Seven Years of Marriage, and I'm Finally Leaving My Surgeon Husband

In the seventh year of our marriage, I went to the hospital to drop off Ethan's dinner, just like I always did.

But outside his office door, I heard his colleagues teasing him, calling a female patient Mrs. Vance.

And Ethan didn't correct them. Instead, he just smiled, tacitly accepting it.

I set his thermos down, turned around, and walked away.

He chased after me, yelling at me for being unreasonable.

"Mia is just a patient! She just had surgery and can't be stressed out."

"I'm a doctor. As my husband's wife, can't you be a little more understanding?"

In the past, I would have thrown a massive fit. I would have turned the hospital upside down.

But now, I truly didn't care anymore.

When Ethan got home, I was already lying in bed.

Last night, he had texted me saying his stomach hurt and he was going to sleep in the doctors' lounge. When I called him, his phone went straight to voicemail.

So I had woken up bright and early today to make him a special bone broth and drove it all the way to the hospital.

If I hadn't seen him looking perfectly healthy while flirting with Mia Sinclair, I probably would have still felt sorry for him.

The mattress dipped as his heavy frame climbed into bed.

Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and whispered, "Honey, why did you go to sleep without waiting for me?"

In the past, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and eagerly reciprocated his hints.

But now, I just wanted a good night's sleep.

Seeing my silence, he took my left hand and gently rubbed it.

"The soup was delicious. I finished it all. Just be careful next time, you burned your hand."

"I'll put some ointment on it for you."

The cool sensation of the medical ointment quickly spread across my palm.

He kissed my left hand and went to take a shower.

As the sound of running water started in the bathroom, I pulled my red, blistered right hand from under the pillow, got up, and applied the ointment to it myself.

While Ethan was showering, his phone kept buzzing on the nightstand.

As a lead cardiothoracic surgeon, he often got late-night calls from the hospital.

Afraid he might miss an emergency, I pressed answer.

Before I could even speak, a sweet, delicate voice came through the speaker.

[Dr. Vance, did you like dinner today? I learned a new recipe. I'll make you slow-roasted short ribs tomorrow.]

Before I could say a word, the phone was violently snatched from my hand.

"Didn't I tell you never to answer my phone?"

His hand gripped exactly where my burn was. He squeezed so hard that a layer of blistered skin peeled right off. Blood immediately began to well up.

I gasped in pain, clutching my hand. He told the person on the phone he'd call back later, then grabbed my wrist again.

"You're such an idiot. You don't even know how to cook, yet you insisted on making soup. Now you're hurt. Serves you right!"

"Sit down! I'll redo the bandages."

It was the middle of summer. If the wound wasn't treated properly, it would easily get infected.

I sat on the couch. He brought out the first-aid kit from the study and knelt in front of me to treat the wound.

He sighed, his tone softening. "Does it hurt, honey?"

I didn't answer. I just felt his grip loosen slightly, and he blew on the wound a few times to ease the pain.

As he stood up, a keychain fell out of his duffel bag.

I picked it up and looked closely. It featured a cartoon dog and cat, with a line of text engraved below: [Hope my Golden Retriever Ethan is happy every day. Yours, Mia the Kitten.]

Ethan frowned. "She gave that to me when she was discharged today. I just accepted it to be polite."

I placed the keychain on the coffee table and said calmly, "Hmm. That was very thoughtful of her."

The air in the room seemed to freeze for a second.

Ethan looked at me in shock. "You want me to keep it? You're not going to throw it away?"

I looked up, feigning confusion. "Why wouldn't you keep it? A harmonious doctor-patient relationship is a good thing. I should be happy for you."

His shock was entirely within my expectations. After all, the old me would have blown up and thrown away anything connected to another woman.

But now, these petty little tricks couldn't stir a single ripple in my heart.

He was about to say something else when a loud crack of thunder shook the house, and the entire room went pitch black. The power went out.

I couldn't help but shrink back. He immediately pulled me into his arms, comforting me softly, "Don't be afraid. I'm right here. Your husband is here."

I had terrible night blindness, so I was terrified of the dark.

Ethan coaxed me gently while reaching for the candles we kept in the drawer.

Right at that moment, his phone rang again.

Mia's sobbing voice was crystal clear in the quiet room.

[Dr. Vance, my power went out and I'm so scared. I feel like my chest is tight and I can't breathe.]

Ethan immediately dropped the candle he was holding, grabbed his car keys, and headed for the door.

"Mia isn't feeling well. I'm just going to go check on her and I'll be right back. Light the candle yourself."

My phone was dead. I blindly felt around with both hands until I found the candle and lighter he'd left behind.

But the candle had no wick. It couldn't be lit.

In my panic in the pitch black, I slammed my waist hard against the corner of the table. A piercing pain shot through my entire body.

Just as I was about to collapse onto the floor, I caught myself with my hands.

But the burned area on my palm took the brunt of the impact. I lay on the floor in the dark, gasping for air like a stranded fish.

A massive thunderstorm raged outside. I sat on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest for three whole hours. Ethan never came back.

The next morning, Ethan rang the doorbell, looking exhausted from the storm. There was a faint smudge of pink lipstick on his collar.

He frowned. "I forgot my keys last night. I knocked on the door all night, why didn't you answer?"

It had rained heavily all night. I hadn't slept a wink, but I hadn't heard a single knock.

"The hotel bed was so hard and uncomfortable. It was awful," he complained.

