Sorry, Husband Expired

Everyone knew Peter was crazy about me. But five years into our marriage, he knocked up his mentor's daughter. Crying, Cindy grabbed his hand. "I won't let Yuna know." Peter just stared her down. "You'd better not. I'm only helping you because I owe your dad. Don't get any bright ideas." She had the baby on my birthday. Peter looked at the kid like he was already in love. Then Cindy, all smug, texted me: [Ms. Zander, don't you think my baby deserves a dad with a real title?] I signed the divorce papers and caught a flight to Hampsburg. Chapter 1 Silver Creek Hospital, Rivera When someone said Peter Cooke showed up at OB-GYN with a girl, I laughed it off. Then I saw him—arm around a sobbing Cindy Bisch, his mentor's daughter—and my stomach tanked. Phoebe Palmer, my old classmate from our PhD days abroad, came out with the prenatal report. She shot Peter a look as she handed it over. "Baby's fine. But she needs to chill. She's close to her due date, so watch her diet." She kept it professional, but yeah, the tone had teeth. Peter, totally unaware Phoebe and I went way back, just nodded all cool and thanked her. I stood there, watching him walk off with his arm around Cindy. That's when my phone buzzed. Hands shaking, I pulled it out. Phoebe. She shouldn't have sent it, but she did—an ultrasound, then a message: [How long has Peter been hiding this from you?] I didn't answer. Just opened the image. [Gestational age: 38 weeks.] So yeah. He'd been lying to me for a year. From the second he slept with Cindy to now—he never said a word. Phoebe turned, spotted me, and sighed. She walked over. Cindy was her last patient of the morning, and the hallway was dead quiet, almost lunch. "Yuna... you okay?" She grabbed my hand. That's when I realized—I couldn't even feel my fingers. I turned to Phoebe, stiff as a board, and gave a quick nod. Just as I went to pocket my phone, a new friend request popped up. [Ms. Zander, I think you know who I am. Want to talk?] Phoebe called my name a few times before I finally blinked out of it. "I'm fine. Gotta update some charts. I'll head back." I bailed hard. Inside the elevator, I finally tapped accept on Cindy's request. She didn't wait. First thing she sent was a photo—Peter in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, apron on, cooking. He was wearing the shirt I'd just bought him last week. The one he made a big deal of putting on this morning. [Yuna, Peter's worried I've lost my appetite, so he made my favorite chicken and vegetable stew.] [He says he hopes the baby looks like me. But I hope it looks like him.] She kept going. Photos. Videos. All of it. One clip hit different—Peter in a suit, all smiles. That was from a year ago, right before my PhD graduation. He'd sent me a dress the night before, said it was custom-made for the ceremony. But in the video, Cindy had my anniversary gift—his tie—wrapped around her wrist. He looked sharp, perfect. Cindy's pale arms around his neck, that tie swaying as they moved. And the next day, he wore that same suit to my graduation, handed me a camellia—my favorite—and looked at me like I was his whole world. Chapter 2 I closed the video, and bam—Cindy had dropped another message: [Every time Peter comes to see me, I'm sore all over afterward.] Before I could bail from the chat, a text from Peter popped up. [Babe, what kind of cake do you want today? Strawberry, chocolate, or matcha?] I just stared at it. How did he have time to play house with her and still pretend to care about me? Didn't answer. Just shoved my phone deep into my pocket. By the time my shift was almost over, my stomach was in knots—I'd skipped lunch. That's when a young nurse pushed into the lounge, grinning. "Dr. Zander, your husband's here!" And there he was—Peter. Flowers in one arm, cake and milk tea in the other. I didn't even know what I felt. Just knew the smile on his face looked painfully fake. He set the milk tea on the table, calling out to my coworkers to help themselves. Then he dropped the cake and flowers on my desk. "I know you're not into milk tea, so I didn't get you one. Got you a matcha cake. Saw some camellias at the flower shop—figured you'd like them." I stared at the bouquet, but all I could see was him in Cindy's kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on. He leaned in, peeked at my screen, and kissed the top of my head. "I checked your shift—no night duty. Can you clock out? Just picked up some fresh Boston lobster. Gonna cook it for you tonight." The second his lips touched me, my skin crawled. I hadn't eaten since lunch, but now my stomach twisted and my chest felt tight. I stood, brushed him off, voice tight. "Wait outside." As I shrugged off my lab coat, Emma, the new intern, sipped her milk tea and muttered, "Dr. Zander, your