My Boyfriend Cheated With His Student, I Left

I couldn't go back to the apartment. The thought of it made my skin crawl.

I went back to the lab. I needed something to do with my hands.

I dripped the plant extract into a petri dish and turned to log the data.

There was a bang behind me.

A wall of heat hit me, and I was on the floor.

My vision went black.

My back was burning.

Pure survival instinct started dragging me toward the door.

Everything blurred. I heard the lab door beep open.

Running footsteps.

"Dr. Sinclair."

"Dr. Sinclair."

Lisa, one of my students, had come to pick up a report. She found me face-down on the floor and called 911.

On the way to the hospital, my head was spinning. The doctor told me not to fall asleep. They said a student couldn't authorize surgery and they needed my emergency contact, so they asked for my name, my phone passcode, and a number.

I gave them Marcus's name without thinking.

The call connected.

"Hi, is this the emergency contact for Evelyn Sinclair? Ms. Sinclair was burned in a lab explosion. She's being transported to University Medical Center. Can you come in?"

"What did you say?" Marcus's voice jumped. "I'll be right there."

Then, behind him, Claire's voice: "Marcus, the stove. Your food's going to burn."

Footsteps. Then her again, all concern: "Was that Evelyn? Is something wrong with Dr. Sinclair? You should go."

Then, lower: "After what happened today, she's probably upset. She might be trying to scare you, you know, hurting herself for attention."

"You should…"

"Evelyn." Marcus's voice came back on the line, cold and tired and impatient all at once. "There's a limit to this. You don't get to scare me with stuff like this. You're an adult. Be responsible for your own body."

Then the line went dead.

I stared at the black screen, and I couldn't hold it anymore. My throat closed up.

The pain in my back pulled all the way up to my chest.

Tight and burning.

His name was still saved as my emergency contact.

We used to be good. The memories came back without permission.

Once I had fainted in the lab from bad cramps, and they had taken me in. When I woke up, Marcus was passed out at my bedside, unshaven. He had driven all night from a conference. He stroked my face and held me and told me he had been terrified. He told me he had answered a call like that once before, when his mother went into the hospital, and by the time he got home she was gone. He said he was never going to let me go to a hospital alone again.

That Marcus, the one who had looked at me like that, who had spoken to me like that, who had treated me like something he didn't want to break, kept flashing through my head.

And then he blurred and shattered.

"Dr. Sinclair. Dr. Sinclair." The EMT was shaking me. "Your phone."

The screen said S.

"Sweetheart. So you finally decided to pick up." His voice was low and warm.

Everything I had been holding in came up at once. I started crying.

"Sebastian. It hurts. I want to go home."

I was the eldest daughter of the Sinclairs.

I had always wanted to go into medicine, but my family forbade it. My aunt had died from a malpractice case, and they wouldn't let me anywhere near a clinical career.

Then they tried to push me into an arranged marriage.

So I ran.

But when something breaks you, all you want is home.

On the other end, I heard glass crash to the floor. "What's wrong? Where are you right now?"

"There was an explosion. I got hurt. They're taking me to University Medical Center."

Sebastian's voice went flat and fast. "Which road are you on? Give me the plate number."

A few seconds of muffled instruction to his assistant.

"Tell the ambulance to reroute to Mercy General. The OR is ready and the doctors are waiting. I've got someone clearing traffic for you."

Then, softer: "I'm coming. Hold on."