My CEO Husband Regretted After I left

Because I’d been caught in the rain that night, my temperature spiked to 103 degrees by midnight.

It triggered a complication from my back injury, and I drifted into a semi-conscious delirium.

For once, Alexander wasn't out networking. Realizing something was wrong, he didn't hesitate. He scooped me up and rushed me to Mount Sinai Hospital.

"Doctor! You need to see her! She’s burning up!"

The diagnosis came back quickly. It wasn't just a fever. My immune system had crashed, causing a severe, deep-tissue infection around my old injury. I needed emergency surgery to drain the infection and debride the tissue.

The surgery required a next-of-kin signature.

Alexander held my hand, his face a mask of deep devotion. "Evelyn, don't be scared. I’ll be right here in the waiting room the whole time. The second you wake up, I'll be the first face you see."

Weakly, I nodded. A warmth I hadn't felt in years bloomed in my chest.

Just then, his cell phone rang.

He answered, and his expression shattered. "What? You twisted it? How bad is it? Can you walk?"

On the other end, Chloe’s voice was thick with performative sobbing. "Alex... it hurts so bad... I think I broke a bone. I'm all alone here... I'm terrified..."

Alexander looked at me—currently being prepped for anesthesia—and then at his phone.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn.

"Evelyn," he said, gripping my hand tighter, his brow furrowed. "You're strong. Chloe... she falls apart at a paper cut. She's hysterical right now. She needs me. But you... you'll be fine here for an hour, right? It's just a routine procedure."

"I'll be back before you wake up. I promise." He didn't wait for my answer.

He convinced himself I was okay with it because I was always okay with it.

He quickly signed the forms and hurried out, looking back once with a guilty grimace before disappearing down the hall.

Two hours later, I woke up from the anesthesia.

The recovery room was sterile and cold. The only sound was the rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor and the drip of the IV.

There were no flowers. No worried husband holding my hand. Just empty space where he promised he would be.

With shaking fingers, I picked up my phone and opened Instagram.

Alexander had posted a Story an hour ago.

The photo showed him in the hallway of a different urgent care clinic, giving Chloe a piggyback ride. She was draped over his back, grinning ear-to-ear, holding a large swirl lollipop.

The caption read: "Total drama queen. One little sprain and I have to carry her to X-Ray. #BigBrotherDuties"

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. It hurt to breathe.

Then, my phone buzzed.

It was a Snapchat video from Chloe.

In the video, Alexander was half-kneeling in front of a sofa in her living room. He had Chloe’s foot—which showed zero signs of swelling or bruising—resting in his lap. He was massaging it with extreme care, applying muscle relief cream.

His touch was so gentle. It was a tenderness I hadn't experienced in twenty years.

In the background, I heard Leo and Mia. "Does it hurt, Auntie? Dad will make it better."

Following the video was a voice memo. Chloe’s voice was sugary sweet, but dripping with malice:

"Hey sis, look at this. In this family, you’re just the spare tire. Even the kids are more worried about me. What’s the point of getting that surgery? It’s not like Alex cares enough to watch you recover."

I closed my eyes. Tears slid silently down my temples into the pillow.