silly. That was never your fault. With me backing you, no one would dare give you trouble. That little mess doesn't mean anything next to your happiness. I'm here for you."

Craig was so moved he wiped at his eyes.

My heart had already been ground to dust. It was my mother's paralysis that had sent me into three straight years of despair, years I'd only survived by medicating through them.

Time and again, aching with concern, Ann had helped purge the sleeping pills from my system after I'd taken too many, murmuring, "Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. I'm here."

Hearing her say the same words to another man now felt absurd.

I was about to walk over and confront them when Craig, smirking, slipped a condom into the pocket of Ann's white coat. "To celebrate the award, I'll put in some effort tonight. Five rounds, just for you."

Sweat beaded faintly on Ann's forehead, a flush of desire crossing her face.

On the eve of our wedding, she'd handed me a diagnosis: clinical frigidity. "Our married life might not be much to speak of. You should think it over carefully before we go through with this."

We married anyway. Afterward, I tried everything I could think of to please her, and none of it ever worked. Across eight years of marriage, intimacy between us had been rare, and at its worst she'd kick me out of our own bedroom.

In the middle of one of their charged, intimate moment, my phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

Ann turned and looked at me, and I saw the panic flash across her face before she caught herself, smoothing back into composure and moving to shield Craig like she was guarding something precious.

"Let me walk you home first," she told him.

She brushed past my shoulder on her way out, and I had to grab the wall just to stay upright.

No wonder she'd never once let me set foot at a hospital function in eight years. She'd already had a "family member" standing beside her the whole time.

My phone still held the message I'd sent her earlier that night: [You might be seeing me sooner than you think. Miss me?]

She never replied.

I called again anyway, unwilling to let it go, wanting nothing more than an explanation that made sense.

She hung up within seconds.

The next time I called, her phone was off.

There was nothing left for me to misunderstand. I dialed my lawyer instead.

"Draw me up a divorce agreement."