After our meeting, I stop by interns’ desks at the bullpen to check in with them. They adore me. I know it sounds like I’m blowing my own horn, but they do. I offer advice when they ask, we share jokes, and I help them. There’s warmth here, banter, a sense of belonging. People greet me warmly, ask for (and appreciate) my opinion, and tell me about their weekends.
At home, I’m the maid, the scheduler, the reminder app.
Here, I’m the engine. The center of gravity.
Around noon, I’m sipping my third cup and catch my reflection in the window.
I look happy.
How come I never look like this at home?
You do, Jayne, with the kids.
But….
Just not with Rhys, not anymore.
CHAPTER 4
Rhys
The hospital’s annual gala has become a bigger headache than a triple bypass.
Jayne doesn’t want to go. She told me yesterday morning. She did it casually, as if she were mentioning that we were out of milk.
I toss the patient chart I’ve been staring at onto my desk. It’s becoming harder and harder to pretend that the tightness in my chest is not because of my marriage. Something is wrong. It’s been wrong for a while.
Fucking hell!
Jayne knows how important this gala is. It’s not just a party—it’s networking, optics, the kind of thing that keeps my name on the board’s radar and my department funded. It’s politics dressed up in tuxedos and champagne. We have to make an appearance. I’m the chief of cardio for fuck’s sake.
And she says,“I’m skipping the gala this year. I’m going out with Iris and the girls.”
Just like that.
She used to love these events. She’d wear something simple and elegant, smile that smile that makes people think I am the luckiest man in the room. She’d talk to my colleagues’ wives. She’d be graceful, warm, the perfect complement to me.
We were a team.
Now she’s suddenly too busy, too tired, too…resentful?
When I brought it up last night, it turned into a whole thing.
“Rhys, I told you I already have plans.”
Her voice was sharp, and it ignited something in me. I snapped.
“Plans? Jayne, this isn’t optional.”
“For you,” she shot back. “It’s important for you. I’ve been to a dozen of these galas. I smile, I nod, I talk to people about your brilliance. Meanwhile, you barely notice I’m there.”
“That’s not fair. I am networking.”
“Fair or not, Rhys, it is true. I sit there while you are with everyone else…ignoring me.”
I don’t understand why she’s being so difficult. All I want is for her to show up, to be supportive. That’s what spouses do.
“I’m asking you to come,” I ordered. “That’s all. One night. It looks bad if you’re not there.”
