My Husband Loved Her Instead

Two years into our marriage, all that was left between me and my husband, the rescue captain, were four cold words.

When he was called out, he texted On assignment.

When he came back, he texted Safe.

Even on our wedding anniversary, that was all.

Then, yesterday afternoon, a chain of explosions tore through the chemical plant on the city outskirts.

As the attending physician in emergency medicine, I was run off my feet in the trauma bay, and it was over the medical-coordination radio that I heard him talking to the new intern from my own department.

"Captain Delgado, the scene was terrifying. If you hadn't shielded me just now, the blast wave would've knocked me flat."

After a short burst of static, that man, always cold and unfeeling, answered in a voice gentler than I'd ever heard from him.

"Don't be scared. Just stay behind me and focus on the patients. I'll protect you with my life."

The hand holding the defibrillator trembled. I drew a deep breath, forced myself calm, and kept working on the critical patient on the table.

Hours later, once the last of the wounded had been transferred out, I took a warmed container of food to the emergency lounge to find him.

The door was half open. That man, who called me delicate whenever I ran a fever, was crouched on one knee on the floor.

He was carefully holding an iodine swab, dabbing at a tiny scrape on the intern's shin.

Calmly, I dropped the food container into the trash bin beside me.

Loving him was too exhausting. Every day was fear and dread.

Now I'd decided to take that feeling back, and let myself off the hook.

1.

I turned and walked out of the emergency department. I didn't rest. I went straight to the director's office.

I pushed the door open and set an application to join Doctors Without Borders in the Zaire conflict region on his desk.

The director pushed up his glasses, read the words on the form, and his brow knotted at once.

"What kind of nonsense is this? Didn't you just submit a long-leave plan last week to try for a baby? I signed off on it myself."

He jabbed a finger at the application, his tone impatient.

"Going to Zaire means being gone two years. The conditions there are brutal. You're just going to leave your husband? Give up on having a child?"

I stared at the ink on the form and tugged the corner of my mouth into a smile.

"There's no need to try for a baby anymore."

I looked up at him, my voice steady. "I've made up my mind. Please sign it for me."

The director studied me for a long moment, sighed, and put pen to paper.

I walked out of the office with the approved form. Just as I reached the corner, I heard laughter.

"Captain Delgado, you were amazing back there. You spotted that blast point in one look. I was frozen stiff."

"Watch and learn. Don't be so reckless in the future. You'll get yourself hurt."

I stopped, and turned my head.

Daryl Delgado was looking down at Imogen Fox, the two of them standing close, almost shoulder to shoulder.

There was a smile on his face. A relaxed sort of smile.

Five years of marriage, and all he ever showed me was impatience and fatigue.

I'd almost forgotten he could smile at all.

Hearing footsteps, Daryl turned.

The smile vanished from his face in an instant.

Then he took a big step to the side, putting distance between himself and Imogen.

"I just finished up," he said, his tone gone cold and businesslike. "Passing by, thought I'd let you know I'm safe."

"Oh." I didn't add a single word.

Daryl frowned, clearly displeased by how flat my reaction was.

He was used to me fussing over him, asking after him.

He tugged impatiently at his collar. "There's still work back at the brigade. I'm heading out."

He left the moment he said it, unwilling to spare me even one more glance.

Imogen took a couple of steps after him, then stopped short as she passed me.

She had her hand over the fresh gauze on her knee and looked at me timidly.

"Director, today was my first time riding out to a rescue site. I was terrified."

"I'd like to keep learning from Captain Delgado. You don't mind, do you?"

Before I could answer, Daryl halted up ahead and shouted back at her.

"Imogen, what's the holdup? Keep up."

"Coming, Captain!"

Imogen winked at me and jogged after him with light, quick steps.

Watching the two of them walk off side by side, I folded the approved form in half twice and pushed it into my pocket.

Over the past half year and more, Daryl had only sent wounded to our emergency department a handful of times, when the brigade's workload was heavy.

