My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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As we headed downstairs, Mark's phone buzzed—Olivia's name flashing on the screen.
He shot me an awkward glance, but I played dumb, waving him off with forced nonchalance. "I'm exhausted. Go handle your... business."
Mark didn't need telling twice.
He hailed me a cab, fussing over the driver like some overprotective guardian. But the second the car pulled away, I caught him in the rearview mirror—already turning on his heel, striding straight for the underground parking lot.
Sometimes, when life leaves you speechless, all you can do is laugh. So I did. And then I felt it—the cold sting of tears on my cheeks.
The wind carried the chill straight to my heart.
Whatever. Tomorrow was the last day.
After that, divorce papers in hand, Mark and I would be nothing but strangers.
Back home, I poured myself a glass of wine, toasting to my impending freedom. A little tipsy, I wandered to the balcony just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. Without thinking, I leaned forward, reaching for that fleeting brilliance—
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A pair of hands yanked me back so hard I stumbled into a familiar embrace.
Mark's voice was laced with panic. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!"
His cologne hit me—something expensive, suffocating. The same scent Olivia always wore.
I pointed weakly at the sky. "Shooting star..."
Shooting star.
The night we fell in love, the heavens had put on a meteor shower just for us. He'd promised to watch every one with me, no matter what. "I'll drop everything for you," he'd said.
Yet year after year, he'd dropped me instead.
Mark exhaled sharply. "It's just a damn shooting star. I'll take you to see a meteor shower another time. Don't scare me like that again."
Just a shooting star.
That wasn't a shooting star. That was his promise—tossed aside like it meant nothing.
"Tomorrow's our anniversary," he announced, not asking, just dictating. "We'll spend it together. I'll pick you up."
My eyes dropped to his left hand. The pale imprint of his wedding band was nearly gone—proof he'd stopped wearing it long ago.
Had he always been this cruel?
"Fine."
No argument. Just closure.
Maybe out of guilt, he'd booked the same restaurant as before. But the moment I arrived, my stomach twisted—the reserved table was the exact one Olivia had occupied last time.
I demanded a change immediately.
Then I waited.
Afternoon bled into evening. Evening crawled past midnight. My phone died in my hand. No Mark.
Hunger gnawed at me until I caved, ordering a pathetic little cake just to quiet the ache.
One call. No answer.
Unbelievable.
Same empty promises. Same idiot (me) falling for them.
I pulled up my contacts to rage-text him—only to find the company group chat exploding.
Ten minutes ago, an anonymous email had hit every inbox.
Photos of Mark and Olivia. Cozy dinners. Lingering touches. Shots angled to make her look like the seductress, him the unwilling target.
The subject line? Assistant Sleeps Her Way to the Top—Disgusting!
The kicker? Scenes of me handing projects to Olivia, looking hollow while she glowed.
Every word pretended to defend me.
Every word painted a target on my back.
He shot me an awkward glance, but I played dumb, waving him off with forced nonchalance. "I'm exhausted. Go handle your... business."
Mark didn't need telling twice.
He hailed me a cab, fussing over the driver like some overprotective guardian. But the second the car pulled away, I caught him in the rearview mirror—already turning on his heel, striding straight for the underground parking lot.
Sometimes, when life leaves you speechless, all you can do is laugh. So I did. And then I felt it—the cold sting of tears on my cheeks.
The wind carried the chill straight to my heart.
Whatever. Tomorrow was the last day.
After that, divorce papers in hand, Mark and I would be nothing but strangers.
Back home, I poured myself a glass of wine, toasting to my impending freedom. A little tipsy, I wandered to the balcony just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. Without thinking, I leaned forward, reaching for that fleeting brilliance—
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A pair of hands yanked me back so hard I stumbled into a familiar embrace.
Mark's voice was laced with panic. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!"
His cologne hit me—something expensive, suffocating. The same scent Olivia always wore.
I pointed weakly at the sky. "Shooting star..."
Shooting star.
The night we fell in love, the heavens had put on a meteor shower just for us. He'd promised to watch every one with me, no matter what. "I'll drop everything for you," he'd said.
Yet year after year, he'd dropped me instead.
Mark exhaled sharply. "It's just a damn shooting star. I'll take you to see a meteor shower another time. Don't scare me like that again."
Just a shooting star.
That wasn't a shooting star. That was his promise—tossed aside like it meant nothing.
"Tomorrow's our anniversary," he announced, not asking, just dictating. "We'll spend it together. I'll pick you up."
My eyes dropped to his left hand. The pale imprint of his wedding band was nearly gone—proof he'd stopped wearing it long ago.
Had he always been this cruel?
"Fine."
No argument. Just closure.
Maybe out of guilt, he'd booked the same restaurant as before. But the moment I arrived, my stomach twisted—the reserved table was the exact one Olivia had occupied last time.
I demanded a change immediately.
Then I waited.
Afternoon bled into evening. Evening crawled past midnight. My phone died in my hand. No Mark.
Hunger gnawed at me until I caved, ordering a pathetic little cake just to quiet the ache.
One call. No answer.
Unbelievable.
Same empty promises. Same idiot (me) falling for them.
I pulled up my contacts to rage-text him—only to find the company group chat exploding.
Ten minutes ago, an anonymous email had hit every inbox.
Photos of Mark and Olivia. Cozy dinners. Lingering touches. Shots angled to make her look like the seductress, him the unwilling target.
The subject line? Assistant Sleeps Her Way to the Top—Disgusting!
The kicker? Scenes of me handing projects to Olivia, looking hollow while she glowed.
Every word pretended to defend me.
Every word painted a target on my back.
End of My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me in the ER book page.