The Unsigned Divorce Papers

My husband hated my guts. How much? I spent six months in his hospital recovering from a shattered body after a car wreck. He was an orthopedic surgeon.

He never walked through my door. Not even once. The rest of the staff wasn't much better. To them, I was the villain. The toxic wife who forced Brooke out of the picture.

When they first pulled me from the wreckage, his colleagues actually patted him on the back. Tristan, you finally get a break from her.

And when my discharge papers were finally typed up, his friends braced themselves. Sloane is out. Poor Tristan is in for it again. They were right about one thing.

The very first thing I did after leaving that hospital was track Tristan down. But I didn't cling to his arm. I didn't beg for his attention.

I just slid a document across the surface of his desk. "Tristan, this is what you've been waiting for." "What is this?" I pulled at the stiff corners of my mouth. "Open it.

You keep the house and the cars, Tristan. All I need is your signature right now.

Have a great life." "We are never seeing each other again." Chapter 1 "Nurse, what's the deal with the bed next to us? Why doesn't she ever get any visitors?" "Hmph.

Probably pissed off too many people. Karma's a bitch." I heard every word they said while I was in the coma.

Trapped in that suffocating darkness, I fought with everything I had to claw my way out, to force my eyes open. Nothing worked.

Until the sharp shatter of a dropping glass from the next bed finally snapped the tether. My eyelids jerked open. "Oh my god, honey, you're awake," the older woman gasped.

I stared at the sterile white ceiling tiles. My body felt like it was encased in concrete. "I'm so sorry, honey. Dropped my damn glass. Did I scare you awake?" No.

If anything, I owed her. That sudden spike of adrenaline was the only thing that yanked me back to the surface. Nobody knew what it was like in that pitchblack void.

The suffocating weight of being buried alive inside your own skull. The nurses flooded in soon after, followed by a rotation of doctors.

They shined penlights into my pupils, checked my vitals, and muttered that it was a miracle I was finally conscious.

But as I scanned the sea of white lab coats, Tristan wasn't there. I never heard his voice in the dark.

And now that I was in the light, he was still a ghost. "Where is Tristan?" I rasped. The doctors exchanged a tense look. One of them shifted his weight, refusing to meet my eyes.

He stared down at his clipboard and cleared his throat. "Dr. Tristan is… he's in surgery.

He can't step away right now." "Right." "What's the damage?" "When the car rolled, you took the brunt of the impact to the back of your skull.

The subdural hematoma is what kept you in the coma.

You also suffered a fractured right arm, a severely crushed left femur, and multiple other hairline fractures and deep tissue contusions.

It was bad." "As of yesterday, you've been out for forty days. But you got here fast enough.

The swelling in your brain went down, we pinned your bones together, and you're casted up. You're healing." The harsh hospital lights clicked on for dinner.

The woman next to me scooped mashed potatoes into her husband's mouth and glanced over. "Sweetie, who is this Dr. Tristan you keep asking about? Someone special?" He was my husband.

What kind of surgery lasted a straight eight hours? What kind of doctor couldn't spare sixty seconds to check on his wife who just woke up from a coma?

I swallowed the sandpaper in my throat and shook my head. "Just an acquaintance." "Oh," she said, her brow furrowing. "What about your family?" I glanced at the hospitalissued aide changing out my IV bag.

She was the one who had spongebathed me and changed my catheters for over a month. I was probably the most pathetic case on the entire floor.

I fed her a flat lie. "They live out of state. It's hard for them to travel." The truth was, my parents divorced back in middle school after my dad got caught screwing around.

He won full custody. My mom couldn't handle the fallout and booked a oneway ticket to Europe. My dad was a businessman. He practically lived in airport terminals.

He threw money at my bank account every month to make up for the fact that he was never actually there. Oh, and three years ago, he had a new baby boy with his newest wife.

Tristan was the one I chased. But 'chased' implies I actually caught him, that he eventually wanted me back.

We put ink on a marriage license, but staring at him was like staring at a glacier. He never once looked at me with that relaxed, easy smile he always saved for Brooke.

If Brooke hadn't left town all those years ago, she'd be the one wearing his wedding ring right now.

Chapter 2 "Oh my god, why is the blood backing up?" the aide gasped as she brought in my dinner tray. I turned my head.

The IV tube taped to the back of my hand was flushed dark red with my own blood. The aide immediately slammed the call button.

The nurse who barged into the room was Courtney, an old high school classmate of mine. She ripped the medical tape off the back of my hand and yanked the needle straight out.

Beads of blood welled up and splattered across my skin. She didn't even look at me. Honestly, it wasn't surprising.

Back in high school, practically everyone in our class trashed my name behind my back. They called me a homewrecker, a bitch, a rich brat throwing her weight around.

She swapped the tubing and marched out without a word. Even the aide and the woman in the next bed couldn't stand the sight of it.

The aide picked up my dinner tray, ready to feed me. "Maybe she's just having a rough shift," the aide muttered. "No," the woman next to us chimed in. "I've noticed it.

She's just nasty to… well, to her. When my husband needs his bandages changed, her attitude is perfectly fine." I didn't defend myself.

I just looked at the aide. "Can you buy me one of those overbed tables? Put the food on it.

I'll eat by myself." I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth, forcing back the sting behind my eyes.

My right arm was still immobilized in a heavy cast. I could only move my left. If the old me had seen Courtney pull a stunt like that, I would have raised hell. Now?

I just didn't have the energy to fight back. When Tristan walked in, I was clumsily shoveling food into my mouth, wrapped up like a mummy in medical gauze.

