The day of my surgery, my wife took care of my ex who had stomach problems

The day of my appendectomy, Sarah said she'd be there. But when I woke up, still groggy from the anesthesia, she was nowhere in sight. A text from two hours earlier flashed on my phone: "Jason's having a panic attack, I'm with him. Be there soon."

Jason. Her ex. He was always having a crisis – a panic attack, a migraine, a sudden and inexplicable stomach ache. And whenever he needed her, Sarah dropped everything for him. Me? I was always second best.

I called her. A male voice answered, “Babe, can you grab me a towel?”

That was it. Something inside me snapped. Quietly, I hung up and called a cab to my lawyer's office. I was done. I wanted a divorce.

1.

Back home, the emptiness of the apartment echoed the hollowness in my chest. I tossed the divorce papers onto the coffee table, their stark white a mockery of our failing marriage.

Right then, Sarah's face popped up on my phone. She was perfectly made up, wearing a silky camisole, her expression calm and collected. Like she hadn’t just been cooing with another man moments ago.

"Surgery over?" she asked brightly, the question a mere formality.

"It is," I said coldly, staring at the face I once loved.

"Already?" A flicker of surprise crossed her features. "Jason was really struggling today, I couldn't leave him, so…"

"So you left me alone on an operating table? Who's your husband, Sarah?" My voice dripped with sarcasm.

She bristled. "What are you talking about? Jason and I are just friends!"

"Friends? Don't insult my intelligence, Sarah." I rubbed my temples, exhaustion washing over me. The post-surgical weakness was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her betrayal. "Friends don't answer the phone from his bathroom, half-naked, asking for a towel."

"What are you implying? Jason's not well. What's wrong with me helping him out?"

"Ethan, stop being ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous?" I shot to my feet, a sharp pain lancing through my abdomen. I ignored it. "Where were you when I was sick? It's always the same excuse! It's always Jason!"

The video feed wobbled. A shirtless Jason squeezed into the frame. "Ethan, don't blame Sarah. She was worried about me… I'm all alone, you know. She felt bad for me. It's my fault, really." He shot me a smug look, staking his claim.

"Oh, I don't mind at all," I said, my voice laced with venom. "It's a touching reunion. You two deserve each other."

Sarah's face hardened. "Ethan, stop being so sarcastic! Jason's sensitive. What if this triggers his anxiety?" She pulled Jason closer, wrapping her arms around him possessively. I noticed then that her camisole was thin, revealing, and Jason nestled his head against her chest. The image was nauseating.

My nails dug into my palms. I had loved Sarah for ten years, since we were kids. A decade of devotion, ending like this.

"Sarah," I said, my voice icy, "Do you remember your parents?"

She flinched, her gaze darting away. Of course, she couldn’t look me in the eye. When her family went bankrupt, her father jum...