Stubborn Hearts

Scenes from the past flashed through my mind one after another, and a surge of anger flared in my chest.

"Jeremiah, why weren't you this forceful back then?"

I hurled the words at him and turned to leave.

The moment I stepped out, the nurses swarmed around me.

"Dr. Holloway, do you know the new hospital director?"

I shook my head.

"Hey, Dr. Holloway, Dr. Luthenstein is so young. I heard he graduated from Redmont Medical Academy, and he's still single."

As soon as those words were spoken, several gossip-hungry nurses piled in, talking over one another.

The noise grated on my nerves.

"That's enough. He's married. And divorced."

Ignoring their stunned expressions, I picked up my bag and got ready to clock out.

"How do you know that so clearly?" a young nurse asked, hurrying after me.

I sneered. Of course, I knew—because I was the ex-wife he had misunderstood.

I didn't answer. I walked straight toward the elevator.

I had warned myself countless times that I would never let the past hurt me again. Yet, when an old lover reappeared as my superior, my heart still stirred in spite of everything.

I had been married to Jeremiah Luthenstein for five years.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, I had carefully prepared a candlelit dinner, planning to celebrate with him.

Instead, he confessed his love to Yvonne Zimmerman—my closest friend—on the hospital rooftop.

Overnight, they became Verdale's perfect medical pair.

The sweet blessings, the heartfelt confession, the joyful laughter—none of it had anything to do with me. I could only clear away the dinner I had prepared and hide alone in the on-call room.

That morning, when Jeremiah left the house, he had promised we would celebrate properly.

So this was what he meant by celebrating.

As I stared at the footage of them in each other's arms, an unfamiliar bitterness clogged my throat.

I couldn't even remember the last time he touched me.

I once thought it was because he was too busy with work. Now I understood. The woman he wanted was simply not me.

If that were the case, I would let him go.

I picked up the phone and called him. His voice was as cold as ever. "What is it?"

I wanted to lay it all out in the open. I tried to speak several times, but in the end, the words wouldn't come.

"Where are you?"

"In a meeting," he answered without the slightest hesitation, even though I could clearly hear Yvonne's laughter on the line.

I laughed at myself. Since I already knew the answer, why humiliate myself further?

"Jeremiah, let's get a divorce."

He was silent for a moment before responding, his words carrying a trace of anger. "Queenie, what are you playing at now?"

"I'll email you the divorce papers."

With that, I hung up.

I began packing up my personal belongings in the office, preparing to transfer out of this hospital.

The things I planned to throw away were the matching couple of mugs, the photos from our overnight shifts together, and the stethoscope he had given me.

Only then did I realize something painfully ironic. Every piece of evidence of our love had been bought by me.