And yet from those few brief work encounters, he'd somehow grown this close with Imogen.

I gave a small, self-mocking laugh.

Back home, the first thing I saw were the bottles of prenatal folic acid on the coffee table.

Beside them sat a stack of ovulation tests and a thick pile of pre-pregnancy checkup forms.

To carry Daryl's child, I'd swallowed bitter medicine for over half a year and jabbed myself with needles until my belly was mottled with bruises.

I walked over and threw all of it into the trash.

I turned and went into the bedroom.

I dug out the suitcase and opened the closet.

I grabbed my clothes and shoved them into the case in one armful.

Then my documents, bank cards, passport.

Once the packing was done, I opened my laptop and typed out a divorce agreement.

The printer spat out two thin sheets of paper.

I gripped the pen and signed my name in the space for the wife.

I set the agreement on the coffee table in the living room and weighted one corner with the cup Daryl usually drank from.

With all of it done, I wheeled the suitcase to the door.

Hand on the handle, I paused.

I pressed open the settings panel on the smart lock.

I found the enrolled fingerprints and selected my own.

Tap. Delete.

The system's prompt tone was jarringly loud in the quiet hallway. "Deletion successful."

This door, I would never walk through again.

At the entrance of the complex, the phone in my pocket buzzed.

A message from Daryl.

"Team dinner tonight, I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

I looked at the words on the screen, and smiled.

On the third day, the city held a joint commendation ceremony for the chemical plant explosion rescue.

As head of the Emergency Internal Medicine Department, I'd been seated in the front row.

The ceremony opened, and the officials finished their speeches.

Daryl walked up to the podium in his crisp rescue uniform, taking long strides.

He'd always hated occasions like this.

At every meeting before, he would rattle off a few token lines from a script, impatient to be done.

But today was different.

He stood on the stage, gripping the microphone, his gaze traveling past the senior officials in the front row and settling on Imogen Fox in the back.

"The reason this chain-explosion rescue went so smoothly comes down to one person I want to single out for special recognition."

"Imogen Fox, an intern from the city hospital. Please stand up."

Imogen flushed red and rose, one hand pressed to her mouth.

Daryl looked at her, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it. "Imogen may only be a fresh graduate, an intern without even a permanent position. But yesterday, at an extremely dangerous explosion site, she kept her head. Not only did she stay on the front line saving lives, at the critical moment she drew up a flawless triage protocol."

"You could say she made a decisive contribution to the entire rescue operation."

Below the stage, the hospital leadership nodded one after another.

The deputy director sitting beside me smiled and led the applause.

"Young people these days really do surpass their elders."

Thunderous applause rolled through the hall.

Imogen bowed her head shyly and bowed again and again to the room, thoroughly enjoying praise that was never hers to begin with.

I watched it all coldly.

Yesterday, at the explosion site, Imogen had hidden behind Daryl the entire time.

She'd gotten even the most basic wound dressing wrong.

And now she'd somehow become the hero who made the decisive difference.

The host smiled and picked up the thread. "Let's invite Dr. Fox up to the stage to share the flawless triage protocol she drew up yesterday."

Imogen walked up and stood beside Daryl.

The two of them side by side, the talented man and the beautiful woman, made a strikingly matched pair.

The big screen behind them lit up.

The second I saw what was projected there, disbelief spread across my face.

The title of the slides: Emergency Triage Protocol for Major and Catastrophic Incidents.

This was the presentation I'd started preparing last month, poring over case studies of casualties at home and abroad, a protocol I'd tailored specifically for the rescue team.

Daryl had been right there at the time.

He'd even watched me forget to eat while I worked out bed-turnover rates.

And now, without so much as a blink, he was taking my life's work and using it to lift up his new favorite.

Imogen held a laser pointer, aiming it at the big screen, her voice soft and delicate.

"When facing mass-casualty blast injuries, I believe the first priority is to establish a three-tier triage system..."

The officials below kept nodding.

