I’m not sure why I’m packing so much for a single shift. When I’m in Chestnut Springs, I live in scrubs in the ER and in leggings in my hotel room at night.
“Thanks for clarifying, Winter.” There’s a biting tone to his voice that might make some people flinch. But not me. A dark part of me takes immense pride in the fact I know exactly how to piss off my husband. My lips twitch as I struggle to contain my satisfied smile.
“But why that hospital? Why Chestnut Springs? You’re constantly taking off out there and you don’t even tell me you’re leaving. Come to think of it”—he scrubs at his chin in an overly dramatic fashion while leaning up against the doorframe of my bedroom—“you never even considered my opinion on whether I would want my wife taking this job. This isn’t a smart career move for you at all.”
I used to think Rob was a good man.
Now, I’ve heard him whine like a child.
Nothing makes a man’s masculinity shrivel up and die for me quite like complaining about a woman exercising her professional independence. He might as well stomp his foot and storm out like a tiny chauvinist toddler.
I reach for the zipper and start forcing it together against the bulging contents of my suitcase. “It’s funny,” I start, ensuring that I keep my tone cool and even. “It’s almost like . . . you are the very last person I would ever consult about career choices.”
With a huff of air, I finally slide the zipper into place and look down at the hard-shell case, propping my hands on my hips and letting a satisfied smile touch my lips.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Winter?”
The way he adds my name to the end of every sentence feels like he’s trying to scold me.
Jokes on him. I won’t be scolded.
He’s blissfully unaware of what it takes to navigate the medical system as a young female doctor. If I let men as weak as Rob steamroll me on the regular, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
And this career is the only thing I’ve ever had that’s mine. So, he can fuck all the way off.
Flipping one hand over, I gaze down at my neglected nails, trying to look bored by him. I’m wondering if I can find a good place for a manicure in Chestnut Springs when I reply, “Don’t play stupid. It pairs so poorly with whining.”
I find myself wondering why I’m still married at all. I know why I thought I was sticking it out. But now? Now, I just need to buck up and get it done. I glance back down at my suitcase, packed like I’m leaving for a long ass time, and wonder if my subconscious knows something I don’t.
Maybe that bitch is putting her foot down and breaking me out once and for all.
I’m not averse.
“You will not speak to your husband that way.”
My eyes narrow on my cuticles as I struggle to bite down the rage bubbling inside of me. Hot molten lava simmering below the cool surface, just waiting to erupt all over the place.
But I’ve kept that at bay for years now. I will not let Doctor Rob Valentine be the one to make me erupt.
He’s not worth the energy.
I shift my eyes to him across the room. My room, because when I told him in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed as him any longer, he directed me to the guest room rather than moving himself out—like the true gentleman he is.
Even though it was him.
He’s the reason we are where we are.
And the worst part is I loved him once. He was all mine. A safe place for me to land after growing up in what felt like some sort of domestic cold war.
I let my guard down with him. I fell so damn hard.
He broke my heart far worse than I’ll ever let anyone know.
I don’t respond to him, instead I grab the handle of my suitcase and shove past his lean frame, heading toward the front door of our sprawling ten-thousand-foot home.
I hear him following me. Dress shoes against marble. And of course, he doesn’t offer to carry my suitcase for me.
A wry smile twists my lips, and I shake my head at the thought he’d bother to lift a finger for me. The hardest thing for me to accept with the implosion of my marriage is that I didn’t see it coming. That I can be smart, and accomplished, and strategic in everything I do yet still allow this asshole to blindside me is just . . . offensive.
Being swindled this way irks me to no end.
I can feel the rage radiating off of him as he seethes behind me. And I just carry on serenely, slipping my socked feet into a pair of tall leather boots and wrapping a long, brown wool coat around myself.
“Seriously, Winter? You’re not even going to dignify me with an answer?”
I methodically tie the coat belt around my waist, deciding I have zero desire to dignify him at all.
The problem is, Rob knows me well. We’ve been together for five years, which means he understands how to piss me off too.
His eyes trace over my face, taking on a vicious little slant. “I liked you better with your hair lighter.” His pointer finger sweeps over my head, judging the darker streaks topped with a warmer tone. He’s always been obsessive about me having the silvery blonde hair, telling me how much he loves it. “This new look isn’t appealing.”
But the root touch-ups, the purple shampoo, and the deep conditioner were too much work for an exhausted resident, which is why I requested the stylist put in lowlights.
I blink a couple of times, like I can’t quite believe he has the nerve to act like the way I color my hair is a personal slight to him.
Except I can. Because this year he took his mask off and showed me all the entitled ugliness underneath.
“That’s funny. I liked you better when I thought you hadn’t groomed my little sister and then fucked her over.”
He scoffs. Scoffs. “That’s not how it was. She was obsessed with me.”
My nose wrinkles, smelling the bullshit wafting off of him. “A much older doctor saves his underage patient’s life. Uses his looks and power over her to get her eating out of his hand. Becomes a hero to her. Then, as soon as she turns eighteen, starts fucking her on the down-low like she’s some sort of dirty secret. And when he meets her older, more appropriate sister, he drops her like a stone and marries the one that won’t lose him his job for a medical license violation. Oh!”—my finger shoots up in the air—“except, here’s the kicker. He keeps contacting her anyway, hoping to sabotage her with boyfriends when she tries to move on, stringing her along, just because he can.”
My anger swirls, but I’m the one stirring my pot by giving in to him at all.
His arms cross and he glares at me. All golden coiffed hair, bright blue eyes, and Ken-doll good looks. “You know I never loved her.”
White hot rage lances through me. Everything around me blurs as my eyes focus on the asshole I married. I try to keep my voice cool. Years of practicing this facade have carried me through the most heartrending of moments. I have this act down pat.
But today I struggle.
“You think you never loving her makes it better? That’s my baby sister you’re talking about. The one who almost died. And you fucked her around for years.”
My words echo in the spacious foyer as we stare each other down.
“For what you’ve done to me? I am indifferent to you. For what you’ve done to her? I hate you. I wouldn’t have touched you with a one-million-foot pole if I’d realized the type of man you really are. Fool me once, never again. That’s the new saying, Rob.”