Signing Away Our Marriage While He Held Another Woman

The day Rhys Maddox made associate chief, someone AirDropped me a photo.

It was taken in the therapy room. He had one hand clamped around his ex-girlfriend's waist, and after one long look he'd pressed himself down over her.

I didn't screenshot it. I didn't confront him. I just set the phone face-down on the table.

Late that night he came home smelling of orange blossom and woke me from a dead sleep.

"Sweetheart, that pressure point of hers sits at an awkward angle. You have to find the right approach to reach it. It just looks like something it isn't."

I pulled the blanket higher over myself.

"Okay. Get some sleep. You've got her pelvic realignment tomorrow."

He seemed caught off guard. "You don't mind?"

I shook my head.

So he had a first love he couldn't let go of. As it happened, so did I.

...

Rhys sat down beside me, quietly drying his freshly washed hands.

In the photo, those were the same two hands, locked around the bones of Delia Winters's waist, his forehead nearly resting on her shoulder.

The pose was too intimate to be bone-setting. It looked more like an embrace.

The photo had come from a nurse in the physical therapy department, one of the trainees who'd started residency the same year we did, and who was still working in his department now.

Her only note read:

*Fiona, I'm not trying to stir anything up, but Dr. Maddox has been doing this every single day for six months now.*

Rhys came over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to ruffle my hair.

"Fiona, Delia's got that old lumbar injury. Ordinary manual therapy can't reach the site. You have to work close to find the angle."

"I'm only treating her."

I turned onto my side, out of his reach, and stared up at the ceiling. "Mm."

"She's been rehearsing hard these past couple of days and her lumbar muscles seized up again. I don't trust anyone else with it."

"Mm."

"You know my work. It's recognized in the field."

I finally turned my head and gave a small smile.

"I know, Dr. Maddox. A healer's heart."

The line left him with nothing to say.

"Are you still hung up on her?"

"We broke up ages ago. She's just a friend now, at most."

I said nothing, because I knew exactly how heavy that old attachment was.

In the two years since Delia had come back, she'd never really left his life.

A pulled muscle in rehearsal, an old injury flaring up, a bad night's sleep that needed someone to come massage her.

The night we registered our marriage, she'd messaged him at eleven: "My back's gone out again, I can't move! It hurts!"

Rhys had just taken off his coat. He read the message, said nothing, and laced his shoes back up.

I caught his arm. "It has to be tonight?"

"She's alone in her apartment. There's no one to look after her."

I sat on the edge of the bed and let my head drop.

He bent down and tucked the blanket in around me.

"I'll be back soon. I'll take you for the ID photos first thing in the morning."

That night he didn't get home until three.

There was a small trace of orange blossom oil on his collar. He said it had rubbed off "while I was giving her a heat treatment."

I didn't make a scene, didn't fight. I just noted the date.

Every time Delia came up, he'd say the same thing: "She's my patient. It's my responsibility."

The more fragile she acted, the more patient he became.

The more unreasonable she was, the less he could bring himself to refuse.

Everyone said the two of them were "broken up but not broken off." As his lawful wife, I was more like a backdrop on the storyline of their romance.

Rhys was about to say something more when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, his expression shifting slightly, and thumbed it off.

"Probably her pre-op nerves."

I closed my eyes. "Answer it. If she can't sleep again tonight, it'll throw off her rehearsal tomorrow."

He didn't. He set the phone face-down on the nightstand, turned, and pulled me into his arms.

"Don't overthink it. She and I turned that page a long time ago."

I didn't answer him.

A dull cramp pulled low in my belly, as if someone had quietly twisted something inside me.

I frowned and didn't make a sound.

There was no point saying it. He wouldn't have heard me anyway.

At six-thirty the next morning, right on schedule, Delia called.

"Rhys, I can't practice today. My back really won't lift."

There was a thread of indulgent helplessness in his voice. "Delia, you've danced ballet for over ten years. You're not some student who just started."

She drew a soft little breath on the other end. "Then what if you comforted me a little?"

He was quiet for two seconds, and his tone went soft. "Fine. I'll come over after morning rounds. Let me put a patch on it first."

Delia took the opening at once. "And after the patch you have to have breakfast with me. And help me stretch."

He gave a low laugh. "Maybe I should just transfer over and be your company's team doctor."

"Sure, if you dare! Would your wife allow it?"

The bathroom door was pushed to but not shut. I heard every word.

He hung up, lifted his eyes, and collided with mine. His face froze for half a beat.

"She's unstable before rehearsals."

My face didn't move. "Very attentive of you."

