Husband Chooses Ex Over Me

I was reviewing patient charts in my office when Rebecca, my closest colleague at the hospital, burst through the door, her face ashen.

"Sylvia," she gasped, "the medical board just called. There's been a complaint filed against you."

My stomach dropped. "What kind of complaint?"

"Multiple violations. Patient complaints about unnecessary procedures, prescription errors..." She handed me a thick folder. "They're launching a formal investigation."

I flipped through the documents, my hands trembling. There were patient statements I'd never seen before, prescription records with my signature—but I hadn't written them. The dosage amounts were dangerously high.

"This isn't possible," I whispered. "I didn't prescribe these medications."

Rebecca squeezed my shoulder. "I know. This doesn't make sense."

But as I stared at the evidence, a sickening realization dawned on me. The meticulous attention to detail, the precise way my signature was forged—this wasn't random. Someone had specifically targeted me.

Someone like Lyla.

* * *

The investigation meeting was held in the hospital's conference room. Six board members sat at a long table, their expressions grim as they reviewed the fabricated evidence against me.

Dr. Harrison, the head of the medical board, looked up at me. "Dr. Webb, do you have an explanation for these prescription errors?"

"I've never prescribed these medications," I said firmly. "Someone has altered my files."

"The patients claim otherwise," he countered, sliding forward statements with my supposed patients' accounts of receiving these prescriptions.

I noticed Connor sitting in the back of the room, his face impassive. My heart leapt—surely he would stand up for me, tell them I would never make such mistakes.

"Connor," I called out, desperation creeping into my voice. "You know I would never—"

"Actually," Connor interrupted, standing up. "I think we need to consider all possibilities."

The room fell silent.

"Sylvia has been under tremendous stress lately," he continued, his voice taking on that professional psychiatrist tone. "Her jealousy of Lyla's condition has affected her judgment."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Lyla needs my full attention right now," Connor replied coldly. "Her fragile state requires constant monitoring, and Sylvia's... emotional instability... is making that difficult."

Dr. Harrison nodded sympathetically. "We understand, Dr. Baker. Family matters can complicate professional responsibilities."

Family matters? I was his wife, not some distant relative!

"Connor," I pleaded quietly. "You can't possibly believe I would do this."

But the look in his eyes told me everything. He did believe it. Or worse—he was choosing to believe it.

* * *

I sat on the edge of our bathtub, staring at the pregnancy test in my hands. Two pink lines. Clear and unmistakable.

After everything that had happened—the divorce papers, Lyla's return, the medical board investigation—this tiny plus sign felt like a miracle. A sign that something good could still come from this nightmare.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach. Connor's child. Our child.

Despite everything, a small flame of hope flickered in my chest. Perhaps this would change things. Perhaps when Connor learned about the baby, he would remember what we had together. What we could still have.

I hid the test in my pocket and made my way upstairs, rehearsing what I would say. Should I be serious? Tearful? Maybe I should try to be light-hearted, make a joke about morning sickness?

As I approached our bedroom—our bedroom, though it had stopped feeling like mine weeks ago—I heard laughter. Connor's deep chuckle, followed by a feminine giggle.

I pushed the door open slightly, and froze.

Lyla stood in front of the mirror wearing a faded blue dress—her old college formal dress, the one Connor had mentioned when they were on the couch together. Connor stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as he adjusted the dress.

"You look exactly the same," he was saying, his voice warm with affection. "Just like that night."

"Do you think so?" Lyla twirled, the skirt flaring out around her legs. "I wish I could remember."

My hand went to my pocket, fingers closing around the pregnancy test. The words I had rehearsed died in my throat.

Connor's eyes met mine in the mirror, widening slightly in surprise. "Sylvia," he said, dropping his hands from Lyla's shoulders. "I didn't hear you come in."

I backed away, unable to speak, the test burning in my pocket like a hot coal.

"Sylvia?" Connor called as I retreated down the hallway.

But I was already gone, the door closing behind me, sealing away the words that would never be spoken today.