The Surgeon's Betrayal: A Wife's Revenge

Name: The Surgeon's Betrayal: A Wife's Revenge
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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After three years in a mental hospital where my husband, Arthur, had me committed, I finally escaped. I went straight to my mother's grave-the mother who had given him her own kidney to save his life. But her headstone was gone. In its place was a memorial for a dog named Princess Fluffykins. My husband had replaced her with his mistress's pet. When I confronted him, he and his new woman, Blaire, destroyed my reputation online, costing me every job offer. Then, during a critical heart surgery, Arthur-my surgeon-walked out, leaving me to die on the table because Blaire called with a fake emergency. He left me to die, just as he had abandoned my mother in her final hours. The man I had given everything to had tried to murder me. But I didn't die. My childhood friend, Joel, burst in and saved me. When Arthur returned, begging for forgiveness, I looked him in the eye and delivered the lie that would become my truth. "I always loved Joel. You were just a distraction."

Betrayal Revenge Rebirth Second chance Revenge

Chapter 10

Today 09:56

Chapter 1

But her headstone was gone. In its place was a memorial for a dog named Princess Fluffykins. My husband had replaced her with his mistress's pet.

When I confronted him, he and his new woman, Blaire, destroyed my reputation online, costing me every job offer. Then, during a critical heart surgery, Arthur-my surgeon-walked out, leaving me to die on the table because Blaire called with a fake emergency.

He left me to die, just as he had abandoned my mother in her final hours. The man I had given everything to had tried to murder me.

But I didn't die. My childhood friend, Joel, burst in and saved me. When Arthur returned, begging for forgiveness, I looked him in the eye and delivered the lie that would become my truth.

"I always loved Joel. You were just a distraction."

Chapter 1

The hospital had arranged a car, but I slipped out the back. My mother' s favorite scarf was clutched in my hand, its silk worn soft from years of use. It smelled faintly of lavender and the ocean, a scent that promised solace. I was going to find her.

Three years ago, I hadn't been able to slip away. Three years ago, I was trapped. I remembered the sterile white room, the heavy-lidded eyes of the orderlies, and Arthur. Arthur, standing tall and pristine, while I knelt at his feet. My voice was a ragged whisper, begging him to let me go, to let me bury my mother.

I promised him I'd be good, I'd take the pills, anything. Just let me handle Jennifer's funeral. Let me say goodbye.

He just looked at me, his perfect surgeon' s hands clasped in front of him, as if I were a particularly unpleasant specimen under a microscope. "Alexandra, darling," he' d said, his voice dripping with false concern, "you' re not well. You can' t even remember what day it is. How could you possibly handle arrangements like this?"

He promised he' d take care of everything. A beautiful plot, a quiet ceremony. A place where I could visit her when I was... better.

I was led away, the metallic click of the door sealing me in. The promise of her peaceful resting place was the only thing I clung to. My life, my grief, my very existence, was entirely in Arthur' s immaculate hands.

Three years. Three long, empty years.

I saw it on a smuggled newspaper clipping, a tiny notice. Jennifer Morgan' s funeral. Three days after I was locked away. No mention of me. No mention of her daughter. I screamed. I clawed at the walls. I begged the nurses for a phone, for a voice. They just gave me another shot. The restraints were rough, digging into my wrists, leaving bruises I still sometimes traced in the darkness. The buzzing, the jolt, the white-hot static in my brain erasing everything but the moment of pain. They called it therapy. I called it hell.

A soft cough brought me back. A groundskeeper, elderly and kind, stood a few feet away. "Ma'am? Are you alright? You look a bit pale."

I clutched my thin coat tighter, the autumn chill seeping into my bones. "Yes, just... a long journey."

He nodded, his gaze compassionate. "Folks often are, coming here. Your mother' s plot is just over this rise, near the old oak. It' s a quiet spot." I followed him, my heart thrumming with a desperate, fragile hope.

He pointed, his hand a tremor against the grey sky. "See that little marble... oh, wait. No, that' s not right." He squinted, then shook his head. "Ah, you mean the Mason plot, correct? Arthur Mason' s wife' s mother, Jennifer Morgan?" My blood ran cold at Arthur's name.

I barely waited for his correction, a surge of adrenaline pushing me forward. Three years. Three years of waiting to stand at her grave. My legs protested, weak from disuse, but a warmth spread through my chest. Soon. I could almost feel her presence, hear her gentle laugh.

Then I saw it. The marble slab, pristine and white. Not the weathered granite I expected. Not Jennifer' s name. My breath hitched.

Etched in elegant script were the words: "Here lies Princess Fluffykins. Beloved companion of Blaire Kline. Forever in our hearts."