"You should apply to be the troupe's dedicated staff physician, Dr. Maddox."

He frowned. "Fiona."

A cramp shot up from deep in my lower belly, like someone twisting a rope of dough inside me.

I braced against the doorframe, my voice gone hoarse. "Move."

I rushed into the bathroom and curled over the toilet, dry heaving, bringing nothing up, just cold sweat rising through me in waves.

Rhys stood in the doorway and looked at me. He didn't come closer. He only frowned.

"You skipped meals again last night?"

I gasped for breath. "My stomach doesn't feel right."

He swept a glance over my pale face, his tone flat.

"Lumbar strain compresses the sciatic nerve, so you get referred pain. It's normal for it to radiate to the lower belly."

"You've been up all night editing your videos lately, sitting wrong. That's why."

I went still, fingertips clenching the edge of the sink.

"It isn't my back."

He acted as if he hadn't heard, pulled a tissue, and wiped the door handle.

"Every time you're hurting you don't say a word, and then you wait until you can't stand it and put on this pitiful act. It's exhausting."

He glanced down at his watch.

"I've got Delia's manual therapy this morning, and a consult this afternoon. I can't get away."

"There's some painkillers in the medicine box. Take a couple and see how you feel."

Then he added one more thing.

"Turn on the exhaust fan later to clear the smell. Don't make it hard for anyone else to use in here."

The moment the door shut, another wave of pain tore through me, so sharp I couldn't straighten up.

A rust-tasting dry heave rose in my throat.

I leaned on the wall and rode it out for a long time, and then it struck me as absurd.

He could patiently find the angle for every inch of Delia's spine, but the sight of me in pain was too unseemly for him.

So it turned out even his conscience as a doctor came sorted by person.

He picked up his bag and walked out without looking back.

I wiped my face and called a cab to the hospital alone.

When the ultrasound printout was handed to me, the doctor's face was grave. "The baby has implanted too low, close to the incision scar. Continuing the pregnancy carries serious risk."

I stared at that blurry smudge of shadow on the screen and couldn't get a word out for a long time.

The doctor softened her tone. "In a case like this it's best to have a family member here for the decision. Would you like to notify your husband?"

I opened my mouth and realized the only name I had to give was Rhys. There was no one else.

My parents died early. The year I got my residency registered under the Maddox household was the first time I truly felt I had roots.

But now, with the doctor asking for family, I gripped the printout, my fingertips cold.

Outside the hospital, I stood on the steps and called Rhys. No one picked up.

I sent a message too. "Something's come up. Come home."

I took a cab back, and there in the entryway sat a pair of pink ballet shoes.

In the living room, Delia was curled into our couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table, an elastic bandage wrapped around her ankle.

Rhys was crouched in front of her, fingers pressing along the top of her foot inch by inch, the motion practiced and patient.

"Twist it again in rehearsal?" he asked.

"Landed wrong." Delia frowned, her voice going soft. "Rhys, am I going to be laid up for another two weeks?"

"The fascia's a little tight. Don't rush back on stage." He squeezed her ankle. "Does it hurt?"

"It hurts." Delia's voice was small, but her eyes curved up at him. "It doesn't hurt when you're here."

"I'm here," he said.

Those two words.

In all the time since we'd signed the marriage license, I'd almost never heard him say them.

Another cramp twisted low in my belly. I braced myself against the entryway cabinet, knuckles white.

Only then did Rhys look up and see me.

"Where were you? You look terrible."

I opened my mouth to say I'd gone to the hospital today, but Delia sighed first.

"Fiona, don't get the wrong idea! I sprained my ankle and couldn't walk, and Rhys didn't want me getting a cab alone and getting hurt, so he brought me back here to take care of it."

I didn't look at her. I looked only at Rhys. "There's something I need to tell you."

Before he could answer, Delia hissed through her teeth. "Rhys, my toes are going numb."

He bent down at once, checking her ankle again, his voice softening a few degrees. "Don't move around, the ligament just loosened up, give it another minute."

I stood where I was, gripping my bag strap, and tried again. "Rhys, can you come with me to the hospital?"

That was when Delia grabbed his wrist. "Did I hit the bone? Why does it keep getting worse?"

Rhys frowned, examining her, and without looking up he said, "Fiona, if you feel that bad, go lie down for a while. I'll come over once I'm done here."

"Don't bother."

I turned and went back to the bedroom, and shoved the ultrasound into the very bottom drawer of the vanity.

That night, Rhys knocked on the door.

"The guest room's too damp. Let Delia lie down in our bed for a bit. You make do in the guest room for one night."

