On the day my physical therapist husband, Ethan, got promoted, I received a photo from a coworker. In the therapy room, Ethan was holding his ex-girlfriend's waist. They were staring into each other's eyes, and he was leaning over her, pinning her down on the table. I printed that photo out and placed it on the nightstand. Late that night, Ethan came home smelling of sweet orange blossom cologne. He froze when he saw the photo on the nightstand, but quickly recovered and started explaining. "Avery, you know this is just my job." "The area where she feels pain is very sensitive. I had to find the exact angle to apply pressure. This photo is just a bad camera angle." I pulled the blanket tighter around myself. "Okay. Go to sleep. You still have to do her pelvic alignment therapy tomorrow." He looked surprised. "You don't mind?" I shook my head. He just couldn't let go of his first love. It was fine. I happened to have one of my own, too. Seeing that I had nothing more to say, Ethan went to take a shower. The posture in that photo didn't look like physical therapy at all. It looked like an embrace. The photo was sent to me by Mia, a nurse in the physical therapy department. We had interned at the hospital together. She had only attached one sentence. "Avery, I'm not trying to stir up drama, but Dr. Ethan has been doing this every single day for the past six months." After his shower, Ethan walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and reached out to ruffle my hair. "Avery, Chloe's lower back injury is serious. Ordinary physical therapy doesn't work for her. I have to get close to find the right trigger points." "I was just treating a patient." I turned my head to avoid his hand and stared at the ceiling. "I know." "She's a prima ballerina. Her rehearsals have been intense lately, and her lower back muscles are spasming again. I don't trust any other therapist to handle it." "I know." "You know my skills. I'm the best in the department." I finally turned my head and offered a faint smile. "I know, Dr. Ethan. You're a saint." He continued to justify himself. "She and I broke up a long time ago. We're just regular friends now." I didn't reply. I knew exactly how deep their history ran. Since Chloe returned to the country two years ago, she had never truly left his life. She strained a muscle during rehearsal, her old injuries flared up, she couldn't sleep and needed him to come over for a massage. On the night we went to the courthouse to sign our marriage license, she sent a Snapchat at 11 PM. "My back is locked up again! I can't move! It hurts so bad!" Ethan had just taken off his coat. After reading the message, he didn't say a word and tied his sneakers back on. I stopped him. "Does it have to be tonight?" "She's alone in her apartment. No one is there to take care of her." I sat on the edge of the bed and lowered my head. He leaned down and tucked the blanket around me. "I'll be back soon. I'll take you to get our courthouse wedding photos tomorrow morning." He didn't return until three in the morning. There was a trace of orange blossom massage oil on his collar. He explained that it "rubbed off while massaging her." I didn't throw a tantrum. I didn't argue. I just remembered the date. Every time Chloe was brought up, he would always say, "She's my patient. It's my job." The more fragile she acted, the more patient he became. The more demanding she was, the harder it was for him to say no. Everyone said they had never truly broken up. I, his legal wife, felt like a mere prop in their love story. Ethan wanted to say something more, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression changing slightly, and silenced it. "It's probably her. She gets anxious before big shows." I closed my eyes. "Answer it. In case she can't sleep again tonight and ruins her rehearsal tomorrow." He didn't answer. He placed his phone face down on the nightstand, turned around, and pulled me into his arms. "Don't overthink it, babe. She and I are ancient history." I didn't hug him back. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, as if someone had pinched me from the inside. I frowned but didn't say a word. Even if I told him, he wouldn't care right now anyway.