"Well put."

"Young people these days really are impressive."

I looked at the woman beaming on the stage, then at Daryl beside her, watching her with such open admiration.

I stood straight up from my seat.

The chair scraped against the floor with an ear-splitting screech, cutting Imogen off mid-sentence.

Every eye in the room turned to me.

Daryl's brows knit tight, and he stared me down.

I ignored him and looked up at Imogen. "Dr. Fox, I have two questions for you."

Imogen's hand froze on the laser pointer, her face going pale.

I took a step forward.

"Page three, on the yellow-zone classification for severe inhalation injury combined with extensive burns. What pathological mechanism did you base that priority level on?"

"Page five mentions pre-treatment for severe blast injury. On-site, without imaging support, how do you quickly rule out delayed rupture of internal organs?"

Everyone looked at Imogen.

The senior specialists and hospital leaders below sat up straight too.

Imogen's hand on the microphone began to shake.

She opened her mouth, stammering for a long moment.

"The priority is... based on the patient's..."

She couldn't make anything up. She turned to Daryl beside her.

"Captain Delgado, did I say something wrong and offend Director Simmons? Director Simmons has a real problem with me."

She sniffled.

"I'm just an intern with limited experience. The captain encouraged me to share this protocol..."

Daryl's face darkened at that.

He strode over and pushed Imogen behind him.

He pointed at me down in the seats and scolded me loudly.

"Clementine Simmons, you throw your weight around in the department, fine. But look at where we are today!"

"Imogen just started clinical work. You ask a question this vicious to deliberately corner her. Is that fun for you?"

I looked at him coldly. "The protocol says it clearly. She's the presenter. She got up there to claim the credit, and she can't even explain what she supposedly wrote?"

"This is just you being jealous of a newcomer!"

Daryl slammed his hand down on the podium in front of him.

"Clementine Simmons, you're the head of emergency, and you're narrow-minded, without an ounce of generosity."

"You sit all day in your bright office in the back, in the air conditioning, playing mouthpiece over a radio."

"If it hadn't been for Imogen risking her life to work alongside me yesterday, could we have saved that many people?"

"What gives you the right to stand here and interrogate someone who was out there risking her life on the front line?"

I looked at this man I had loved for five years.

Every time there was a rescue operation, I went out with the team, worked my eyes raw on scheduling and logistics, and took in every single casualty they brought back.

I provided their support, held their beds, made sure his people got the fastest possible treatment.

What he'd done today didn't just rob me of my life's work. It denied everything I'd given as a doctor.

The doctors and officials below began whispering among themselves.

Hiding behind Daryl, Imogen wiped at her tears while stealing looks at me, her eyes taunting.

Daryl was watching me too, waiting for me to lower my head and sit back down.

I didn't fall apart. I only met his eyes coldly.

Daryl came down off the stage in long strides, his face dark with fury.

He grabbed my wrist, gripping hard.

The pull dragged me forward a couple of stumbling steps.

"Come outside with me!"

He walked ahead of me.

Imogen stood on the stage, microphone in hand, her voice thick with tears as she called out.

"Captain Delgado, Director Simmons is just upset with me. Don't be angry at her. This is all my fault, I never should have gone up there."

Down in the seats, the officials and colleagues started to whisper and point.

Daryl leaned close to me, dropping his voice, warning me through clenched teeth.

"Clementine Simmons, are you done making a scene? I'm taking you out here to save you some face!"

"You throw your fits at home, fine, I let it slide."

"Every official in the city is here today, and you have to embarrass me right now, is that it?"

He thought I'd swallow it the way I always had, biting my tongue to protect his face.

I looked at that arrogant, cold face of his, raised my right hand, and swung it down hard.

Crack!

A ringing slap landed across Daryl's cheek.

Everyone froze. Even the whispering died out completely.

Up on the stage, Imogen shrieked in fright.

The blow snapped Daryl's head to the side, a red handprint rising fast on his cheek.