I opened the door. Delia was already walking into the master bedroom, carrying a cup of warm water.

She went straight over and sat on the edge of my bed, and pulled open the nightstand drawer to look for a pain patch.

At the very bottom of that drawer sat my ultrasound.

I pressed the drawer shut. "You don't need to dig. I'll get it for you."

But her fingers had already reached the other compartment.

An unopened box of birth control pills.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Married this long and still so careful?"

She gave Rhys a long, meaningful look.

"You used to hate this kind of thing, didn't you? You even said you never planned to have kids in this life."

Rhys's expression shifted slightly. "That's enough."

"Did I say something wrong?" Delia's smile didn't fade. "You said it yourself. If you were ever going to have a child, you'd only have one with me."

The room went quiet all at once.

I looked at Rhys. He avoided my eyes.

So all these years, when he never made me worry about it, it wasn't thoughtfulness. He'd already made the decision for me.

The cramp wrung through my belly again. I gripped the corner of the cabinet, cold sweat beading on my forehead, but I pulled the ultrasound out of the drawer and walked, step by step, toward the entryway.

"Fiona, where are you going?" he asked behind me.

I didn't turn around.

Where else could I go?

To deal with a child he'd never intended to have, and never had any right to know about.

By the time I reached the hospital, the pain had me unable to straighten my back.

The ER doctor finished reading my ultrasound and blood work, and his face darkened.

"There's a strong chance this is an ectopic pregnancy. It could rupture and bleed out at any moment. You need to be admitted for observation right now, and prepped for surgery!"

I held on to the back of a chair in the exam room, cold sweat soaking through the back of my shirt.

Wheres her family? the doctor asked. A procedure like this needs a family member to sign and stay with her.

I stayed quiet for a long time, and in the end I still dialed Rhyss number.

It rang and rang before it connected.

In the background, Delias voice, thick with a coddled little sob: Rhys, my foots swelling up even worse, come back and look, please

Rhyss tone softened instantly. Dont move, Im coming right now.

On my end, I spoke up. Rhys, come to the city hospital.

His voice cooled a few degrees. If you really dont feel well, just have the doctor handle it by the book. What good would my being there do?

The doctor says a family member has to sign. My voice was faint, so low I could barely hear myself. I dont have any other family. Youre the only one I can call.

There was silence on the line for two seconds, then a sigh with his temper barely held under it.

Fiona, stop doing this all the time. I know youre an orphan, that you never lived outside that group home growing up, and I understand you feel insecure. But you cant keep using that to guilt-trip me every single time.

The words drove into my eardrum like a needle.

The pain doubled me over, and my vision went black.

The call cut off. I stared at the dead screen, my legs weak under me.

He knew perfectly well I had no one in the world, and right now hed turned that knowledge into his reason for pushing me away.

I braced myself against the wall until I was steady, then scrolled to a number I hadnt dialed in a very long time.

It picked up almost the instant it rang.

Fiona?

My voice shook with the pain. Can you come to the hospital?

A beat of silence on his end, then the sound of a chair being shoved back.

Send me the address. Im on my way.

That night, Rhys took Delia to a class reunion.

A few rounds in, someone got everyone going with a game of truth, and the bottle spun to a stop pointing at Rhys.

Rhys, if Delia hadnt gone abroad back then, wouldnt the two of you have gotten together ages ago?

The private room went silent, then broke into knowing laughter.

Delia leaned in against him, dropping her head with a smile to smooth it over. Come on, quit it. Rhys has been married three years.

That was what she said, but her hand slid right onto the back of his.

Rhys didnt pull away.

Someone hooted. Holding hands and still saying quit it? Dr. Maddox, answer the question!

He lifted his glass. Different question.

The laughter got louder.

Delia seized the moment and picked up his phone to take a selfie, her fingertip pausing over the lock screen passcode.

Six digits. Still her birthday.

You never even changed the passcode. She smiled, her eyes curving, and leaned close to his shoulder for the photo. My back wont let me bend down, so cover for me a little.

Rhys frowned, but he still turned to block one corner of the frame for her.

When someone egged him on to post it, he said mildly, Whatever. My wife doesnt look at this stuff anyway.

He paused, then added, Her tempers been strange lately. Always complaining she doesnt feel well.

The laughter gradually died down.

In the corner, a female colleague suddenly looked up. Are you saying Fionas faking being sick?

What else.

The womans expression changed.

But yesterday I was at the city hospital, and I saw her being helped into the ER by a man.

The attending said it was an ectopic pregnancy, ruptured and bleeding. The one who signed was that man. Not you.