Help finding… Keep Your Millions, Doctor. I’m DONE.
Keep Your Millions, Doctor. I’m DONE. Chapter 1
The day I found out I was pregnant, Preston Hartley—the so-called gynecology god—cheated on me with his female protégé, Wendy Whitmore.
I stripped Wendy naked in front of the whole hospital and made sure everyone saw her humiliated.
After that, the hospital's internal group chat ran a daily poll on whether I'd show up to cause another scene.
When Preston pulled me down from the balcony one more time, he dropped to his knees.
"I already transferred Wendy out. That day was an accident. My heart belongs only to you."
I gave Preston two choices: either send Wendy to prison, or divorce me.
He personally submitted evidence of Wendy's medical malpractice and chose to make things work with me.
Later, every year on the anniversary of our baby's death, I visited the prison to ease the ache of losing my child.
Before leaving, I signed the visitor log as usual, and overheard two janitors gossiping.
"That dumb woman still hasn't figured out that the person locked up isn't Wendy, but a stand-in actress?"
"Of course not. Dr. Hartley was afraid she'd go crazy again and hurt Ms. Whitmore, so he paid for a fake prison to keep her calm. The real deal is him and Dr. Whitmore—they're the actual love story."
"I heard their kid just turned one yesterday. Whole family got together to celebrate. Can't imagine being happier."
My blood froze solid. I couldn't believe it.
All this time I thought we were starting over, Preston already had another family.
The white roses slipped from my hand, petals scattering across the ground.
My hands and feet wouldn't stop shaking. My ears rang with a deafening roar.
A fake set. A stand-in actress.
Three years of atonement and guilt—all of it a lie.
I'd almost let it go. Just moments ago, I'd even said something soft to the woman I thought was Wendy behind bars.
"I'm pregnant. This is a fresh start."
"I won't be coming back anymore. Just serve your time and pay for what you did."
I stood frozen, trembling silently, barely daring to breathe.
A guard who'd been out of his post hurried back, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Had to handle an incident with an inmate."
I heard the flimsy excuse and couldn't help the bitter smile that crept across my face.
Visitor lobbies have dedicated staff—he had no business handling anything else.
But I'd been so numb for three years that I'd never once noticed the cracks in their act.
I finished the sign-in, walked slowly out of the prison, and parked my car just out of sight.
Before long, a group emerged laughing, the stand-in still in her prison uniform, counting crisp hundred-dollar bills over and over.
My heart turned to ice and sank into my chest.
I pulled up the private investigator's number and dialed.
"Run a background check on Wendy. I want to know everything about her life now."
The PI hesitated.
"You told me three years ago she was in prison and not to keep tabs on her or your husband anymore. What happened..."
He didn't finish, but he understood.
Soon enough, he sent me what he'd found.
Wendy had kept a private account chronicling every moment with Preston over the past three years.
From her new identity and new hospital job, with Preston celebrating her fresh start.
To her housewarming and their cross-country trips together.
Finally, to the baby she had, and the lavish first birthday party Preston threw for the child.
I stared at the photo of her holding the baby while Preston wrapped his arms around them, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
Still, I kept scrolling, punishing myself. When I got to the comments, my fingers went rigid.
My best friend, who'd spent three days cursing Wendy alongside me, had written: [Happy birthday to my godson! Godmother's got a big check for you.]
My brother, Jason, who'd helped me plaster the hospital with photos and banners exposing Wendy's affair, had posted: [Congrats. Looks like the family's getting another little doctor.]
My parents, who'd pulled me back from the edge countless times when I was suicidal, had left: [You and Wendy are perfect together. Wishing your family nothing but happiness.]
And dozens of colleagues and friends who'd told me to move on—they'd all liked and commented with congratulations.
Everyone knew the truth. They'd all kept it from me.
I stared at the well-wishes for a long, long time.
So long that when Preston called, I felt momentarily disoriented.
"Why aren't you home yet? Did something happen at the visit?"
His voice was still gentle and caring, but underneath it, I caught a thin thread of tension.
I spoke softly.
"No. Everything was normal."
"Preston, I'm not going back there anymore."
Relief flooded his tone. He almost sounded cheerful.
"Good for you. The bad guys got what they deserved. It's time you moved on."
I gave a wry little smile.
Yes. I'd gotten what I deserved. Time to let go.