Page 3 of Mr. Strategic

Michael finding some other woman more attractive was what I had dreaded and denied and tried to convince myself was just an insecure fear for so long, that to have it confirmed felt. . . hollow somehow.

What do I do now?

I stumbled outside and for a few minutes I stood indecisively in the tulip garden outside his hospital. People streamed in and out of the door without looking at me. I felt invisible, unnoticed, just a wisp of a ghost in my own life.

I supposed this meant he would want a divorce.

Even the idea of a split forced all the breath from my lungs and I struggled to breathe.

Who was I without him?

I had been with Michael Carrington ever since I was 22 years old, been his sweet, devoted wife through MCATs, eight years of med school and residency. And all through his intensely meteoric rise as a surgeon, until at 32 he was taking on the riskiest cases with an absolute godlike confidence in his own abilities.

When people met me, or came over to our house for dinner, they always said things like, “A children’s librarian? That’s so adorable!” and “Oh, Dr. Carrington, with your high-stress job, you’re so lucky to have a wife who keeps your home so calm and relaxing.”

Iworshippedhim, loved my husband with a fierce, desperate devotion that seemed shameful and embarrassing now.

I’m sure it was obvious to everyone.

Who knew about this affair? How many people had lied to me? How many people smiled at me when they saw me, wondering secretly if I knew my husband was unfaithful?

So I waited there, feeling like a fool, until Michael walked out.

You wouldn’t have thought he hadjustbeen caught committing adultery in his office by the way he gestured me to follow him as he walked toward his Ferrari.

I followed behind as Michael opened the door for me, then walked around the car, his motions unhurried and calm.

Like it was just another day.

“Did you have a nice meal?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

Did I have a nice meal?I wanted to scream.

How could he even talk like that?

My fingers tightened on the door handle. I wanted to roll out and run away from him.

“When do you want to go to the lawyer?” I asked as the ignition surged to life.

“Why would we need the lawyer?” Michael replied in his even voice.

“You know.” I said, swallowing hard. “For the divorce.”

Michael didn’t look at me, his hands occupied with smoothly pulling his car into the road.

His profile was expressionless, a study in white marble, perfect lines of stillness, a long, strong throat.

We lived close to the hospital inthemost expensive gated subdivision in town.

And that’s her house, I thought as we drove by the big sprawling beige mansion where Alix and Dr. Ben-David lived. Their walls were high, elegant falls of ivy a pop of color among all the cream and brown accents.

How many times had Michael fucked her? Did he stop by her house after work? Did they fuck against that wall? Had he ever fucked her in our home?

Did her husband know?

“This is what I meant when I said it isn’t what you think,” Michael said sternly. “I don’t want you to worry about what youthinkyou saw or take things out of context.”

When I said nothing, my hands worrying the soft fabric of my skirt, he went on.