My Husband Chose His Mistress Over My Dying Father

Ryan Stevens called me the next morning at seven.

"Mrs. Shaw. I've arranged a transfer for your father to Lenox Hill Cardiac Institute. They have a specialist unit. Dr. Patel spoke with their team last night. If you're comfortable with the move, the ambulance can be there by noon."

I sat on the edge of my bed with the phone pressed to my ear. Dalton's side of the bed was empty. He'd slept in the guest room. Or maybe he hadn't come home at all.

"How much will it cost?" I asked.

"Your father's insurance will cover the transfer and the first week of treatment. After that, we can discuss options. But right now, let's focus on getting him to the right facility."

"Why are you doing this?"

Silence on the other end. Then: "Because someone did it for my family once. And because you shouldn't have to ask twice for help."

I closed my eyes. "Thank you."

"I'll meet you at Manhattan General at eleven to sign the paperwork," he said. "It won't take long."

He hung up before I could say anything else.

I got dressed. I made coffee I didn't drink. I left the apartment before Dalton woke up.

---

Ryan was already in the hospital lobby when I arrived. He wore a dark suit and carried a leather portfolio. He looked up when I walked in, his expression calm and unreadable.

"Mrs. Shaw."

"Mr. Stevens."

He gestured toward the elevators. "The transfer coordinator is waiting upstairs. This should only take twenty minutes."

We rode up in silence. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, his posture precise. He didn't check his phone. He didn't make small talk. He just stood there, steady and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.

The paperwork took fifteen minutes. Ryan walked me through every form, his explanations clear and patient. When I signed the final page, my hand shook. He didn't comment on it.

"The ambulance will be here in an hour," he said. "You can ride with your father if you'd like. I'll follow in my car and make sure the intake goes smoothly on the other end."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," he said.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. He had dark eyes and a quiet intensity that didn't demand anything from me. He wasn't performing. He wasn't trying to be seen.

He was just there.

"Thank you," I said again.

He nodded once. "I'll see you at Lenox Hill."

He left before I could say anything else.

---

The transfer went smoothly. My father was settled into a private room with a view of the East River. The specialist came by at three and explained the treatment plan in terms I could understand. Ryan stood in the hallway the entire time, waiting.

When the doctor left, I stepped outside. Ryan was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when he saw me.

"All set?"

I nodded. "They said the next forty-eight hours are critical. But he's in good hands."

"He is," Ryan said. He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Do you need anything else?"

I shook my head. Then I stopped. "How do I pay you back for this?"

"You don't."

"Mr. Stevens—"

"Ryan," he said. "And you don't owe me anything, Mrs. Shaw."

"Emryn," I said quietly.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Emryn."

He walked me to my car. When I stumbled on the curb outside the hospital entrance, his hand caught my elbow. Steadied me. Let go immediately.

"Careful," he said.

I got into my car. He closed the door. I watched him walk back toward the parking garage, his stride even and unhurried.

I sat there for a long time before I drove home.

---

Dalton was waiting in the living room when I got back.

He stood up the second I walked in. His jaw was tight. His eyes were hard.

"Who is he?"

I set my purse on the table. "Who is who?"

"Don't play stupid, Emryn. Ryan Stevens. The guy who's suddenly all over your life. How long has this been going on?"

I stared at him. "Going on?"

"Mark sent me a photo. You and him outside Lenox Hill. His hand on you. You think I wouldn't find out?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. The sound came out sharp and bitter.

"He arranged my father's transfer," I said. "He handled the paperwork. He made sure my father got into a facility that might actually save his life. That's what's going on."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe."

Dalton stepped closer. His voice dropped. "You're my wife."

"On paper."

"Emryn—"

"You don't get to do this," I said. "You don't get to spend five years ignoring me and then act like I'm yours the second someone else shows up."

He grabbed my wrist. Pulled me toward him. Kissed me hard.

It wasn't love. It wasn't even desire. It was possession. Reclamation. A claim he thought he still had the right to make.

I shoved him back. My hand cracked across his face.

The sound echoed in the quiet apartment.

Dalton staggered. His hand went to his cheek. He stared at me like he didn't recognize me.

"If you touch me again," I said, my voice shaking, "I will call the police. Do you understand me?"

He didn't answer.

I walked to the bedroom. Locked the door. Sat on the floor with my back against it and my knees pulled to my chest.

I heard him standing in the hallway. I heard his breathing. I heard him say my name once, soft and uncertain.

Then I heard the front door open and close.

I stayed on the floor until the apartment went dark.