At six-thirty the next morning, Chloe's call came in right on time. "Ethan, I can't do the rehearsal. I seriously can't even lift my back." Ethan's voice carried a hint of helpless indulgence. "Chloe, you've been dancing ballet for over a decade. You're not a rookie." Chloe whimpered over the line. "Would it kill you to comfort me a little?" He was silent for two seconds, his tone softening. "Fine. I'll head over after my morning rounds. I'll put a pain patch on you first." Chloe immediately pushed further. "After that, you have to buy me breakfast and help me stretch my legs." Ethan let out a low chuckle. "Maybe I should just apply to be your dance company's full-time doctor." "Oh, I wish! Do you dare? Will your wife mind, though?" The bathroom door was ajar, and I heard every single word. He hung up, turned around, and froze when he saw me standing there. "She's just really stressed before the show." My face was expressionless. "You really take great care of her." "Maybe you should apply for that full-time gig." He frowned. "Avery." Another wave of sharp pain shot up from deep inside my abdomen. I grabbed the doorframe, my voice hoarse. "Move." I rushed into the bathroom, kneeling by the toilet and dry-heaving. Nothing came up, but cold sweat kept pouring down my face. Ethan stood at the door. He didn't come closer, only frowning. "Did you skip dinner again last night?" I gasped for air. "My stomach... it hurts." He took one look at my pale face and spoke in a cold, detached tone. "Lower back strain can compress the sciatic nerve, causing referred pain in the abdomen. It's normal." "You've been staying up late editing videos lately. Your posture is terrible. That's why you're hurting." I froze, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink tightly. "It's not my back." He acted like he didn't hear me. He grabbed a tissue and wiped the doorknob. "You never say anything when you're uncomfortable. You only play the victim when the pain becomes unbearable. It's exhausting, Avery." He glanced down at his watch. "I have to do Chloe's physical therapy this morning, and I have a consultation this afternoon. I can't stay." "There are painkillers in the medicine cabinet. Take two." He paused before adding, "Make sure to turn on the exhaust fan when you're done. Don't leave a smell for others." The moment the door slammed shut, another wave of intense pain hit me. I couldn't even stand straight. A metallic taste rose in my throat. I leaned against the wall for a long time, suddenly feeling a deep sense of irony. He had all the patience in the world to find the perfect angle for every inch of Chloe's spine, but he found my pain "exhausting" and unseemly. So, his medical ethics were reserved only for certain people. He grabbed his bag and left without looking back. I wiped my face, ordered an Uber by myself, and went to the hospital.
When the doctor handed me the ultrasound report, her face was grave. "The embryo is implanted very low, right near your previous scar. Continuing this pregnancy carries a massive risk." I stared at the blurry shadow on the screen, unable to speak for a long time. The doctor's tone softened. "In this situation, it's best to make a decision with a family member. Should we contact your husband?" I opened my mouth, only to realize that the only name I could call was Ethan. My parents had passed away early. When I finally got married to Ethan, I thought I finally had a family. But now, when the doctor asked for family, I was holding the paper with freezing fingers. Leaving the clinic, I stood on the steps and called Ethan. No answer. I sent him a text. "I have an emergency. Come home now." I took a cab back. When I walked in, a pair of pink ballet flats was kicked off at the entryway. In the living room, Chloe was curled up on our sofa, one leg resting on the coffee table, her ankle wrapped in an elastic bandage. Ethan was kneeling in front of her, his fingers gently tracing her foot, massaging it with professional care. "Did you twist it again during rehearsal?" he asked. "I didn't land cleanly," Chloe said, frowning, her voice dropping into a soft whine. "Ethan, am I going to be out for another two weeks?" "The fascia is tight. Don't rush back to the stage." He pinched her ankle. "Does this hurt?" "Yes," Chloe whispered, her eyes curved as she looked at him. "But it doesn't hurt when you're here." "I'm here," he said. Those two words. Since we got married, I had almost never heard him say them to me. Another wave of pain hit my abdomen. I gripped the entryway cabinet, my knuckles turning white. Only then did Ethan look up and see me. "Where have you been? You look pale." I opened my mouth to say "I went to the hospital," but Chloe spoke first with a sigh. "Avery, please don't misunderstand! My ankle was so swollen I couldn't walk. Ethan was worried about me taking an Uber alone, so he brought me here to treat it." I didn't look at her. I only looked at Ethan. "I need to talk to you." Before he could answer, Chloe suddenly let out a sharp gasp. "Ethan, my toes are going numb." He immediately looked down to check her ankle joint again, his voice softening even more. "Don't move. The ligament is still loose. Give it a minute." I stood there, clutching my purse strap. I tried again. "Ethan, can you please take me to the hospital?" Chloe grabbed his wrist at that exact moment. "Did I break a bone? Why is it hurting more and more?" Ethan frowned as he examined her foot, not even looking up. "Avery, if you're not feeling well, go lie down for a bit. I'll come check on you once I'm done here." "No need." I turned and walked back to the bedroom, shoving the ultrasound report into the very bottom drawer of my vanity. That night, Ethan knocked on my door. "The guest room is too damp. Let Chloe sleep in our bed tonight. You can crash in the guest room for one night." I opened the door. Chloe had already walked into our master bedroom with a glass of warm water. She sat directly on the edge of my bed, reaching into the nightstand drawer to look for pain patches. The very bottom drawer held my ultrasound report. I pressed my hand against the drawer. "Don't touch that. I'll get it for you." But Chloe's fingers had already brushed against something else in another compartment. A box of unopened birth control pills. She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "You guys have been married for so long, and you're still using these?" She shot Ethan a meaningful look. "Didn't you use to hate these? You always said you never wanted kids in this lifetime." Ethan's face shifted. "That's enough." "Did I say something wrong?" Chloe's smile didn't fade. "You said it yourself. If you ever have a child, it would only be with me." The room fell dead silent. I looked at Ethan. He avoided my gaze. So, all these years, he wasn't being considerate by not pressuring me to have kids. He had already made the decision for me. My abdomen seized with another sharp pain. Clutching the edge of the cabinet, cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I pulled the ultrasound report out from the drawer and walked toward the door. "Avery, where are you going?" he called out from behind. I didn't look back. Where else could I go? To take care of a child he never planned to have, and never deserved to know about.