husband treats you so well. I hope I find someone like that someday." I paused, then turned. "Don't count on it. Rely on yourself. Love and guys? Just bonus points in life." She blinked, totally thrown. I sighed. "For now, focus on your internship and thesis. Prof. Harington's not exactly a softie." Emma groaned and flopped onto her desk. I slid the cake Peter brought in front of her, grabbed my bag, and walked out. *** Peter was standing by the department board, staring like he was deep in thought. When he spotted me, he smiled and reached for my bag. Noticing I only had my purse, he asked, "Where's the cake?" "Gave it to the new intern, Emma. She's drowning in her thesis proposal." I kept my tone flat. His smile twitched, then stalled. He knew the old me would've never handed off something he brought. But now? I didn't even blink. That shift clearly threw him. I didn't add anything—just kept walking. If I hadn't seen Cindy's latest message, maybe I would've hesitated. But five minutes earlier, she'd sent a pic—two slices of cake, one strawberry, one matcha. [Told Peter I wanted cake. He went out just to get it. He was going to give you the strawberry one, but I pouted a little, and he let me have it.] Later, when Peter served the chicken soup, I looked at him through the steam. "Peter, is there something you want to tell me?" Chapter 3 I still wanted to give him a shot—give us a shot after ten years. He froze mid-scoop, guilt flashing in his eyes. The room went still. His mouth opened like he had something to say... but nothing came out. The clink of the bowl hitting the table broke the silence. I looked up. Peter was grinning. "Didn't you always want to hit up an amusement park? Your birthday's coming. I'll take you." I didn't say a word. Just kept stirring my soup like it had answers. Days passed. Cindy kept blowing up my phone, bragging about how sweet Peter was being. I watched him cook for me, squeeze out my toothpaste, kiss me good morning and goodnight. But all I saw were two different versions of him—and I was stuck somewhere in between. *** Peter was up early on my birthday. By the time I was dressed, breakfast was already waiting. He smiled. "Come eat, Yuna. After this, we'll head out. Got us a spot at that place you've been dying to try." Later, when I came out fully ready, he clipped a Tiffany necklace around my neck. He looked proud, kissed the corner of my mouth. "Knew it'd look perfect on you." I stared at it. "Birthday gift?" "Not exactly. There's more." Right before we walked out, my phone buzzed. Message from Cindy: [Happy birthday. But do you really think one word from me wouldn't bring Peter running?] I didn't answer. Just glanced at Peter grabbing his coat. His phone started going off—again and again. He checked it, frowned, hit decline, then walked over, took my bag, laced his fingers with mine. "Let's go." Even in the car, his phone wouldn't shut up. He ignored it, but the texts kept lighting up the screen. At a red light, I broke the silence. "Check it. Might be important." *** Peter glanced at his phone—just for a second—and his whole expression shifted. Then mine buzzed. Cindy again. [So? Think he'll ditch you for me?] I muted it and looked at him. His face said everything. "Yuna, I'm sorry. Something came up at the firm. A client's demanding to meet today." And just like that, whatever love I had left for him? Gone. I didn't say a word. His jaw clenched. Light turned green. He drove. Then I said, "Alright. Go." He pulled over. "Yuna, call a ride, okay? I'll try to make it back for dinner." I got out without a word. Called a ride. Went to the amusement park alone. While watching the parade, lost in the crowd, Phoebe texted: [That girl's in labor. Peter's been with her the whole time.] I typed back: [Got it.] I slipped out of the crowd and called Lionel Rinehart, the noise of the park buzzing around me. "Hey, can you get your friend in Rivera to draft up a divorce agreement? And if he can, have it ready to file ASAP." There was a long pause. Then, "Yeah. I'll have him reach out." When I got home, I opened the door to a floor covered in rose petals. On the table—wine, birthday cake, a bouquet. But the house was quiet. Just the petals catching the last bit of sunset. Chapter 4 Peter must've set all this up earlier. I stood there, staring at the table, dazed, when the restaurant called. "Hi there, just checking in—what time can we expect your arrival?" I watched the curtain flutter in the breeze. "Sorry. Change of plans. Please cancel the reservation." Next to the cake sat a tiny velvet box. I opened it—a diamond ring. My chest tightened. I ended the call, but my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Somehow, Cindy found the energy to text mid-labor. The first message was a photo—Peter peeling an apple