My Dead Hamster Exposed Him

A week later, there was a medical exchange conference in Nordica City. Stuart and I both went.

I left early on purpose, then texted him that I'd forgotten the bracelet he gave me and asked him to bring it.

When he arrived, he handed it over like nothing.

I put it on, head down. Didn't say a word.

The hall was packed. Zoey was there too—laughing, chatting.

On her wrist was my bracelet. Again.

I nudged Stuart. "Look. Hers is the same as mine."

He played surprised. "Oh—yeah. But it looks better on you."

I didn't answer. Just stared at him.

He really thought I was that stupid.

The leadership droned on up front. I dropped my head and scrolled.

Zoey had been busy.

Three months ago—a tight shot of a wrist. My real bracelet.

[Thanks for the affirmation. It gave me a goal to work toward.]

Ten days ago—a cropped dinner table. A hand with a watch lifting food.

I knew that hand. Stuart's.

Caption? [If time could stop here]

Yesterday—a back view. Tall guy, gray trench coat.

[Waiting for him to get off work]

I scrolled, post by post.

Nothing outright.

Every one of them still screamed his name.

Zoey was usually big online—likes everywhere.

These posts? Zero.

Because they were locked.

Only I could see them.

On purpose.

She was saying it loud and clear: [Your bracelet is mine. Your husband too.]

Someone called my name. I stood and headed for the stage.

Zoey turned toward Stuart. Their eyes met.

I pretended I didn't see a thing.

***

After that, I went on like normal with Stuart.

Kept writing my paper. Quietly watched them copy it.

Then surgery day came.

That morning, I headed to the garage like always. The second I started the car, the tire warning lit up.

Left rear tire—slashed. Completely flat.

I faked a panic call to Stuart. "Honey, what do I do? My tire's ruined."

Two seconds of silence. Then he sounded even more stressed than me. "Now? Today's surgery is critical. You won't make it? Then someone else will have to step in."

I played trapped. "Then... let someone else do it."

I took a cab. Not long after we pulled out, we got rear-ended.

Heh.

I laughed under my breath.

They really didn't hold back.

A few minutes later, Zoey messaged me:

[You're done.]

I replied slow and calm:

[You're the one done.]

My divorce lawyer picked me up, and we headed straight for the hospital.

I didn't go anywhere near the OR. Let them think I was still stuck with the car. I'd already set it up—someone was livestreaming everything to me.

Inside, Stuart was helping Zoey with her mask and gloves. "This is a rare chance. Don't screw it up. When the time comes, just say you wrote the paper and Lori plagiarized it. She laid out every step. Nothing can go wrong."

Then he bent down and kissed her hard on the forehead.

The surgery started.

Only then did I stroll toward the doors.

A few nurses were whispering outside.

"Dr. Gacke's a lock this time. Dr. Fletcher and Dr. Cooper are backing her."

"With this many eyes on her, if she pulls it off, she'll blow up."

"Dr. Loughlin... what a waste."

Time crawled.

At first, Zoey did fine.

Then—twenty minutes in—everything spiraled.

The monitors started screaming.

A nurse yelled, "The patient's hemorrhaging!"

Zoey's voice cracked. "Pressure—more gauze—why won't it stop? What do we do?"

Dr. Fletcher lost it. "Switch surgeons. Now!"

Stuart rushed in front of him. "This is Zoey's first real case. Pulling her now will destroy her confidence. The patient's fine—it's just more bleeding. If interns never get chances, how do they grow?"

I let out a quiet laugh. "You sure about that? Check the patient's name again."

Stuart looked down at the chart.

The color drained from his face.