He whipped his face back around and glared at me.

"Clementine Simmons, have you lost your mind?"

I pulled out a tissue, wiped my hand, and tossed it into the trash can beside me.

"Weren't you ashamed of me?" I looked at him. "Well, now there's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Daryl, if you want to know what got into me, go home and look at the coffee table."

I didn't spare him another glance. I turned and walked out the main door.

Behind me the chatter erupted all at once.

But I didn't care anymore.

Out of the conference room, cold wind hit my face, and instead I felt clearer than I ever had.

I pushed into my office and started clearing out my personal things.

Once I'd packed up my belongings, I carried a bag toward the stairwell.

I had just pushed the fire door open a crack.

Voices drifted up from below.

Daryl and Imogen.

Imogen was still sniffling.

"Captain Delgado, Director Simmons hit you in front of everyone. I dragged you into this."

"I was so nervous up on that stage. She pressed me with those questions and my mind just went blank."

"She must hate me now. How am I ever going to survive in the department?"

I stopped where I was.

Daryl reached out and patted her back, his tone gentle.

"Don't mind her. That's just how she is. She can't stand seeing anyone do better than her."

"Use the protocol, don't worry. If I say it's yours, it's yours."

Imogen sniffled. "But she did write it. What if she goes and checks?"

Daryl let out a cold laugh.

"She can't find a thing. Last night while she was doing rounds, I opened up her computer and took it."

"I wiped every file off her computer clean. There's no way she can prove any of it is hers."

Imogen's tears turned to a smile. "Captain Delgado, you're so good to me. If it weren't for you, I never would've made it past probation this time."

I stood outside the door, and all that was left in me was a cold contempt.

I lifted my foot and kicked.

The door slammed against the wall with a crash.

Both of them jumped, heads snapping up at the same time.

The moment Imogen saw it was me, she ducked behind Daryl.

Daryl's face darkened as he shielded her completely.

"You followed me?"

I came down the steps, watching him with a cold eye.

"Daryl, you broke into my computer in the middle of the night, stole my work, and handed it to someone else. And you call that taking it?"

Daryl stiffened his neck.

Not a flicker of guilt. If anything, he acted like he had every right.

"Clementine Simmons, we're married. What's yours is mine."

"Imogen just needs this one chance to prove herself so she can get made permanent. You're already a director. Can't you show a little generosity and make room for a newcomer?"

Imogen, eyes red, peeked out from behind Daryl.

"Director Simmons, I really need this job. I don't have a Captain Delgado to take care of me the way you do."

"If it'll make you feel better, I'll get down on my knees for you."

And with that she started to bend her knees, moving to kneel.

Daryl caught her fast and pulled her back, then rounded on me and roared, "Clementine Simmons! Don't push this too far! Are you only happy when you've driven someone into a corner? This ends here. You'd better keep your mouth shut and not make me lose my temper."

I nodded.

Good.

I slid my hand into my pocket and touched my phone.

"Daryl, you two really are a perfect match." I smiled.

Daryl's brow knotted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." I turned around. "I wish you a long and happy life together."

"Clementine Simmons, what are you trying to do!" Daryl was raging behind me.

I ignored him and left, going straight to the hospital's security room.

I pulled up the hallway footage from last night, from when Daryl broke into my office.

I bundled the surveillance video together with the recording I'd just made and hit send.

Recipients: the Health Board's Disciplinary Committee, the Hospital Oversight Office, the City Rescue Command Conduct Office.

Back in the locker room, I took off the city hospital white coat I'd worn for seven years.

I laid it neatly on the table, the director's badge from my chest set on top of it.

I picked up my bag and walked out the hospital doors.

Three in the afternoon.

I stood at the airport security checkpoint.

On the big board, the flight number to the Zaire border blinked.

The phone in my pocket suddenly started buzzing like mad.

The screen lit up. It was Daryl calling.

Three days. He'd finally gone home and seen the signed divorce papers on the coffee table.

I hit decline.