Eating lefthanded was a disaster. The moment he stepped through the door, my spoon froze in midair. I must have looked like a total wreck.

His gaze swept over me for a fraction of a second before locking onto the older man in the next bed. "What's the issue here?" He was here for the guy next to me.

I lowered my head and shoved another spoonful of food into my mouth.

My entire body went numb. "Doctor, thank God," the woman said. "My husband's elbow started throbbing out of nowhere." Tristan stepped past the foot of my bed and loosened the cast on the older man's arm. "Better?" "Much better.

The pain's fading." The woman frowned in confusion. "Did they switch our doctors? Where's Dr.

Stephen?" "Family emergency," Tristan replied smoothly. "I'm covering his rounds for a couple of days." "Oh, I see. You look so young!

To be a surgeon at this hospital at your age, that's impressive.

Do you have a girlfriend?" Tristan ignored the question entirely. "The cast was on too tight, compressing the elbow joint. That's what caused the flareup.

If it happens again, page a doctor immediately." He finished adjusting the older man. But he didn't leave. I kept my head down, forcing my left hand to blindly scoop more food.

The tips of a pristine pair of white sneakers entered my peripheral vision. They stopped right by the edge of my bed. A nurse sprinted into the room. "Dr.

Tristan, emergency in the ER." The white sneakers immediately pivoted and vanished from my sight. I turned my head toward the pitchblack window and sniffed hard.

I never saw Tristan again after that. Dr. Stephen came back, so Tristan didn't need to cover his rounds anymore. Our beds belonged to Dr. Stephen's rotation.

I overheard the nurses talking about a massive multicar pileup that night. The ER was flooded with casualties. Then I heard Tristan was sent to a medical conference out of state.

By the time he got back, a fivealarm fire had ripped through a downtown apartment complex, and the hospital was overflowing.

And after that, word around the ward was that he'd flown overseas for a fellowship. Bottom line, he was busy. Chapter 3 The bed next to mine saw a revolving door of patients.

The moment I was cleared to stand, I threw myself into rehab. I had to walk again. I had to be normal.

No matter how agonizing the physical therapy was, I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain in that gym, just like everyone else.

Of course, during all this, I became the running joke of our old circle.

The arrogant ice queen, bedridden from a car wreck, incapable of taking care of herself, needing an aide for basic survival. We used to be med students together at State.

But during my residency year, I ruined my hand. Being a surgeon was off the table, so I walked away from the career entirely.

A handful of my old classmates had landed jobs at this exact hospital. None of them pitied me. To them, this was pure karma.

After all, the accepted narrative was that I was the ruthless bitch who bullied Brooke into fleeing the country. "Your gait is back to normal.

Incredible." Four months later, my physical therapist clapped as I walked an unassisted lap across the mats. "Thanks for pushing me." "That was all your own grit.

Honestly, your femur was pulverized. It was a brutal break.

But in this entire grueling process, you're the only patient I've ever seen who didn't scream once." I pulled a small smile but kept my mouth shut.

I signed the discharge papers and slid into the back of a cab alone. Half a year.

I stared at the electronic lock on the front door, took a deep breath, and pressed my finger against the scanner. The lock beeped.

I pushed the door open, and the air inside was thick with the suffocating smell of dust. Just as I suspected. Tristan rarely came back here either.

I cleared off the couch and pried open the takeout container of chicken noodle soup I picked up down the street. I managed two bites before my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

I stared at the group chat notifications. [Sloane is discharged.] [Damn, already? Didn't she get wrecked in that crash?] [Here we go.

She's going to crawl right back to Tristan and suffocate him again.

Poor guy must have murdered her in a past life to be cursed with her in this one.] [Shut up, she's still in this group.

If she sees this, she'll make your life hell.] [Shit, wrong chat.] Instantly, the messages were unsent, vanishing from the screen.

I locked my phone screen, tossed it aside, and shoved another spoonful of lukewarm soup into my mouth. I slept alone that night. Tristan never showed up. Dawn broke.

I rubbed my eyes with a stiff hand, waiting a beat for my body to adjust before dragging myself out of bed.

I dressed, grabbed the manila envelope off the coffee table, and headed for the door. Right before I stepped out, my hand paused on the knob.

I took one last look at the threebedroom apartment I had meticulously designed. Click. I pulled the door shut and walked away. I found Tristan in the orthopedic ward hallway.

He was walking out of the morning briefing surrounded by a pack of white coats. The moment his eyes landed on me, his fingers froze midpage on a patient chart.

The doctors next to him exchanged a knowing look and immediately scattered down the hall. I didn't know how I managed to pull my lips into a smile as I walked toward him.

Maybe I was just glad I wasn't permanently crippled. Or maybe the tether had finally snapped. He looked immaculate as always.

The faint dark circles under his eyes did nothing to ruin the sharp, flawless cut of his jawline. He stepped forward, his voice a smooth defense. "Sorry about yesterday.

I had three backtoback surgeries.

By the time I scrubbed out, the front desk said you'd already processed your paperwork and left." I nodded, extending the manila envelope toward his chest. "This is for you." "What is this?" A slight crease appeared between his brows.

Chapter 4 I rolled my shoulders back and let out a light breath. Open it. Tristan, you keep the house and the cars. All I need is your signature right now. Have a great life.

We are never seeing each other again. I shoved the divorce papers into his chest, took a step back, and let the crowded hallway swallow me whole.

The moment I stepped into the airport terminal, I pulled out my phone. I deleted his pinned contact. I exited the high school group chat. I bought a oneway ticket to a small town