My tenth year with neurasthenia, he choose mistress

The confirmation of the canceled treatment drained the blood from my face. I leaned against the sterile hospital wall, staring at the message on my screen.

William Carter’s text glowed bright against the dark background. *If you need help, I am always here.*

I locked the screen. Ten years of my life belonged to Johnson Harrison. I needed to hear him say the words to my face. I refused to let a decade of loyalty end over a phone call.

I navigated the maze of corridors until I reached the VIP maternity wing. The air smelled of expensive floral arrangements and heavy silence.

Room 402.

I pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

Johnson knelt on the immaculate white floor. He held Jenny’s right foot in his hands, gently sliding a soft pink slipper over her heel. He moved with a level of caution I had never seen him use with anyone.

My gaze shifted to the bedside table. A velvet box sat open, displaying a massive diamond ring that caught the overhead light. Right next to it lay a thick stack of stapled papers. The bold heading read: *Property Deed Transfer.*

"Sister is here?" Jenny asked.

She reclined against a mound of plush pillows and stroked her swollen belly. A smug smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she looked me up and down.

"Johnson just told me the best news," Jenny purred, leaning forward so the diamond on the table was perfectly in my line of sight. "After the baby is born, he will give me a formal wedding."

My chest turned to ice. I looked at the man still kneeling on the floor.

"You are getting married?" I asked.

Johnson dropped the slipper and stood up. He smoothed the front of his designer shirt, his brow creasing in profound annoyance. He did not look guilty. He looked interrupted.

"Emily, stop causing trouble," he snapped.

"I am asking you a direct question," I said, stepping further into the room. "Are you marrying her?"

"Jenny is pregnant," Johnson shot back. He stepped in front of the bed, using his body to shield her from my view. "I must give her and the child a proper status."

"And what about us?" I asked. "What about the promises you made to me?"

"As for you..." He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the last decade of my life with a single gesture. "We will talk about it later."

A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I did not even deserve a future in his eyes. He had mapped out a whole new life, and I was just an inconvenient leftover.

"Johnson, I am so scared," Jenny whimpered, breaking the tense silence.

She buried her face in her hands. Fake sobs shook her shoulders, rattling the metal bed frame.

"The doctor said mood swings will hurt the baby," she cried, her voice muffled. "Make her leave. She is upsetting me!"

Johnson immediately wrapped his arms around Jenny, pulling her against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, then turned and glared at me.

"Leave immediately," Johnson ordered. His tone held zero hesitation. "If anything happens to Jenny or my child, I will never forgive you."

A dry chuckle escaped my throat. I was the one dying. I was the one who just lost my only medical lifeline because he stole my money. Yet, they demanded I play the sensible villain.

"You will never forgive me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Get out, Emily," he said, pointing toward the hallway.

I turned around and walked out of the room.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, a sharp spike of agony drove through my skull. My neuro-delay syndrome always struck without warning. The stress of the last hour finally caught up to my damaged nervous system.

I stumbled forward. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, then blurred into a blinding white smear.

"Miss Dawson?" a passing nurse called out.

I tried to answer, but my tongue refused to move. The ground tilted violently beneath my shoes. My knees buckled, sending me crashing onto the hard tile at the hospital entrance.

Right before the darkness swallowed me entirely, a tall figure in a tailored suit sprinted through the sliding glass doors.

William.

The sharp smell of antiseptic woke me.

I opened my eyes to a sprawling, high-end private suite. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

William sat at a glass table nearby, reviewing a stack of financial documents. He noticed my movement and instantly dropped his pen.

"You collapsed," William said, walking over to the edge of the bed.

"How long was I out?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"Three hours," he replied. His expression remained entirely serious. He crossed his arms over his chest. "The doctor said if you delay any longer, you will permanently lose the optimal treatment window."

I stared at the white blanket covering my legs. I stayed entirely silent.

My phone vibrated on the mattress beside my hand.

I picked it up. A new text message from Johnson lit up the screen.

*Jenny went to the emergency room from the shock. This is all your fault. Come apologize immediately.*

I read the words three times. A soft laugh broke past my lips.

The laughter grew louder, echoing in the quiet room, until hot tears finally spilled over my cheeks and splashed onto the illuminated glass of my phone screen.

"Emily?" William asked, stepping closer.

"I am fine," I told him.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I opened my contacts list and tapped Johnson's name.

*Block Caller.*

I opened my photo gallery. Ten years of birthdays, holidays, and shared smiles stared back at me. I hit *Select All*, then *Delete*.

Finally, I logged into my banking app and removed myself from the joint household account.

I pulled up the dial pad and punched in an international number.

The line rang twice.

"Swiss Rehabilitation Center, how may I direct your call?" a woman answered.

"This is Emily Dawson," I said, my voice steady and clear. "Please restore my treatment status."

"One moment, Miss Dawson. We require the immediate deposit to secure the reinstatement."

William stepped forward. He did not say a single word. He did not ask for an explanation. He simply took his phone from his pocket, tapped a few buttons, and showed me a confirmation screen. The massive wire transfer was already complete.

"The funds have been sent," I told the receptionist.

"Received," she confirmed a moment later. "Your spot is secured. We will expect you in Geneva."

I ended the call.

"I will handle the remaining medical release forms," William said, turning toward the door. "Rest."

He slipped out of the room, leaving me alone in the quiet space.

I held my phone, ready to power it down for the long trip ahead.

A notification chimed. An SMS bypassed the block list, coming through an unknown number.

*Emily, where exactly are you?*

I stared at Johnson's final demand. I pressed the power button, plunging the screen into total darkness.

Miles away, on a private runway, William’s jet fueled up for the flight to Switzerland, its engines already roaring against the wind.