Surgery For My Signed DivorceChapter 2

The next morning, I was at the hospital by 6:00 AM.

Our hospital is one of the most prestigious in the state. Janet is a primary shareholder and a chief of surgery; I’m "just" an Associate Professor of Neurology.

I hadn’t even had a sip of coffee before I was paged to the ER for a trauma consult. I ran into Janet right at the double doors.

A pregnant woman had been brought in after a multi-car pileup. She was in critical condition, requiring a coordinated effort between OB-GYN and Neurosurgery.

When we were working, Janet and I were seamless. We dropped the personal baggage and operated with a cold, clinical precision. It was the only language we still shared.

When the surgery was finally over and the patient was stabilized, the scrub nurse leaned against the counter, grinning. "You two are seriously a powerhouse. Dr. Miller and Dr. Miller... it’s like you can read each other's minds. It’d be a crime if you guys weren't together."

Janet’s face darkened instantly. She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp correction, but I beat her to it.

"Don't start rumors," I said, my voice flat as I stripped off my gloves. "I’m just a staff doctor. I’m hardly in Dr. Miller’s league."

Most of the hospital didn't know we were married. Janet insisted on it, saying she hated "nepotism" and "mixing business with pleasure." In the past, whenever someone suggested we’d make a great couple, I’d smile secretly, comforted by the idea that even strangers saw our connection.

Now, the comparison made my skin crawl.

"So, what's the 'dream girl' look like then, Dr. Miller?" the nurse teased.

Janet’s silhouette flashed in my mind—the way she looked in the light of an OR, the way she used to look before she got tired of me. I paused, pretending to think.

"Honestly?" I said. "Aside from my career and my bank account, I don't have room to love anything else."

The nurse burst out laughing.

Behind me, Janet’s voice cut through the air. "Dr. Miller, I have a question about the post-op vitals. My office. Now."

The nurse took the hint and hurried off. I followed Janet to her office and sat across from her mahogany desk.

"What's the question?" I asked.

Janet didn't look at the charts. She looked at me. "You didn't come home last night. Where were you? You know how I feel about cleanliness, Bennett. If I find out you were out doing something..."

A smirk touched my lips, cutting her off. "Dr. Miller, we’re on the clock. This isn't the time for personal matters."

I remembered a year ago, when I’d texted her during a lunch break to ask what she wanted for dinner. She’d pulled me into a hallway, checked for witnesses, and hissed at me about "professionalism" and "boundaries." I hadn't brought up our personal life at work since.

Janet looked like I’d slapped her with her own rulebook. She sat there, stunned, before her face hardened into a mask of irritation. "Fine. Get out."

As I reached for the door handle, I turned back and gave her a small, polite smile. "Dr. Miller, while you're at it, could you ask my wife if it was 'appropriate' for me to come home last night, given the circumstances?"

She winced. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes, but I didn't wait for her to process it. I shut the door behind me.

Just before my shift ended, I got a text from her. It was a screenshot of two tickets to a Broadway touring show for that night.

I knew what it was. An olive branch. A "get out of jail free" card she thought she could play.

I sent a final confirmation to my lawyer, checked my rounds, and headed out. I planned to go, if only to use the intermission to talk about the divorce.

But as I walked out of the main entrance, I saw Janet’s silver Porsche idling at the curb. Toby was in the driver's seat.

Janet walked right past me, climbed into the passenger side, and they sped off together.

Five minutes later, my phone chimed. “Toby had an emergency. Something he needs help with. Wait for me at the theater, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I didn't go to the theater. I went straight to my lawyer’s office.

After we finished the paperwork, I drove to the cinema near my hotel. I picked up a ticket for a sci-fi flick—something Janet always called "childish" and "a waste of brainpower." I sat in the dark with a bucket of buttery popcorn and a large soda.

In the past, I had force-fed myself her "refined" tastes. I’d eaten the kale salads, the unseasoned fish, the "clean" lifestyle she insisted on. But according to Toby’s Instagram, she’d spent the last five days eating tacos and greasy burgers with him.

I had spent seven years trying to be the man she wanted, only to realize she didn't even want that man.

There was no other path left.