Chapter 3Locked by My Surgeon Husband

He followed my gaze and dropped the device back into the car as if it had burned him.

The exhaustion hit me then. A weight so heavy I couldn't even feel the anger anymore. I turned away.

"We’re done, Bennett. I’m leaving."

I walked out of the garage and didn't look back.

By the time I got back to the house and started pulling suitcases out of the closet, Bennett was already there. He was holding a bouquet of red roses. They were wrapped in crinkly plastic, the petals already wilting at the edges, bruised and blackening.

He tossed his jacket on the sofa and set the dying flowers on the coffee table. "Elena, let’s be rational. We need to talk."

"There’s nothing left to say," I said, my voice empty.

He rubbed his temples, looking like the victim of a great injustice. "I know you’re upset. But you’re... you’re 'locked,' Elena. You know that. I can't be expected to ignore my own needs forever just because your body failed. As for the car, I told you, it belongs to a friend. You’re making a scene over nothing."

"What’s this friend’s name?"

He paused. "That’s not important."

The dam broke. I lunged forward and swept the roses off the table, scattering them across the floor. "What is important, then? The fact that our seven-year anniversary gift was a live-streamed humiliation? Or the fact that you planned to fake an intimate moment with a piece of plastic?"

"Enough!" Bennett stood up, his voice booming. "Stop being so hysterical! What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"Sell the car," I screamed. "Sell it right now!"

He looked at me like I was a lunatic. "Are you insane? That’s a three-hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle!"

"So?"

"So, it’s a car, Elena! You want me to throw away a fortune because you’re having a mood swing? Look, I get it—you’re frustrated because you’re broken. But don't take your inadequacy out on me."

It felt like a jagged blade had been driven into my chest. I was trembling so hard I could barely stand.

"I wasn't born this way, Bennett! The accident—"

"I KNOW!" he roared. "And I married you anyway! I’ve spent seven years playing nursemaid to a woman who can't even be a wife. Isn't that enough? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness for being a human being with human desires?"

The sight of his distorted, angry face flicked a switch inside me. The rage died, replaced by a terrifying, hollow calm.

I spoke one word.

"Leave."

Bennett’s face went from white to a mottled, ugly red. He didn't say another word. He grabbed his coat and slammed the front door so hard the windows rattled.

I sank onto the sofa, staring at the dying roses. The silence of the house began to scream.

I don't know how long I sat there before the doorbell rang.

I thought it was Bennett, coming back to finish the fight. I opened the door, ready to scream.

But it wasn't him.

It was a woman. Young, beautiful, with long chestnut waves and a soft, sugary smile. She was wearing a pale pink manicure.

She tilted her head. "Hi there. You must be Elena. I’m Jasmine, a... close friend of Bennett’s."

Jasmine.

The jasmine stickers in the car.

The cold returned, sharper than before. This was her. The girl from the post. The ghost who had finally taken on flesh.