The affection was just an act. I'm not going to continue this

"Mom. Dad."

My hands trembled in my lap, but my voice stayed steady. "I am still getting this divorce. I only came back so you could witness it with your own eyes."

The smiles vanished from their faces.

"Fiona! How can you be so ungrateful?" my father snapped. "Adrian has—"

"Mom, Dad, please go home first." Adrian's calm voice cut through the tension. "There is a misunderstanding between Fiona and me. I need to explain it to her."

He ushered them out. Charming. Respectful. The perfect son-in-law until the elevator doors closed.

He turned.

He shut the door.

The lock clicked.

The warmth evaporated from the room.

"Fiona."

He reached for me. I slapped his hand away.

"You're making me very sad." The sigh that escaped him was patronizing, practiced. "Zoe has done a lot for you. What you said last night... it was cruel."

He stepped closer, his voice taking on that coaxing tone one uses with a toddler. "Alright. About the slap... that was my fault. I apologize."

Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his own cheek. Not hard. Just firm enough.

A performance.

"There. Hit me back. Don't be angry anymore, Fiona."

I wrenched my hand free, staring at him in horror.

He didn't notice.

"Zoe specializes in cardiothoracic surgery," he continued, as if discussing the weather. "Her involvement is critical for your treatment. She wants you to get better. She stayed up for nights researching your case. When we found that potential donor, she was more anxious than I was. Yesterday was just—"

"Is that so?"

My voice sliced through his monologue.

"Then her anxiety has certainly paid off. I'm still lingering in this half-life, surviving but not living. Isn't that exactly what you two want? Using my illness as an excuse to play house together?"

The mask of the doting husband cracked.

His eyes went cold. He looked at me the way he looked at a difficult case file. An unruly patient who refused to follow protocol.

"Fiona, I don't think we can have a rational conversation right now." He walked to the coat rack, pulling on his jacket. "I have surgery tonight. I expect you to be here when I get back. Mom and Dad are old; stop making them worry with your tantrums."

He adjusted his collar with precise movements.

"Adrian." I spoke to his back. "Whether you agree or not, I am divorcing you. If you won't sign, I'll file unilaterally."

He paused. Glanced over his shoulder.

It was the look I hated most—professional patience layered over utter contempt.

"You are emotionally unstable. The stress is bad for your heart. We will talk when you calm down."

"I have *never* been calmer!"

*Bang.*

The door slammed shut. He was gone.

When did he become this monster?

It started when Zoe Preston arrived at the hospital.

She was his junior, a fellow alum from our university. Years ago, she'd joined his advisor's research group. Adrian had always been intense about academics—top of his class, driven by a singular purpose.

I remembered his graduation speech. He stood on that stage, the outstanding student representative, looking out at the crowd but seeing only me.

*"Some study medicine for prestige, or from a benevolent desire to save the world,"* he had said, his voice ringing through the hall.

*"But those reasons are far from me."*

*"My fiancée has congenital heart disease."*

*"I don't want to stand powerless while she lies in the ICU, begging others for a miracle. I want to understand this illness. I want to master the heart, so that I never have to watch her fall into danger again."*

That speech was still pinned to the top of the university forum.