My Private Evening Breeze & Moonlight
The title of one post was explosive: [Im an escort, and I fell in love with the doctor who treated my private tearing.]
It detailed the entire story of how they met.
The post mentioned that the doctor, to stop her from continuing her work, had used his own money to buy her gold jewelry, enough to support her for a year.
The comment section was on fire:
[Im a simple person. I live for this kind of knight in shining armor story!]
[Oh my god, this is like a real-life redemption novel. You two have to have a happy ending!]
[FYI, gold jewelry is considered the womans personal property and is a hard asset that can be liquidated anytime. The amount of love and consideration that must have gone into that decision is insane.]
Then, the original poster updated her story:
[Hes the first person who has ever been so good to me. But he keeps rejecting me because he has a fiance hes about to marry.]
[Ive thrown myself at him so many times, and tonight, he finally accepted me. I know its wrong, but I love him so much.]
Through my screen, I watched the commenters turn on a dime, branding her a home-wrecker.
In the midst of the chaos, the poster uploaded a picture of the mans profile as he slept beside her.
1
The lighting was dim, the angle taken from the intimacy of a shared pillow.
I knew that face all too well. It was Tim.
My boyfriend of seven years. The man I was about to marry, the man I was currently in a cold war with over a set of gold jewelry.
Three days ago, we had fought while planning our wedding.
My parents werent asking for a lavish wedding gift, but they insisted on the tradition of the groom gifting a wedding seta collection of gold jewelryas a sign of respect and a blessing for their daughter.
Tim argued that buying gold when the prices were so high was a complete waste of money. He thought it would be better to put that money toward our mortgage.
Audrey, were both highly educated people. Why are you so hung up on these outdated customs? hed said, his brow furrowed with the same weary patience he used on unreasonable patients.
His expression stung me. I tried to explain. What custom? My parents arent even asking for anything else. They just hope I...
Hope you what? Can show off to everyone how well you married with pounds of gold hanging off your neck? he interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. If you think me not buying some gold means I dont value you, then maybe we shouldnt get married at all.
The argument ended with him slamming the door on his way out.
He went to the hospital, claiming there was an emergency surgery. But I knew it was mostly to avoid me.
This was the longest cold war wed ever had in our seven years together. For three whole days, he had sent only two texts. The first said, On call for the next few days. The second, Remember to lock the door.
And now, at three in the morning, he was in some escorts confessional post, playing the role of the romantic hero.
The post was going viral, and the comments section was a war zone. Some called the poster a homewrecker, others still romanticized the "rescue" narrative, and a few were meticulously picking apart the timeline. I scrolled through them like a form of self-torture, my fingertips turning to ice.
Six months ago, the poster had been injured during a particularly rough encounter with a client and was taken to the hospital, where she met Tim.
[He was the ER doctor on call that night. My private area was torn, and he was so gentle when he applied the medicine. He even asked if it hurt.]
[When I went back for a follow-up, he told me the wound wasnt healing well and that I needed to be more careful. No one had ever cared about me like that before.]
[I deliberately left him my number, saying I was worried about complications. He actually added me.]
[I know he has a girlfriend. He said they were getting married soon. But I couldnt control myself. He was the first person to ever be kind to me.]
[I asked him out to dinner to thank him. He refused at first, saying it wasnt appropriate. But I insisted, and he finally came.]
[We had a few drinks, and I cried on his shoulder, telling him about my life, why I was in this line of work. He held me.]
[Later, when I went back to the club, he got angry. I told him I had no other way to make a living. Thats when he bought me a whole set of gold jewelry.]
[He said it was all his savings and that I should use it to get by for a year while he helped me find a new job and a place to live.]
[I cried in his arms, and this time, he didnt mention his girlfriend we got together.]
The latest update had been posted just moments ago:
[Hes sleeping next to me now. His breathing is so soft.]
[His girlfriend must be an amazing woman, but I dont care. Love doesnt follow a schedule.]
The accompanying photo was his sleeping profile.
A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved, but nothing came up.
Seven years.
From classmates in medical school to colleagues at the same hospital. From renting to buying a home, from our youth to the cusp of our thirties. Everyone said we were the model couple, a perfect match. Even I had believed it.
I thought we were just navigating a rough patch, that everything would smooth over once we were married.
But the cracks had formed six months ago.
And I was still foolishly fighting with him over a wedding set, thinking that was our biggest problem.
2
My mind reeled backward in time.
Six months ago, the ER at our hospital did handle a peculiar case. I remember Tim coming home late that night, looking exhausted. When I asked him what was wrong, he just said hed dealt with a difficult patient and didnt elaborate.
What kind of patient? I had asked casually.
A young woman with an injury to her private area. Said she was a hostess from one of those clubs, he said, his tone dismissive. Took a long time to handle.
Was it serious?
Quite serious. Looked like she was assaulted. He hesitated. But its been taken care of.
At the time, I didnt think anything of it. I even comforted him. Thats just how the ER is. You see everything.
He hummed in agreement and pulled me into his arms. Audrey, Im so glad youre a normal person.
I had laughed then. Whats that supposed to mean? Did you want me to end up in your ER?
He was silent for a long moment before whispering, I just want you to be safe. Always.
He held me so tightly that night, as if he were afraid of losing something. I thought it was just a doctors natural reaction to a patients suffering, and I ended up comforting him.
How ironic.