I slid out the SIM card, snapped it in two, and dropped it in the trash can beside me.

I turned, pushing my suitcase.

And without a single backward glance, I boarded that flight to Zaire.

Late that night, Daryl shoved the door open reeking of alcohol.

The living room was dark. He kicked off his shoes.

He flicked on the light out of habit and saw a few sheets of paper on the coffee table, pinned under his own water glass.

Daryl walked over and gave them a careless glance.

Five bold words stared back at him: Divorce Settlement Agreement.

He snorted, pulled the pages out, and tossed them on the floor.

"Clementine, you've got some nerve."

"So now you run off and play hard to get, huh."

"I don't believe you can hold out more than a few days."

He loosened his tie, turned into the master bedroom, and dropped into bed asleep.

The next day was the city hospital's annual awards ceremony.

It was the largest assembly the hospital had held in years.

Imogen was dressed to the nines, her makeup flawless, sitting in the front row in high heels.

Daryl sat at an angle behind her, watching her back with pride all over his face.

He stood at the podium, gripping the microphone, reading out the announcement with roused feeling.

"During the recent chemical plant rescue, our intern Dr. Imogen Fox distinguished herself."

"Under pressure, she stayed calm and drew up a flawless triage plan."

"By unanimous decision, we hereby award Imogen Fox the title of 'Outstanding Young Physician,' and grant her early full staff status!"

The applause thundered through the hall.

Imogen lifted the hem of her gown and swayed up to the podium.

Beaming, she reached out both hands to receive the crystal trophy he was holding out.

The hall's shut mahogany doors were suddenly flung open from the outside.

Seven or eight men in uniform strode in.

The one in front held up his credentials.

"Joint inspection team of the Health Board's Disciplinary Committee and the City Rescue Command Conduct Office. We are taking over this ceremony!"

The hands holding up the trophy froze in midair.

Imogen went blank, her carefully made-up face draining of color.

Daryl shot up from his seat, his brows knotting tight.

The inspection team leader ignored every stare and walked straight up to the podium.

He pulled a USB drive from his pocket and plugged it into the main computer.

"We have received a signed complaint. We will now present two pieces of evidence."

A clear recording came through the hall's speakers.

"Daryl, you stole my work and handed it to someone else. You call that borrowing?"

Then came Daryl's voice, righteous as ever.

"Clementine, we're husband and wife. What's yours is mine."

"You're already a department head. Can't you show some big-picture thinking and put the greater good first?"

Right after it came Imogen's syrupy little voice.

"Director Simmons, I really need this job. I'm not like you, with Captain Delgado to keep me."

The recording echoed through the hall, every word cutting to the bone.

The hospital leaders' faces had already gone green.

Before anyone could react.

The image on the big screen switched.

Corridor surveillance footage began to play.

The timestamp read late at night, four days ago.

In the footage, Daryl pushed open the door to the Emergency Internal Medicine director's office.

Five minutes later, he walked out carrying a portable hard drive.

The whole thing, start to finish, caught crystal clear.

The hall erupted in an instant.

"Is that Mr. Delgado? He actually went and stole his own wife's work?"

"No wonder Director Simmons blew up on stage that day. So it was her own work the mistress took to claim credit for!"

"Shameless. Isn't this a crime?"

A wave of curses rolled toward the stage.

Imogen's legs gave out, her whole body shaking.

"No... it's not like that, this is a misunderstanding!"

She instinctively grabbed for the trophy.

The deputy director yanked his hand back as if he'd been shocked.

The crystal trophy for "Outstanding Young Physician" hit the floor and shattered to pieces.

Daryl's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

He never imagined I would do this.

He rushed the stage, heedless of everything.

"Turn it off! Who told you to play that! Clementine is insane, she's slandering me!"

He reached out to yank the power on the main computer.

Two tall men lunged forward in a single stride.

One pinned down one of his shoulders.

Daryl's arms were wrenched behind him, and he was pressed to the floor.