By the time I reached the hospital, I couldn't even stand straight from the pain. The ER doctor looked at my ultrasound and blood test results, her face darkening. "There's a high probability of an ectopic pregnancy rupture. You could bleed out at any moment. We need to admit you immediately and prepare for emergency surgery!" I leaned against the chair in the examination room, my back soaked in cold sweat. "Where is your family?" the doctor asked. "This kind of surgery requires emergency consent and someone to stay with you." I was silent for a long time. Finally, I dialed Ethan's number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. In the background, I could hear Chloe's whiny, tearful voice. "Ethan, my foot is swelling up again. Come look at it..." Ethan's voice instantly softened. "Don't move, babe. I'm coming." I spoke into the receiver. "Ethan, come to the Medical Center." His voice grew cold. "If you're really not feeling well, just let the doctors handle it. What good is me going there?" "The doctor said I need next of kin to sign the consent form." My voice was so quiet I could barely hear myself. "I don't have any other family. I can only call you." The other end went silent for two seconds. Then, a frustrated sigh came through the speaker. "Avery, stop doing this. I know you're an orphan and grew up in a foster home, and I get that you have abandonment issues. But you can't use that to guilt-trip me every single time." Those words felt like a needle stabbing straight into my eardrum. I doubled over in pain, my vision going black. The call was disconnected. I stared at the dark screen, my legs giving out. He knew exactly how alone I was in this world, yet he used that very vulnerability as an excuse to push me away. I braced myself against the wall, stood up, and scrolled through my contacts to a number I hadn't dialed in years. He picked up on the first ring. "Avery?" My voice trembled with pain. "Can you come to the hospital?" There was a brief silence, followed by the sound of a chair scraping back. "Text me the address. I'm on my way." ... That evening, Ethan took Chloe to a college reunion party. After a few rounds of drinks, someone started a game of Truth or Dare, and the bottle spun and pointed at Ethan. "Ethan, be honest. If Chloe hadn't gone abroad back then, would you two have been married by now?" The room went quiet for a second, followed by a chorus of suggestive laughter. Chloe leaned against his side, lowering her head with a smile. "Stop teasing, guys. Ethan's been married for three years." Despite her words, her hand slid over his. Ethan didn't pull away. Someone yelled, "You're holding hands and telling us to stop teasing? Answer the question, Dr. Ethan!" He raised his glass. "Next question." The laughter grew louder. Chloe took his phone, wanting to take a selfie. Her finger paused over the passcode screen. It was still her birthday. "You never changed the passcode," she whispered, her eyes curving as she leaned against his shoulder for a photo. "My back is still stiff. Block the angle for me." Ethan frowned slightly but still turned his body to block the camera light for her. Someone asked if they could post the picture on Instagram. He said casually, "Go ahead. My wife doesn't check my social media anyway." He paused, then added, "She's been in a weird mood lately. Always complaining about not feeling well." The laughter slowly died down. A female colleague in the corner, Sarah, suddenly looked up. "Are you saying Avery is faking it?" "Obviously." Sarah's expression changed. "But yesterday, I was at the Medical Center, and I saw Avery being rushed into the ER. A man was supporting her." "The doctor said it was an ectopic pregnancy rupture. She was hemorrhaging. The guy who signed the consent form wasn't you."
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