My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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My words wiped the color from Mark's face. I could see the discomfort flash in his eyes before I suddenly deflated.
What did it matter why he'd strayed? Revenge, midlife crisis, plain old boredom - the reason didn't change the facts. His heart had wandered, end of story.
I stopped pressing him and slumped into the backseat, closing my eyes against the frilly car decorations - fuzzy pink seat covers, dangling dreamcatchers, the whole works.
Mark shifted awkwardly, the guilt practically radiating off him as he wordlessly offered me a granola bar. "Eat something."
My eyes flicked to the snack compartment he'd pulled it from - stuffed with candy wrappers, half-eaten cookies, and pungent takis bags.
"Well look at that," I said, bitterness creeping into my voice. "Your germaphobe phase is over?"
The jab hit its mark. I couldn't help it - the jealousy burned too sharp.
I remembered too well the times I'd worked through lunch, stomach cramping so badly my hands shook. That one afternoon when Mark had actually snatched my last protein bar and tossed it out the window. "No eating in my car," he'd snapped. "Not even water."
Funny how rules melted away for the right person.
Mark's expression darkened at my sarcasm, but I didn't care. I turned toward the window, feigning sleep until we reached the office.
The second the car stopped, I bolted - beating Mark to the elevator, burying myself in a mountain of unread emails. I wasn't staying for him. But I'd always been the type to finish what I started, and this project wasn't done yet.
By 4 PM, hunger pangs reminded me I'd skipped lunch again. I was sipping lukewarm water between spreadsheet formulas when security burst in with two overflowing snack bags.
"Mark's treat!" he announced, sparking a feeding frenzy.
"Pearl milk tea! He remembered my favorite!"
"Ugh, no mango flavor?"
"Duh, Olivia's allergic. Show some tact."
The whispers started immediately. A clueless intern piped up: "Since Mark's divorcing, is Olivia next? He's so sweet to her!" Someone shushed her, throwing an apologetic glance my way.
An awkward colleague slid a durian cake toward me. "Kids these days, am I right?"
I pushed it back. "Allergic. You take it."
The irony wasn't lost on anyone. Three years ago, Mark had banned durian from the entire office for me. He'd hand-delivered matcha lattes to my desk and watched like a hawk until I ate lunch. Now Olivia got the royal treatment, mango-free snacks and all.
Office gossip was a revolving door. First it was "Mark and Rachel" shipping, now "Mark and Olivia." Honestly? I didn't have the bandwidth to care. Between deadlines and divorce paperwork, who had time for watercooler drama?
What did it matter why he'd strayed? Revenge, midlife crisis, plain old boredom - the reason didn't change the facts. His heart had wandered, end of story.
I stopped pressing him and slumped into the backseat, closing my eyes against the frilly car decorations - fuzzy pink seat covers, dangling dreamcatchers, the whole works.
Mark shifted awkwardly, the guilt practically radiating off him as he wordlessly offered me a granola bar. "Eat something."
My eyes flicked to the snack compartment he'd pulled it from - stuffed with candy wrappers, half-eaten cookies, and pungent takis bags.
"Well look at that," I said, bitterness creeping into my voice. "Your germaphobe phase is over?"
The jab hit its mark. I couldn't help it - the jealousy burned too sharp.
I remembered too well the times I'd worked through lunch, stomach cramping so badly my hands shook. That one afternoon when Mark had actually snatched my last protein bar and tossed it out the window. "No eating in my car," he'd snapped. "Not even water."
Funny how rules melted away for the right person.
Mark's expression darkened at my sarcasm, but I didn't care. I turned toward the window, feigning sleep until we reached the office.
The second the car stopped, I bolted - beating Mark to the elevator, burying myself in a mountain of unread emails. I wasn't staying for him. But I'd always been the type to finish what I started, and this project wasn't done yet.
By 4 PM, hunger pangs reminded me I'd skipped lunch again. I was sipping lukewarm water between spreadsheet formulas when security burst in with two overflowing snack bags.
"Mark's treat!" he announced, sparking a feeding frenzy.
"Pearl milk tea! He remembered my favorite!"
"Ugh, no mango flavor?"
"Duh, Olivia's allergic. Show some tact."
The whispers started immediately. A clueless intern piped up: "Since Mark's divorcing, is Olivia next? He's so sweet to her!" Someone shushed her, throwing an apologetic glance my way.
An awkward colleague slid a durian cake toward me. "Kids these days, am I right?"
I pushed it back. "Allergic. You take it."
The irony wasn't lost on anyone. Three years ago, Mark had banned durian from the entire office for me. He'd hand-delivered matcha lattes to my desk and watched like a hawk until I ate lunch. Now Olivia got the royal treatment, mango-free snacks and all.
Office gossip was a revolving door. First it was "Mark and Rachel" shipping, now "Mark and Olivia." Honestly? I didn't have the bandwidth to care. Between deadlines and divorce paperwork, who had time for watercooler drama?
End of My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER book page.