Page 91 of Six Month Wife

Adair came out of nowhere. But maybe she’s the piece that finally makes the rest of it make sense.

Something tells me Roger knew that all along.

I adjust my chair,nursing the last few sips of my Diet Coke before I go back to the floor. I let myself indulge in one soft drink a week. Today deserves an extra celebration.

The cafeteria is busy this time of day. The lunch rush is in full swing. The sounds of trays being cleared away by the staff around me mix with the steady conversations and plunking down of full trays of food by other nurses or visitors.

I’m alone at my table, alone in my thoughts, and I’m okay with it.

The surgery this morning was a success. My hands were steady, I didn’t hesitate, and I felt like I belonged in that operating room. For the first time in a while, I see the future I’ve been working toward is within reach.

The adrenaline has worn off, but the satisfaction of a job well done lingers. Kowalski’s praise still echoes in my mind, a reminder that this is the path I’ve chosen.

I think about the patient, the simple gallbladder removal, and how even the smallest procedure matters in the long run. Every surgery, no matter how routine, has the potential to change someone’s life.

I’m beginning to enjoy the quiet, trying to centermyself after the rush of the morning, when my phone buzzes on the table in front of me. The screen lights up with my dad’s name—Leeland Matthews.

Why, universe? Why?

“Hey, Dad,” I answer, already bracing myself for one of his rants.

“I’ve got some news,” my dad’s voice crackles through the phone, full of that hyper-caffeinated energy that usually means he’s been scheming for hours. I can practically hear his whiteboard markers clicking in the background.

“What now?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my palm down my leg. My stomach’s full for once, but my gut’s already bracing for impact.

“It’s the will,” he says, voice dropping like this is some kind of top-secret operation. “I’ve been digging. And I think I found a backdoor.”

Here we go.

“I don’t need a backdoor, Dad,” I say, voice flat. “We’re married. That was the deal. What would be the point at this stage?”

“Temporarily,” he counters. “And that’s the keyword, son. Temporarily. There’s language in the clause that’s vague enough to open an exit. If you annul, you’re not breaking the agreement. You’re closing the loop. Quietly.”

I close my eyes. “You want me to annul my marriage?”

“I’m saying it’s clean. Strategic. The longer this stretches out, the more chances for feelings to change, for people to grow expectations. Who's to say she wouldn't try to take half of everything in a divorce? It protects your name, the estate, and your future from unnecessary exposure.”

“Exposure to what? Happiness?”

He doesn’t laugh. “You’re being glib. There’s presssniffing around. You’re the surprise heir to close to a one billion dollar estate when you take into account the properties and his cash holdings. You married someone out of nowhere. If this blows back, and the marriage is revealed to be a transactional?—”

“It wasn’t.”

“Stop with the nonsense,” he snaps. “Perception is what matters in our world. You want that hospital board seat? The prestigious surgery position? This fake wife thing is a ticking bomb. You think she’ll stick around the full six months? What happens when she gets bored? Or greedy?”

A slow burn climbs up my neck. “Dad, I'm done talking to you about this.”

“I know how people work,” he says. “And I know you. You’re already getting emotionally invested in something that was never meant to last.”

I latch onto the edge of the counter, knuckles pale. “Even if that were true, it’s not your call. Roger said what he wanted, and I intend to honor him and my word.”

“She walks away with a few hundred grand. You walk away with your credibility intact and less chance she tries to take you for all your worth. Avoid any potential harmful headlines and awkward questions, and end this. You don’t owe her a damn thing.”

“I gave her my word.”

“And that’s worth risking your entire future?”

I stare at the blank wall in front of me. This isn’t about money. It never was.