The Assistant’s Child and My Wife’s Lie

I stared at my wrist in disbelief. I had only been locked up for two days—what happened to my hand?

Just then, my close friend, Director Lane, entered the room. He looked at me and sighed heavily.

“Dr. Johansson, how could you let this happen? You know better than anyone—a doctor’s hands are their lifeline.”

He held up my arm gently, examining the thick bandages.

“Your wrist suffered prolonged poor circulation. The nerves are severely damaged. We don’t know how long recovery will take… or if full function will return at all.”

My heart plummeted.

Being a doctor wasn’t just a profession—it was my purpose.

I had knelt for an entire night in the rain, begging my father to let me abandon a future in business and pursue clinical medicine instead.

I fought hard to get here—graduating top of my class, grinding through residency, earning my spot as a chief physician in just three years.

And now, I looked down at my stiff, motionless fingers. Pain exploded through my chest, far sharper than the injury itself.

Kate.

You knew how much this meant to me. You knew.

How could you still let it happen?

The door creaked open.

Kate walked in, carrying Andrew in her arms like he was made of glass. Her eyes flicked to my bandaged hand, her tone cool and unbothered.

“Do you know what you did wrong now?”

Without a hint of guilt, she added, “If you hadn’t been so cruel to Andrew… if you hadn’t insulted him like that… I wouldn’t have had to hurt your hand.”

She glanced around the room casually. “It’s better this way. I never liked hospitals anyway. Always smells like disinfectant. Once I give birth, you can stay home and take care of the baby.

My heart stopped.

I couldn’t tell whether the pain I felt was in my chest or radiating from every shattered nerve in my body.

The woman I had grown up with—my classmate, my best friend, my wife—was gone.

We had shared twenty years together.

She had once stood beside me, soaked and trembling, kneeling with me under the storm as I begged to chase my dream.

She had once waited patiently outside the lab, warming my cold hands in hers.

That girl no longer existed.

All that remained was this stranger, speaking heartless words like they were business transactions.

When she reached out, I slapped her.

Hard.

“Kate,” I said coldly, “take your lover and get out. I want a divorce.”

Her face twisted with fury.

“Mike, don’t think your Johansson Family name gives you the right to look down on me! I—Kate—don’t need to cling to anyone—!”

She grabbed my wrist mid-sentence. Then froze.

Blood immediately seeped through the bandages, bright red and spreading fast.

Her expression cracked—guilt, shock, fear—and then she screamed,

“Doctor! Where’s the doctor?!”

“Someone come help! If anything happens to his hand, I swear I’ll tear this place down!”

The doctors rushed in. Bandages were stripped away and I was wheeled back into the operating room.

An hour later, I was pale and groggy as they pushed me back into the ward. Director Lane stood beside me, his expression thunderous.

“What were you thinking?” he snapped. “Do you want to throw away your career? You risked permanent damage—for what?”

“For a woman?” His eyes flicked to Kate, who stood silently beside the bed. “You're not just degrading yourself, you're making a fool out of me. Don’t call yourself my disciple anymore—it's an embarrassment.”

Then he sighed and shook his head, clearly exhausted.

“Why can’t you be more like Andrew? Calm. Considerate. Understanding.”

I turned my head slowly.

Andrew was leaning into Kate’s shoulder, looking frightened and fragile. As if he were the victim here.

I let out a low laugh.

The doctor was right. I had been a fool—for giving my loyalty to a woman so blind.

“Kate,” I said coldly, “this is who I am. I’m not changing. And I am sure as hell I won’t become someone who keeps a lover at home without a shred of shame.”

“I want a divorce.”

Her face darkened instantly.

“You think you can keep threatening me with that?”

“I’m taking care of Andrew. He’s the father of my child. I’m not heartless like you.”

She stepped closer, voice dripping with contempt.

“There are six months left until I give birth. You’d better reflect. Because if you keep acting like this, Andrew won’t feel safe leaving the baby in your care. Not with someone so narrow-minded and selfish.”

I stared at her.

Then, with a hollow laugh, I smiled.