If it were the past, I would have immediately hugged him and given him a massage after hearing his complaints.

But now, I just slowly took a sip of my morning coffee, not even giving him a glance.

He immediately walked over and started explaining.

"I really did sleep at the hotel right by our subdivision last night. Look, I brought you those bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches from the corner deli. You've been craving these, right?"

I glanced at the sandwich bag but didn't pick it up. It was indeed the place I used to eat at the most.

Back when Ethan and I first got married, our careers were just starting out, and we had to scrape together our meager salaries just to pay the mortgage.

That corner deli was cheap and the portions were huge. I ate those sandwiches for seven years.

Just then, my Instagram app pushed a notification from a "Person You May Know."

Mia had posted a photo of a luxurious candlelit dinner with the caption: [A 6'2" cardiothoracic surgeon who is amazing in the living room and the kitchen. The best Golden Retriever Ethan in the world.]

I calmly locked my phone. Ethan picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it to my lips.

"Eat it while it's hot. It won't taste good if it gets cold."

The greasy smell of the bacon hovered right at my nose. I instinctively pushed it away, and the sandwich fell to the floor.

Ethan slammed his hand on the table and sneered.

"I just left you home alone for a little bit! I even got the candles ready for you! Do you really have to throw a tantrum over this?"

"I'm a doctor. I have to be responsible for my patients. If something happened to Mia last night, neither of us would ever be able to live with the guilt!"

I picked the sandwich up, threw it in the trash, and didn't even turn around. "I respect your profession. I have absolutely no problem with it."

But Ethan wouldn't let it go. He grabbed my wrist.

"We've been married for seven years. Playing hard to get is a game for little girls. You need to stop watching so many romantic movies, they're rotting your brain."

When I was younger, I loved watching romantic dramas, crying and laughing over other people's love stories.

Ethan would always pour cold water on me, calling me a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot.

Now that I was older, anytime I didn't cater to his every whim, he would accuse me of playing hard to get like the girls in those movies.

If I dressed up a little, he would mock me and say, "Pink is for teenagers. Aren't you a little old for that?"

And then he would watch me slowly take off my makeup and change into sweatpants before he was finally satisfied.

Listening to these words that used to sting me so deeply, I felt absolutely nothing. I just gave him a side-eye, looking at him like he was brain-dead.

Then, I went into the bedroom, changed into a form-fitting black dress, sprayed on my newest perfume, grabbed my purse, and opened the front door.

"Where are you going?" his angry voice rang in my ear.

"I have plans."

The old Ethan never cared where I went.

Because deep down, he believed that no matter where I went, I would always end up back by his side.

But today, it was like the sun rose in the west; he was relentlessly interrogating me.

It wasn't until I sat in my car and hit the gas that the incessant buzzing in my ear finally stopped.

My best friend Harper's fashion studio was having its grand opening today, and she had invited me for the ribbon-cutting and champagne.

When she saw me, her eyes lit up. "Oh my god, I haven't seen you dress like this in years! Isn't your husband going to be pissed?"

I smiled and handed her a congratulatory card with a generous check inside. "It's my body. I can wear whatever I want. He doesn't get a say."

She happily took the card with a money-loving grin. "Yes, exactly! You've still absolutely got it."

Amidst the clinking glasses and flowing champagne, I realized I hadn't felt this relaxed in a very long time.

Meanwhile, my phone, which I had put on silent, was vibrating non-stop.

Harper, her face flushed from the alcohol, nudged me. "Twelve missed calls. I think your husband is losing his mind."

I flipped the phone face down and kept drinking.

After a few more rounds, I grabbed my purse and went downstairs to wait for my Uber. Instead, under the neon streetlights, I saw a furious Ethan.

"Olivia Davis, you're unbelievable. You ignore my calls and come here to get blackout drunk? Did you ever stop to think I'd be worried about you?"

He canceled my Uber, threw me over his shoulder, and tossed me into the backseat of his SUV.

In the cramped, suffocating space, he pinned my wrists down. His eyes burned with a familiar lust.

He slowly leaned in, but the second his lips touched mine, I shoved him away.

"Are you done throwing this fit?! You're my wife! Am I not even allowed to touch you now?"

The buzz from the alcohol instantly vanished. I sat up, straightened my messy dress, and said coldly, "Just drive home."

Ethan was always busy with work, so in the past, whenever he was home, I constantly wanted to be close to him.

When he was leaning back on the couch reading medical journals, I would lean in for a kiss, and he would coldly shove me awayjust exactly like I did to him right now.

It used to pour a bucket of ice water over my burning heart.

Seeing the firm rejection in my eyes, he froze for a long moment. Then, he slammed the car door shut and sped off.

When we got home, I grabbed his blanket and threw it into the guest room. "I drank today and I'm a restless sleeper. So I don't disturb you before work tomorrow, you're sleeping in the guest room."

Hearing my absolute refusal to compromise, Ethan's face darkened drastically. Finally, without a word, he went into the guest room.

In our king-sized bed, I used to always want to cling to him.

But now, I just realized how incredibly comfortable it was to have the whole bed to myself.

When I woke up the next day, Ethan had already left for work. He had left cold deli sandwiches and coffee on the table.

Bacon and egg sandwiches again. I was so sick of them.

I packed up the food and went downstairs to feed the stray cats. While waiting for the elevator, I saw a job posting from my old company.

Three years ago, Ethan was promoted to Deputy Chief of Surgery. To focus on taking care of him, I quit my job.