While I was undergoing surgery, my husband was accompanying his first love who was in a bad mood.

The day of my appendectomy, Mark promised to be there. But when I woke up, he was nowhere to be seen. A two-hour-old text glared from my phone:

“Lisa’s having a bad stomach ache. I’m with her. Be there soon.”

I called him. A woman’s voice answered. “Mark, honey, can you grab me a towel?”

It was always something with his ex. Either Lisa was spiraling into depression and needed comforting, or her “fragile” stomach was acting up. Whenever I needed him, she needed him more.

Quietly, I hung up and called a cab to my lawyer’s office. I was done.

1.

Back home, the silence echoed the heavy drag of my steps. I tossed the divorce papers onto the coffee table, their coldness mocking my pathetic marriage.

Mark’s video call buzzed through. He looked crisp and collected in his bathrobe, utterly composed, as if the man whispering sweet nothings to another woman just minutes ago wasn't him.

“Surgery over?” he asked cheerfully, his concern perfunctory at best.

“It is,” I said, my eyes fixed on the screen, on the face I once loved.

“Already?” A flicker of surprise, then a practiced excuse. “Lisa’s really weak today. I didn’t want to leave her…”

“So you left me alone on the operating table? Who is your wife, Mark?” My voice dripped sarcasm.

He stammered, his voice rising. “What are you talking about? Lisa and I are just friends!”

“Friends? Seriously? Don’t insult my intelligence.” I sighed, exhaustion overwhelming me. The post-surgical weakness was nothing compared to this bone-crushing despair.

“Friends don't answer the phone from his apartment, wearing a bathrobe, and get asked to fetch towels. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What are you trying to say? Lisa’s sick, I’m helping her. What’s the big deal, Wendy? Stop being unreasonable!”

“Unreasonable?” I stood up abruptly, a sharp pain lancing through my abdomen. I ignored it. “Where were you when I was sick? It's always something with her! It’s always Lisa!”

The video feed wobbled. A woman in a skimpy nightgown squeezed into the frame. “Wendy, don’t blame Mark. He’s just worried about me…” Lisa’s voice was a sickly sweet whisper. I almost bought it. “I’m all alone… he’s just being kind… it’s my fault…” She threw me a look of pure triumph, staking her claim.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” I said, my voice laced with venom. “How touching. A heartwarming reunion. You two are perfect for each other.”

Mark’s face hardened. “Wendy, stop being so sarcastic! Lisa’s sensitive. What if this triggers her depression?” He pulled Lisa onto his lap, cradling her like precious cargo. That's when I noticed Mark was only wearing the bathrobe. And Lisa… she nestled against him, the image a sickening display of intimacy.

My nails dug into my palms. The physical pain was nothing compared to the shattering of my heart. I had loved him for ten years, from a teenage crush to this… this utter devastation. I had given him everything.

“Mark,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Do you remember your parents?”

He flinched, his gaze dart...