What Doesn't Kill My Marriage Makes the Surgeon Cut Deeper

5

Venice’s POV

When I woke up again, I hadn’t even opened my eyes before I heard movement coming from the morgue.

Two nurses were pushing a stretcher inside. On it lay a body covered with a white sheet.

“This poor lady,” one of them sighed. “She was already in a coma, and they still threw her off the seventh floor. If there hadn’t been something below to break the fall, she would’ve died on the spot.”

At his words, my chest tightened painfully.

A moment later, another voice spoke.

“Honestly, it might’ve been better if she had died right then. Sure, she survived and got sent to surgery, but halfway through, the doctor got called away. I heard this patient actually regained consciousness near the end—only for a few minutes—then died in agony.”

“Right, and don’t tell anyone I said this,” he added, lowering his voice. “I heard, during the surgery, Dr. MacGill told the anesthesiologist to use only half the normal dose. This poor lady woke up mid-surgery. Dr. MacGill did it on purpose—to make this patient suffer before putting her into a coma…”

The two of them shuddered.

“Let’s go. Guess she had no one powerful behind her. That’s why she ended up with such a tragic death like this.”

Soon, the morgue door slammed shut. The sound pierced straight through my chest, sharp as a thousand arrows.

My body trembled as I forced myself to stand. Slowly, I lifted the white sheet.

Underneath it was the face I knew best in the world.

For a moment, everything inside me shattered. I thought I had already endured the worst—that what my mom and I had gone through was cruel enough.

But I never imagined there was so much more hidden behind it all.

My mom… She lost her attending doctor and died in unbearable pain—fully conscious to the very end!

Tears streamed down my face, falling onto hers, as if trying to bring her some warmth.

I couldn’t stop shaking. Every part of my body hurt.

Through my blurred vision, I thought I saw her gentle hand reaching out to me.

She touched my head softly, tears of love and sorrow glistening in her eyes.

She had always been like this—patient, forgiving, loving.

Every “first” in my life, she was the first to know.

When I first got together with Jericho, she had warned me.

“I just don’t think he loves you that much, Venice. I’m your mom, sweetheart. I want your husband to love you more than you love him, not the other way around.”

That worried look on her face—it’s still burned into my memory.

Back then, I was stubborn. I argued with her without hesitation, blindly diving into my so-called love with Jericho.

Now, I’ve finally paid the price.

No, she paid the price I was supposed to pay.

When the bell outside tolled, I collapsed over my mom’s body, sobbing bitterly.

Three days later, Jericho’s bodyguards finally released me.

I was burning with fever, and after several IV drips, I struggled to lift myself.

But I couldn’t afford to collapse. Not yet. I still had to take care of my mom’s funeral.

Once everything was settled, I returned to the villa.

During the time I was locked in the morgue, Verona’s wounds had already healed.

Jericho had taken her on yacht trips, bought her a private island, and even named it after her.

He’d also gifted her a villa of her own.

I saw it all on Instagram.

Once, that might have crushed me and left me gasping for air.

But now, my heart was numb.

My mom’s death had taken with it every bit of love I ever had for Jericho.

All I wanted now was to divorce him, sell every Fowler Corporation share in my hands, and leave him with absolutely nothing!

After gathering my documents, I headed straight to the county clerk’s office with the prenuptial agreement Jericho had signed before.

According to the paper, I didn’t need his permission for the divorce—as long as the contract was valid.

I handed all the paperwork to the clerk.

A moment later, they looked up at me in surprise.

“Ma’am, according to our system, you’re already listed as divorced. And the man tied to your submitted ID… He’s… currently married.”

My eyes widened at that news.

“What? Who’s his spouse?”

The clerk hesitated, a trace of pity crossing her face.

“Ma’am, about a month ago, this gentleman ended his marriage with you and remarried—his new wife, one with the last name MacGill.”