The day I returned, an airline official said there was a problem with my luggage. They led me to a private room. When the door opened, the scent of roses overwhelmed me—the floor covered in red petals. And there was Ethan, my Ethan, the man I once thought was the love of my life, kneeling with a ring, his eyes full of longing. The Grant family erupted in cheers. "Marry him! Say yes!" Everyone expected me to cry and whisper "I do." After all, I’d spent five years worshipping him before he noticed me. But they’d forgotten. Forgotten how, three years ago, Ethan accused me of plagiarizing his protégé’s work. Forgotten how he reported me for alcoholism, blaming me for a patient’s death. I was thrown out like trash, beaten by the grieving family outside. With every door closed, I fled the country to rebuild my life. Now, Ethan’s father claimed, "He spent everything to clear your name. He’s waited for you, crying over your photo." I stayed silent, my gaze drifting to my bag—to the marriage certificate inside. 1 "That whole incident was a huge mess, Audrey. You had to give him time to sort things out. Why did you just run off in a huff?" "He's been a wreck these past three years because you left without a word. He barely eats, barely sleeps. He’s torn this city apart looking for you." From the moment I’d been ushered into this room, Mr. Grant had been clinging to my hand, his words a relentless stream. He had aged considerably in three years. The sharp, judgmental glare he used to give me—the one that screamed I wasn't good enough for his son—was gone, replaced by a weary sadness. But his words were still as sharp as ever. He was trying to paint his son as a tragic romantic hero, but all I heard was blame. Honestly, the name ‘Ethan’ sounded foreign to me now. Three years is a long time. More than enough to wash away a past that was never worth remembering in the first place. It was obvious they had no idea I was married. I gently pulled my hand from Mr. Grant's grasp, my expression a placid mask. "Mr. Grant, Ethan and I ended things three years ago. I don't understand why you're telling me any of this." The Grants stared at me, their faces a collective mask of disbelief. This was not the reaction they had anticipated from the girl who once would have done anything for Ethan. The girl who had thrown away an acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins just to work at the same city hospital as him. Just to be near him. Just to take care of him. Being a doctor is a grueling profession, but I made sure he had three home-cooked meals a day. I took on his extra surgeries to ease his workload, even when I was so exhausted I could barely stand by the end of my own shifts. I even put his name on my research papers so he could get promoted faster, forcing myself through sleepless night after sleepless night, my body growing paler and more fragile. But when Ethan finally accepted my proposal, none of it mattered. It was all worth it. Suddenly, my life was a dream. I’d return to my office to find a hot coffee on my desk, a small note with his sweet words scrawled on it. When a patient’s family got aggressive, he would step in, a solid wall of protection. As our wedding day approached, we’d spend hours planning our honeymoon, picking out venues together. He once fought with the hospital director just to get a day off so we could go try on wedding dresses. I remember the look in his eyes as I twirled on the platform in a cloud of white lace—pure, unadulterated adoration. Even the shop assistant sighed, "I've never seen a couple so in love." Back then, I truly believed I must have saved a nation in a past life to deserve a man like him. And then, a new doctor transferred to our department. Her name was Chloe. From that day on, Ethan stopped talking about the wedding. The coffee on my desk disappeared. At first, I told myself he was just busy, mentoring the new subordinate. I didn't want to bother him. But then the venue coordinator called, saying they needed Ethan's final signature. I had no choice but to knock on his office door. He sighed, annoyed. "It's such a hassle. Can't you just sign for me?" But when I arrived at the venue, the coordinator handed me two contracts. One for me. And one for Chloe. The groom’s name on both was Ethan Grant. 2 My hand, clutching the papers, was slick with sweat. It’s just a coincidence, I told myself, a simple mix-up of names. But when I returned to the hospital, I found my colleagues gathered around, each holding a small box of wedding candy. They were showering Chloe with congratulations on her marriage. And Ethan… Ethan was leaning against the far wall, a soft, tender smile on his face as he watched the girl at the center of the crowd. In that moment, it felt like a scalpel had plunged straight into my heart. The pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe. He turned, and his eyes met mine. He saw the tears welling up, the crimson blush of betrayal on my face, but there wasn't a flicker of sympathy in his expression. Just a cool, detached inquiry. "You're back already? Did you get it signed?" My gaze swept over the laughing crowd, then back to him. I slapped the documents against his chest. "Which one are you talking about?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Mine? Or Chloe's?" My accusation made him frown. "Can we talk about this at home? I'll explain everything. Everyone's having a good time right now. Don't make a scene and ruin the mood." A scene? Ruin the mood? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn't believe it. The man who was whispering "my wife" in my ear just a few nights ago was now standing here, humiliating me. Perhaps my laughter stung him, because a flash of guilt crossed his face. He softened his tone. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Don't overthink things." He glanced at his watch. "I have a surgery now. I'll come to your office as soon as I'm done, okay, Audrey?" He reached out, his hand gently patting my arm in a placating gesture. I flinched away, wiping the corner of my eye with the back of my hand as I turned to leave. "Fine," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Ethan started to call after me, but he stopped himself. I waited in my office, staring blankly at a patient's chart, the words blurring into meaningless shapes. I don't know how much time passed before a knock came at the door. "Come in." Ethan entered, holding a cup of coffee. "Brought you this. I heard you have a long surgery later. This should help." I glanced at the cup. It was blank. No note. I gave a quiet "mmhmm." "Chloe is my junior from medical school," he began, his voice earnest. "Her family is very traditional, and they've been pressuring her to get married. A few days ago, her mother threatened to kill herself over it. She asked me to help her out, just for a little while." He paused, watching my reaction. