My Husband Cheated on Me, And His Girlfriend Murdered Me

That's a few months.

"Can you hand me Ms. Hannah’s medical history? Her surgery’s tomorrow," I asked the new intern nurse, tapping my fingers on the table. "It’s Sophia Hannah, don’t mix it up, alright?" It was her first month here, and mistakes were becoming a bit of a pattern. I figured nerves were at play, so I tried to give her a gentle heads-up. But delays in getting things right could really affect patient care.

I was juggling surgeries back to back, racing against the clock, so having extra help was crucial. The hospital assigned me an intern to assist with admin tasks. My office walls were lined with framed certificates—awards from internal recognitions to the Distinguished Service Award from the American Society of Anesthesiologists.

Eight years of education and two grueling years of residency had brought me here—a dedicated anesthesiologist with a high success rate. Overcoming doubts and the challenges of pursuing a specialized career wasn’t easy. Being a doctor, especially a specialist, demanded immense energy, time, and financial investment.

But with my strong determination and my mother’s unwavering support, I pushed forward. Raised by a single mother in a rural area, pursuing my dream meant she had to sell inherited land—the only asset we had besides our humble home. I was determined to repay her sacrifice, though she never asked for it.

Just then, my phone beeped—a call from Mom. "Hi, Mom," I greeted eagerly.

"Livia, why haven’t you been home this month? Do you even care about your old mother anymore?" she teased, straight to the point.

I chuckled, "Sorry, Mom, just swamped. Lots of surgeries, I’m wiped."

The conversation with Mom always reminded me of why I pushed myself so hard. It was for her, for us, and for the patients relying on me every day.

To which Mom replied, sounding concerned, “Don’t overwork yourself, Livia. Come home with Garet and spend some time in nature. Aren’t you tired of dealing with blood and flesh all the time?”

Since I moved to the city a decade ago, Mom and I barely saw each other—maybe twice every few months, mostly just catching up over the phone like now. I felt guilty and offered to have her come live with me and my husband, but she refused, saying she couldn’t stand the polluted air and noisy city life. All she really wanted was for us to give her a grandchild soon. She even joked about raising her in our quiet rural village if we were too busy with work.

There was one thing I hadn’t told her, though—Garet and I had been too caught up in our own lives to even think about having a child. We’d dated on and off for seven years before finally tying the knot three years ago.

Initially, our marriage was blissful and harmonious, but over time, our demanding jobs built a wall between us, brick by brick. We lost that spark, you know? Especially in the past month. My duties as an anesthesiologist had me working late into the night, often coming home at dawn, while Garet’s job as a private detective kept him just as occupied. He even had a small office with a bed, and he often ended up sleeping there.

We only managed to meet a few times a week, and even then, it was just in passing. “How’s work? Good?” and “Honey, sorry I’m tired,” were our usual exchanges. It felt more like being acquaintances than a married couple.

But no matter how exhausted I was, I always made sure to take care of Garet’s needs at home—cooking for him, laying out his clothes, and making his favorite black coffee in the mornings. I tried my best to be a good wife despite my hectic schedule.

Today was Sunday, my rare day off, so I asked Garet if he could take a break too. There was a moment of silence before he agreed. I planned to take him out for a meal, something we used to enjoy together.

I dressed in a casual midi dress adorned with cute cherry ornaments, chic yet age-appropriate. After a light touch of makeup and fixing my hair, I walked over to where he was waiting in the living room.

He was engrossed in his phone, looking serious—probably working. The soft glow of the screen accentuated his handsome features: sharp jawline, high nose, and a gaze that could be both intimidating and captivating. Despite wearing a black polo and chinos, he managed to look effortlessly stylish, almost like a wealthy mogul's son on vacation. It dawned on me then that clothes truly complemented his already striking appearance. With his athletic build and aristocratic-like face, he could make any outfit look good, even a sack.

Eventually, Garet noticed my presence and glanced up. His expression remained stoic, but a very subtle smile played on his lips, and his eyes gave me a look of approval. After years together, I had learned to read his micro expressions—a skill he excelled in as a detective. It had proven useful on numerous occasions.

"Ready?" he asked, breaking the moment.

"Yeah, do you want to swing by the supermarket after lunch? I need to pick up a few things for Mom," I replied. It was noon, and we planned to enjoy a leisurely lunch followed by a stroll through the city park.

"Sure, why not?" Garet stood up from the sofa, and I followed suit. But just as we were about to head out to the car, my phone began to ring. I rolled my eyes in annoyance—it was a call from my colleague. I typically ignored work calls on my day off, but the frequency of missed calls suggested it might be urgent.

"Yeah?" I answered as soon as I picked up.

"Doc, sorry for bothering you. Can you come to the hospital? We can't locate a patient's file," my colleague explained.

"Why don’t you ask Miss Dunne? Isn't she on duty?" I suggested, Miss Dunne was my intern.

"We already did, but she doesn't know where it is," came the frustrating reply.

I sighed deeply. This was supposed to be a peaceful day off for me. "Okay, I'll be there. Just wait for me," I finally conceded, feeling a pang of disappointment. The senior nurse on the other end thanked me and hung up.

Garet glanced at me with concern. "Everything okay?"

"Work calls. Sorry, honey, can we swing by the hospital first? I’ll be quick," I replied apologetically, already feeling guilty about cutting short our time together. I wanted Garet to have a break from work today, but my mind was preoccupied with the office.

He nodded understandingly, and we got into the car, heading towards the hospital.

After about 20 minutes of driving, we arrived at the imposing Centra Medica Hospital, where I've been working. Its modern design spoke volumes about its prestige—it was recognized as the best hospital in the nation, attracting international patients seeking treatment for various illnesses.

Garet parked the red BMW, and we walked to my office. He waited outside while I entered, greeted by a trio of faces displaying a range of emotions—anger, confusion, and fear. The senior nurse who had called me earlier explained the situation. Once again, my intern had made a mistake, mixing up some files. Patient data had been swapped between doctors, causing a minor uproar. The immediate crisis was resolved, but I was frustrated.

The intern looked visibly scared, likely having faced reprimands before. I felt sympathy, but this couldn't continue. I asked the other two individuals to step out, leaving just the intern and me.

"Miss Dunne, I know you're still learning and have a lot ahead of you. But I need you to be more careful moving forward. If another mistake happens, I'll have to discuss transferring you from my department with the director," I said in the calmest tone I could muster, though her doe-eyed expression tugged at my empathy.

"Okay, you can go now. Just remember to slow down and work accurately," I added gently.

She nodded earnestly. "Yes, Doctor. Thank you."

I watched her leave, hoping this conversation would serve as a turning point for her attention to detail. Turning back to my day off, I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of responsibilities that often spilled over into personal time.