Chapter 1

My first surgery back in the country was on a girl with a perineal laceration.

She signed her consent form with one hand and complained into her phone with the other.

“It’s just a minor surgery. Was it really worth dropping a hundred-million-dollar deal to fly back?”

“And stop buying me bags and jewelry — my closet is overflowing.”

She pushed the form across the desk.

My eyes drifted to the emergency contact field.

Ethan.

I smiled and said: what a coincidence — my boyfriend’s name is Ethan too.

The girl grabbed my hand, eyes bright and dancing.

“Doctor, are all guys named Ethan such hopeless romantics?”

“I’m pretty sure this condition is basically his fault — he’s all over me every day, seven times in one night.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“And somehow he still found out about the surgery and flew straight back from overseas.”

I opened my mouth to say: my Ethan isn’t like that.

My Ethan was sharp, driven, serious about his career.

The kind of man I always felt I had to earn.

Then she shoved her phone in my face to show me her clingy, lovesick boyfriend.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

The man on that screen — smiling so warmly, so full of affection, completely at ease…

…was Ethan.

The same Ethan I had been dating for three years.

......

My Ethan didn’t cling. Didn’t obsess.

In that department, he was always restrained — distant, almost indifferent.

The girl — Chloe — kept talking.

Every complaint she made dripped with happiness.

“Oh, right — Doctor, the form’s already signed. Is there anything else I need to bring?”

I held my professional smile in place.

“We’ll need your pre-op allergy history on file before we can confirm a surgery date.”

She smacked her forehead.

“I left that at home from my pre-marriage medical check. Looks like we’ll have to push it back again.”

I looked up slowly, fighting the sting behind my eyes.

“You’re married? You’re only twenty.”

She beamed at me like a child showing off a prize.

“Yep! We signed the marriage license last November 20th — my birthday, actually.”

“You don’t know how scared he was of losing me. I hadn’t even graduated yet and he was already dragging me to City Hall, like he was afraid I’d run.” She laughed. “He even bought an apartment next to my campus just to stay close. So clingy.”

She shook her wrist dramatically, feigning annoyance.

Under the desk, my hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

November 20th.

The day my mother died.

I remember every second of it.

I called Ethan over and over that day. I wanted to tell him how broken I was. I just needed him to come — a hug, anything at all.

What I got was one cold text:

“Elena, I’m so sorry. The company is in chaos right now — I can’t get away. Don’t worry, once things settle down I’ll make time to pay my respects.”

He wasn’t caught up with the company.

He was at City Hall, signing a marriage license with another woman.

“Doctor? Doctor?”

Chloe’s voice pulled me back.

She stood up, a little sheepish, smiling at me.

“Should I go home and grab the file?”

I was on my feet before I’d made any conscious decision.

“I’ll come with you.”

She blinked, confused.

“Isn’t that too much trouble?”

“Not at all. The sooner we operate, the better for your recovery.”

We walked downstairs together and got into her car.

A custom-fitted Mercedes, the interior immaculate — every detail chosen with obvious care.

Even the small things had been thought through. Someone had loved doing this.

On the drive over, she told me story after story about her life with Ethan. Island getaways. Trendy restaurants. The nerves and excitement of their first time together.

Her smile was so sweet.

It was blinding.

I stared out the window as fragments of every promise Ethan had ever made me cycled through my head on repeat.

The car stopped in front of a gated villa estate.

The most prestigious development in the city.

The same place Ethan and I had once agreed to buy our future home.

We had made that promise together.

I never imagined someone else would move in first.

Chloe pushed the front door open — and I went still.

Every wall, every fixture, every deliberate detail — it was identical to what Ethan and I had mapped out together, late at night, dreaming out loud.

I swallowed the bitterness and asked:

“Did you design this yourself? It’s beautiful.”

Chloe smiled and handed me a glass of water.

“No — Ethan did all of it. Surprisingly, it matched my style perfectly.”

She pointed toward the bathroom. “He even put a little shelf next to the toilet for my phone — practically custom-made for me.”

I stood completely still.

My nails pressed into my palm.

That shelf was my idea. I’d told him once that I loved having my phone within reach while I soaked in the bath.

One winter, the two of us were living in a basement apartment, eating day-old bread.

We lay there scrolling through our phones, talking about every small thing we wanted in our future home.

I thought that promise was ours.

Turns out I was just laying the groundwork for someone else’s life.