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd misunderstand." I sipped the coffee, listening in silence. Finally, I asked, "So, you two are legally married?" He hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. Seeing the look on my face, he rushed to explain. "Don't worry. As soon as I meet her parents and they're satisfied, we'll get a divorce. Chloe's not the clingy type. She promised." He sounded so sincere, but the whole story was just… insane. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Seeing my continued silence, he reached into the pocket of his white coat and pulled out a small box. He dropped to one knee, his eyes locked on mine. "Trust me, Audrey. You're the only one I love." His voice was a low, desperate plea. "I know this is hard on you. But once this is all over, I promise I'll give you the grandest wedding you've ever seen." Before I could even think to refuse, he slid a diamond ring onto my finger. Then he took out the matching band and put it on his own. The brilliant sparkle on my hand seemed to calm the storm in my heart, just a little. Maybe… maybe he really was just helping a friend. 3 He never wore that ring again. His excuse was flawless: he couldn't wear it during surgery. He and Chloe became inseparable at the hospital, acting for all the world like a devoted couple. They were in the conference rooms together, the cafeteria, the hallways. They were the hospital's golden couple. And I became the "crazy ex." Rumors started to spread that I was a bitter mistress who couldn't accept defeat. I was about to set the record straight when Chloe cornered me. She strolled up to me, hands stuffed in her pockets, a smug, challenging look in her eyes. "Dr. Lin," she began, using my formal title, "Ethan is my husband. I hope you'll stop bothering him from now on." She smirked. "He told me everything. He only got with you because you hounded him relentlessly. No wonder a relationship built on begging is so fragile." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do yourself a favor. Resign." My nails dug into my palms, but my face remained a mask of calm. "Chloe, I have no intention of resigning. And you are not my superior. You don't have the authority to fire me." She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. She pulled her hands from her pockets and crossed them over her chest. "Oh, really? Let's make a bet, then. A bet on how you'll be leaving this hospital." I ignored her and simply showed her the door. That evening, I told Ethan everything. To my shock, he didn't believe me. Instead, he turned on me. "I already told you I'm going to divorce her! Why can't you just be patient? Why do you have to make up such ridiculous stories to attack her?" His voice rose with frustration. "She's trying to force you to resign? Logically, isn't it more likely that you're the one trying to drive her away?" "Audrey, stop it. I'm trying to focus on my career right now. I thought you'd support me, help me, like you used to. The least you can do is not add to my stress." … I hung up the phone. I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the back of a drawer. Ethan was right. I needed to focus on my career. My own ambitions had stagnated while I poured all my energy into him. It was time to change that. I threw myself into studying for the annual board certification exams. In the weeks that followed, Ethan and I became ghosts to each other. We didn't speak. We didn't text. If we passed in the hallway, we were strangers, not even colleagues. Finally, the day of the exam results arrived. I was called into the director's office. He slammed his fist on the desk, his face red with fury. The research paper I had submitted was identical, word for word, to Chloe's. Faced with the accusation, I wasn't nervous. I knew my work. I was a far more skilled researcher than she was. But no one in that room believed me. Someone shoved a phone in my face. It was Chloe's social media feed, filled with daily updates on her "progress" with the paper. My colleagues had, in effect, watched her "write" it from scratch. A torrent of insults rained down on me. "Plagiarist." "Thief." My eyes scanned the room, past the accusing faces, until they landed on Ethan, standing at the very back. He deliberately avoided my gaze. And in that moment, I knew. There was only one other person in the world who knew the password to my computer. It was his birthday. The evidence was damning. The director demoted me on the spot. I ignored him. I pushed through the crowd of scornful colleagues and walked straight up to Ethan. I grabbed his chin and forced his head up, making him look at me. "Ethan," I asked, my voice deadly calm, "do you also believe I copied her?" I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, a tiny hesitation before it was extinguished, replaced by a single, devastating word: "Yes." A small, broken laugh escaped my lips. I let him go. As I turned away, my eyes burned so intensely I felt they could bleed. "Audrey…" I heard him call my name, his voice suddenly uncertain. But I didn't stop. I walked straight out of that conference room and didn't look back. After that day, my colleagues began to shun me completely. No one wanted to be associated with the "plagiarist," the "homewrecker." I didn't care. I buried myself in my work, a phantom flitting between the office and the operating room. A demotion was nothing. I could climb my way back up. Until the day the director threw a letter in my face. An anonymous tip. An accusation that I had performed surgery while intoxicated, resulting in a patient's death. For a moment, the world tilted. The words were English, but they made no sense. "Director, there must be a mistake," I stammered. "That patient had a severe congenital heart defect. He was critical when he arrived." The director didn't speak. He just gestured to the witness he'd brought in. The anesthesiologist from that surgery—Chloe's best friend. "Director, she's Chloe's closest friend! Chloe and I have a history. This is a setup!" "Enough!"
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