Chapter 3
Emma's POV
Three years ago, when Ryan first told me about Sophia Baker, his new patient with a rare heart condition.
"She's only twenty-two, Emma. And she's so scared because the doctors before me basically told her there was nothing they could do."
I remembered feeling sorry for her. I'd even suggested Ryan invite her to our Christmas party that year so she wouldn't be alone during the holidays. What a joke that had turned out to be.
At first, it really had seemed like just doctor-patient care. Ryan would check on her after difficult procedures, make sure she was following her treatment plan. But then the calls started coming at odd hours. Sophia's "anxiety attacks" about her condition. Her fears about being alone. Her need for reassurance that only Dr. Ryan Mitchell could provide.
"Doesn't she have family? Friends?" I'd asked one night after Ryan rushed out to calm her down following a panic attack.
"Her family's too busy working to pay for her medical bills," he'd explained. "And she says she can't maintain friendships because of her condition. People don't understand."
How noble of him to fill that void. How convenient for her to have found a married doctor willing to be her emotional support system.
I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app, scrolling to the list I'd been keeping. Ninety-seven times Ryan had chosen Sophia over me. Ninety-seven times I'd been pushed aside for her "emergencies."
And here we are, about to make it ninety-eight.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd grown up in foster care, bounced between families who never really wanted me, always wondering what was wrong with me that made me so easy to abandon. When Ryan first asked me out five years ago, I'd said no. When he asked again two weeks later, I'd said no again.
For an entire year, he kept trying, showing up at my office with coffee, texting me good morning every day, remembering the little things I mentioned in passing. When I mentioned loving old movies, he learned everything about classic cinema just to have conversations with me. When I got food poisoning and missed work for three days, he sent soup to my apartment every day, no questions asked.
"I'm not going anywhere, Emma," he'd told me after I'd turned him down for the eighth time. "I know you're scared, but I'm not like the people who left you before."
It took him eighteen months of consistent pursuit before I finally agreed to a real date. Even then, I kept waiting for him to disappear. When he flew across the country to meet me at my college friend's wedding, a wedding where I knew exactly one person and felt completely out of place, I started to believe maybe someone had chosen me. Really chosen me.
What a stupid, naive girl I'd been.
At ten PM, I called Ryan.
"Hey, how's it going?" I asked, trying to sound casual instead of furious.
"It's complicated," Ryan said, and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. But was it from dealing with a medical emergency, or from juggling two women? "Her heart rhythm is irregular again. The cardiologist wants to run more tests."
"So you'll be home soon?"
A pause. "Actually, Emma, I think I might need to stay the night. For observation. You know how dangerous it can be to leave a patient with her condition unmonitored."
My grip tightened on the phone. "Stay the night?"
"At the hospital, obviously. I'll sleep in the on-call room so I can check on her every few hours."
Obviously. As if there could be any other interpretation.
"Ryan—"
"I promise I'll make this up to you. Tomorrow night, okay? Nothing will interrupt us tomorrow."
"You said that about tonight."
"I know, and I'm sorry. But Sophia needs—"
"Sophia needs," I repeated, cutting him off. "It's always what Sophia needs."
"Emma, please don't make this harder than it has to be. You know I don't have a choice."
Don't have a choice. The same words he'd used ninety-seven times before.
After we hung up, I sat in the growing darkness of our living room, still wearing the blue dress that was supposed to make tonight special. My phone buzzed with a text from Ryan: "Sophia needs to be observed overnight. I can't leave the hospital. Will definitely make it up to you tomorrow. Love you."
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
I was about to put my phone away when I saw the notification. Instagram. Sophia's username popped up with a story update.
Why am I even following her? I'd started following Sophia's social media accounts about a year ago, telling myself it was just curiosity. Wanting to understand the woman who seemed to occupy so much of my husband's thoughts.
I tapped on her story, and my blood ran cold.
The image showed an elegant table at what was clearly an upscale restaurant. Candles flickered between wine glasses, and there were two plates of food, expensive food, the kind you'd find at a place like Le Bernardin. The caption read: "Feeling grateful for the special someone who makes me feel cared for ❤️ #blessed #notalone"
The timestamp showed twenty minutes ago.
Twenty minutes ago, while Ryan was supposedly at the hospital staying overnight to monitor Sophia's dangerous heart condition, she was posting pictures from a fancy dinner.
Twenty minutes ago, while I sat alone in my blue dress waiting for a husband who would never come home, she was being wined and dined by my special someone.
My hands shook as I screenshotted the post, evidence of what I already knew but had been too afraid to fully accept. This wasn't about medical emergencies or doctor-patient relationships or Sophia's fear of being alone.
This was about my husband lying to me. Again.
I opened my notes app and scrolled to my list. With trembling fingers, I typed: "Number 98: February 15th - Lied about staying at hospital to monitor Sophia, actually at dinner with her while I waited at home in my blue dress."
Ninety-eight times. Ninety-eight times Ryan had chosen her over me.
This time, I had proof that it wasn't just about choosing her, it was about lying to me. About building a whole elaborate fiction to cover up whatever was really happening between them.
I stared at Sophia's Instagram story until my vision blurred with tears, the image of those romantic candles burning into my retinas like a brand. The "special someone" who made her feel cared for was my husband. The man who'd promised to love and cherish me, who'd sworn that tonight would be different, who'd looked me in the eye and lied about medical emergencies and overnight observations.
How long has this been going on? I wondered, scrolling through more of her recent posts. How many of those ninety-eight times were actually dates disguised as emergencies?
The worst part wasn't even the betrayal, it was how stupid I'd been. How many times I'd believed him. How many times I'd made excuses for him, told myself I was being unreasonable, convinced myself that his dedication to his patients was admirable.
I'd been so desperate for someone to choose me that I'd ignored all the signs that he'd been choosing someone else all along.
When the pain of betrayal burned through my heart like a red-hot iron, that familiar sharp pain suddenly grabbed my stomach. I doubled over in agony, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back. This time, I couldn't pretend everything was okay anymore. I figured I should drop everything and head to the hospital to get it looked at.