Chapter 1My Wife The Murderer

My in-laws were in a horrific car accident. They were rushing them into surgery.

I raced to the hospital like a man possessed, but the real shock wasn't the sirens or the blood; it was seeing my wife, Savannah.

My brilliant, celebrated surgeon wife stood at the observation window, arms casually folded, coaching her star intern, Troy.

She was letting an intern perform my parents’ life-or-death surgery!

I lunged toward her, demanding an explanation. She merely shrugged, her voice a flat line. "Troy needs to grow. People like your small-town parents should be honored to serve as his practice run."

Troy’s hand slipped. The monitor screamed. The aorta was nicked.

They didn't make it.

When I sought justice, she cornered me in her office and slapped a divorce agreement onto the desk.

"Ethan, I'm through with you. And I’m through with your poor, pathetic parents."

"Drop the complaint right now. Don't ruin Troy's future."

"Otherwise, you won't get a single cent."

I looked at her face—beautiful, yet twisted with such pure, raw disgust—and felt a strange urge to laugh.

Slowly, deliberately, I asked her the question.

"Savannah, if it were your own parents lying on that table, treated like guinea pigs for your student, would you still say that?"

She didn't know the truth.

To try and talk her out of a divorce, the two people who had driven five hundred miles overnight, only to be struck by a drunk driver and rushed into the ICU, were not my parents.

They were hers.

* * *

By the time I frantically reached the Emergency Room, the corridor was already a maelstrom of fear and noise.

Yet, I spotted Savannah instantly.

She wasn't in scrubs. She had her white coat draped loosely over her shoulders, hands jammed into her pockets, her expression utterly detached as two blood-soaked bodies were wheeled toward the operating theater.

"Savannah!"

I ran to her, grabbing her arm, my voice trembling uncontrollably.

"How are Mom and Dad?"

Her brow furrowed. She recoiled and sharply pulled her arm away, as if I’d contaminated her.

"Multiple rib fractures, punctured lungs suspected, severe cranial bleeding. It's bad."

Her tone was as flat and emotionless as a weather report.

"I’ve already arranged it. Troy is leading the procedure. I'll observe."

Troy was her hand-picked intern, her star apprentice, the one she constantly spoke about grooming as her successor.

My mind went blank. I couldn't process the words.

"You're letting Troy operate?"

"Savannah, have you lost your mind?!"

"These are two lives, not a goddamn training opportunity for your student!"

"Ethan, stop shouting!"

Savannah's face instantly went cold, her eyes fixed on me with that familiar look of high-minded arrogance and contempt.

"Troy has been with me for three years. He can handle a minor trauma case like this."

"What do you know about surgery, House Husband?"

Her words stole my breath. My whole body seized up, and a dull ache started to throb in my chest.

Yes, I was a stay-at-home husband now.

But she had conveniently forgotten something.

Seven years ago, I had stood beside her, a fellow surgical resident.

My hands were steadier, my talent perhaps even greater than hers; I was the one our mentor had singled out.

Yet, for love, I had deliberately put down the scalpel and picked up the kitchen knife instead.

The light above the Operating Room door flickered red. That harsh glow stung my eyes.

My throat constricted, choking off the air, making it impossible to breathe.

I rushed to the observation window, staring desperately into the room.

Troy was visibly nervous, his forehead slick with sweat, the hand holding the scalpel shaking ever so slightly.

Savannah stood just behind him. She offered an occasional instruction but mostly remained motionless, arms crossed, the picture of a disinterested bystander.

I watched Troy's hand slip. He failed to accurately navigate around a major artery.

In a flash, the heart rate on the monitor became a flat line.

The piercing, relentless shriek of the alarm broke the silence, shredding my eardrums.

Two agonizing hours later, the OR light went dark.

Troy walked out, utterly distraught, his face a ghostly white.

"Ethan... I'm so sorry... I couldn't save them..."

Savannah followed him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her voice was gentle, filled with reassurance.

"It's alright, Troy. It wasn't your fault. Their injuries were too severe."

"It was just one mistake, sweetheart. Don't dwell on it. Every doctor has to go through this."

She didn't spare me a glance. All her sympathy, all her careful soothing, was reserved for the intern who had just destroyed my parents' lives.

I stood there, my hands and feet freezing cold. All sound around me faded into a distant hum.