at her hospital bedside. [See? One word from me, and he's right here taking care of me.] Then another pic—her huge baby bump. [Our little one can't wait to meet the world. Yuna, Peter's REAL family now? That's me and our baby.] *** I shut the jewelry box and chucked it straight into the trash. Bottle of Romanée-Conti in hand, I stepped onto the balcony, letting the wind smack my face while the city lights blinked like nothing had happened. Inside, my phone wouldn't quit ringing. I staggered back in and grabbed it. Peter had called a bunch—messages stacked up. When it rang again, I finally picked up. "Yuna, thank God. I was freaking out," he said, all breathless. I stayed quiet. Let him keep acting. "I've still got work to finish. Can't make it tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? You got the gift, right? I promised—one ring every birthday." I glanced at the velvet box sitting in the trash. Peter called my name a few more times. Then I heard Cindy crying out in the background. "I get it," I said. "Go back to work." He blew a kiss through the phone. I felt nothing but disgust. Right after I hung up, another message from Cindy popped up: [The baby's coming.] Just seeing the cake made my stomach turn. I dumped it, along with the Floyd roses, straight into the trash. Then I spotted Peter's wine cabinet. That fancy bottle of Domaine Leroy caught my eye. I finished the Romanée-Conti. Emptied the Leroy too. I crashed onto the couch, eyes locked on the photo wall—shots Peter had carefully arranged of us smiling. But all I could see was that video. Him and Cindy. I ended up in the bathroom, curled over the toilet, dry heaving until there was nothing left. The alcohol didn't knock me out. I stayed wide awake all night. By the time the sky turned pale, Phoebe called. "She had the baby. It's a boy." My head pounded. I answered like a robot. "Okay." By noon, Peter still hadn't shown. But Cindy? She texted again. No words this time—just a pic. Peter holding the baby, eyes soft. I closed the chat and dialed Lionel's friend. "Mr. Kane, is the divorce agreement ready? I don't want anything. I just want it done." *** I made myself some pasta. Aunt Sophia called. "Yuna, have you thought more about moving to Hampsburg? If you're worried about Peter, he could still work in Rivera. It's not that far." Chapter 5 I stared at the cold pasta. "I've decided. I'm going. But I'm divorcing Peter." She paused, then said softly, "Alright." She never liked him—not even from the start. I probably should've seen it sooner—Peter ditching his morals the second Cindy snapped her fingers. She was his late mentor's only daughter. Peter, ever the responsible guy, had promised to look after her. So whatever she wanted, he gave. Even if it meant giving her a kid. "I'll book your ticket. Lionel will be there to pick you up." Lionel Rinehart. Childhood friend. Aunt Sophia's golden student. After the call, the divorce agreement hit my inbox. I headed to Peter's study to print it and found a folder full of his chats with Cindy. All sweet words and flirty messages. He kept telling her not to hope for more—but I knew better. Cindy already owned a part of him. He let her believe in the fantasy. Let her stomp all over me. But I didn't love him anymore. Not even a little. Calm, steady, I copied every single message. Even if he refused to sign, I had proof. *** I signed the papers clean, then dropped off my resignation at the hospital. Rebecca, the hospital director, looked shocked. I smiled. "My aunt wants me to settle down in Hampsburg." "And your husband?" I glanced at the clasp on my bag, still smiling. "We're divorcing. I'm sure the hospital's heard by now—Peter's been hanging around OB-GYN. Says she's his sister, but come on, Rebecca. We're both women. We know what that really means." She didn't say a word. Just signed the resignation. "Yuna, the world's a lot bigger when you stop tying yourself to love." I took the papers and headed to my office to pack. The whole department looked at me with that soft, pitying kind of sympathy. Before leaving, I made one last stop—OB-GYN. Down the hall, I saw Peter, eyes all soft, watching Cindy breastfeed the baby. Pain hit like a punch to the chest. I snapped a photo. *** Back home, I packed light—just clothes and books. Everything from Peter? Left it. In the car, he kept blowing up my phone. [What do you want for dinner? When should I pick you up?] Like nothing happened. I didn't text back. Right before boarding, I finally picked up. "Yuna, why haven't you answered? Were you busy?" I said nothing. He kept saying my name like that would fix things. Then the loudspeaker cut in: "This is the final boarding call for Ms. Yuna Zander booked on flight HB183 to Hampsburg. Please proceed to gate 514 immediately." "Yuna! Where are you?!"