I curled up on the living room sofa, staring at the photos on the wall. One was from our trip to the Grand Canyon last year. He had his arm around my shoulder, his smile bright and genuine.
We had bought this condo together two years ago, splitting the down payment, both our names on the deed. We argued over the design style, bickered over which brand of appliances to buy, and without fail, I was always the one to compromise first.
I thought that was what a marriage was supposed to be. Compromise, adjustment, and moving forward together.
I was wrong.
As dawn approached, I made my decision.
Screenshots. Saved. Backed up to three different cloud drives.
Then, I called Tim.
It rang seven or eight times. Just as I thought he wouldn't pick up, the call connected. The background was silent, not at all like the bustling on-call room at the hospital.
Audrey? Why are you calling at this hour? Is something wrong?
Tim, I asked, my voice flat. Where are you?
Where else would I be? The on-call room. Just got a few minutes of sleep after dealing with a critical patient. He yawned, his performance seamless. Why are you still awake? Did you come to your senses? I told you, that whole thing with the gold set
I want to see you, I cut him off.
What?
Turn on your video. I want to see you, I repeated.
Silence on the other end for a few seconds.
Audrey, dont be ridiculous. There are other people in here, its not appropriate. Whatever it is, can we talk about it tomorrow? Please? His voice softened, but there was an undercurrent of impatience I could now clearly detect. I used to think it was gentleness; now I recognized it as manipulation.
Turn on the video, Tim. Right now, I insisted.
I told you, Im on call! Audrey, can you please be a little more considerate and respect my work? His voice suddenly sharpened, laced with the anger of someone who has been challenged.
I dont know when it started, but anytime I didnt go along with him, I was immediately labeled inconsiderate and unreasonable.
Tim, I heard my own voice tremble, Im leaving for the hospital now. Ill be there in half an hour. Be there.
Audrey! What the hell has gotten into you? Its five-thirty in the morning
I hung up the phone.
3
I didnt go to the hospital.
After hanging up, I sat motionless on the sofa until the morning light filled the room. My phone screen lit up and dimmed repeatedly. Tim called three times; I didnt answer.
Finally, two texts came through: [Audrey, Im sorry. My tone was bad earlier.]
[But I really dont want you driving at this hour. I have the afternoon off today. Can we please talk then?]
I stared at the message for a long time, then waited until precisely thirty minutes had passed before replying with a single word: Fine.
I needed time to think, and more importantly, I needed proof. Without concrete evidence, he had a hundred ways to shift the blame, maybe even paint me as paranoid and overly sensitive.
I cross-referenced Tims work schedule with his attendance records for the past six months. Then I went to the jewelry store mentioned in the post.
After I had everything, I intended to go home and wait for him.
I never expected to be stopped at the entrance of our building by a scantily clad woman. She looked to be in her early twenties, with heavy makeup and a tight-fitting slip dress.
Youre Audrey, right? she asked, her voice deliberately soft and breathy.
I stopped. And you are?
My name is Vivian, she said with a timid smile. Im an admirer of Dr. Tim.
My heart sank.
Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, a blatant, calculating comparison in her gaze. Dr. Tim talks about you a lot. He says youre brilliant, the rising star of neurosurgery.
And? I asked, my face impassive.
Suddenly, her eyes reddened. Before I could react, she dropped to her knees in front of me with a soft thud.
Please, Im begging you, let me and Dr. Tim be together!
It was the time of day when people were getting home from work. Passersby started to stare.
What are you doing? Get up! I took a step back, the absurdity of the situation overwhelming me.
But Vivian only knelt lower, pressing her palms together in a pleading gesture as tears streamed down her face. I know Im not worthy, she sobbed. I do that kind of work. Im tainted. But Dr. Tim is the first person who didnt look down on me. He genuinely wants to save me.
He said youre too ambitious, that you always have to have the best of everything. Even for your wedding, you insisted on buying the gold set when prices are at their peak, without any consideration for him.
He said being with you is so much pressure. Youre always so calm and rational, never a vulnerable woman who needs him.
Youre so successful, Audrey. Youll be fine without him. But I cant live without him. Please, Im begging you, give him to me
Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, striking me where it hurt most.
So, in his eyes, my wanting the wedding set was inconsiderate. My independence and strength were a failure to be a vulnerable woman. All my compromises and sacrifices in our relationship had become nothing but pressure for him.
I stood there, watching Vivians performance, a chilling cold seeping into my bones. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered, whispering and pointing.
Is that the other woman, trying to force the fiance out?
She looks so young, why would she do something like this
Well, shes on her knees. Must be desperate.
Just then, a familiar car screeched to a halt in front of us. Tim burst out of the drivers side, his face a thunderous mask.
His eyes first landed on Vivian, kneeling on the ground, a portrait of tear-streaked misery. Only then did he look at me.
Audrey! What are you doing?! he roared, lunging forward to pull Vivian to her feet.
Vivian collapsed into his arms, her sobs growing louder. Dr. Tim, don't blame her. It was my idea to kneel. I just wanted to beg her to let us be together
Tim held her protectively, his gaze shifting back to me, filled with disappointment and fury. Audrey, I never thought you were this kind of person! Vivian isnt well, shes emotionally unstable. What do you get out of tormenting her?!
First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "322256" to read the entire book.
MotoNovel
Novellia
Bookworm« Previous Post
The AC War