My Husband Let His Mistress Poison Me

I see them on the sidewalk outside our building.

Evander's coat is unbuttoned. Waverly stands close to him, her hand on his forearm. They're laughing about something. Her head is tilted back. The afternoon light catches her earrings.

I'm half a block away. I have a folder in my hand. Imaging results. Dr. Mercer wants to see Evander and me together next week to discuss options. I was going to tell him over dinner, but he hasn't been home for dinner in nine days.

So I walk toward them. Just to tell him. Just to say: *Thursday at two. Dr. Mercer's office. Please.*

Waverly sees me first.

Her smile drops. Her eyes go wide. She steps behind Evander's shoulder, one hand flying up to her chest like she's shielding herself. Like I'm coming at her with a knife.

I stop walking. I'm still ten feet away.

"Evander," I say. My voice is quiet. Steady. "I need to tell you something."

He turns. His face changes. Not surprise. Something colder. Annoyance.

"Genevieve." He steps in front of Waverly. His body a wall between us. "What are you doing?"

"I have an appointment next week. Dr. Mercer wants to see us both—"

"You need to leave her alone."

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice is low. Hard. The voice he uses in negotiations when someone won't back down. "This is harassment."

"I'm talking to you. I'm not—"

He moves.

One step forward. His hand comes up. Palm flat. He shoves me.

Not hard. Not violent. Just enough.

I stumble backward. My heel catches the curb. I go down.

The pavement is cold and sharp. My palms hit first, then my hip, then my shoulder. The folder scatters. White pages everywhere.

And then my chest.

Oh God. My chest.

It feels like something inside me snaps. Not breaks. Snaps. A wire pulled too tight. The pain shoots outward from the center, white-hot, blinding. I can't breathe. I try to pull air in and nothing comes.

The fragment. The bullet fragment. It's moving. Or my heart is slamming against it. I don't know. I just know I'm dying.

I hear Waverly's voice, high and thin. "Oh my God, is she okay?"

"She's fine." Evander's voice. Flat. "She does this."

I'm on my side now. Curled around the pain. My mouth is open but no sound comes out. Just this terrible gasping.

Footsteps. Not toward me. Away.

I force my eyes open. Evander has his hand on Waverly's shoulder. He's guiding her toward a black car idling at the curb. She looks back once, her face pale, and then they're inside. The door closes. The car pulls away.

I'm still on the ground.

Someone is running toward me. The doorman. His uniform jacket flapping. He drops to his knees beside me.

"Ma'am. Ma'am, can you hear me?"

I can't answer. The pain is eating me from the inside out.

He pulls out his phone. His voice shakes. "Yes, I need an ambulance. Woman collapsed. She's not breathing right. Yes, I'll stay on the line."

The world tilts. The sky is gray. I can see the tops of buildings, the bare branches of the trees lining the street. Everything is so far away.

I think: *He pushed me.*

I think: *He walked away.*

I think: *He left me here.*

The sirens come. Red lights flashing against the pavement. Hands lifting me onto something flat and hard. Voices asking questions I can't answer.

I close my eyes.

The beeping wakes me.

Steady. Rhythmic. I know that sound. I've heard it too many times.

Mount Sinai. ICU. Again.

There's a tube in my arm. A clip on my finger. The room is dim. It's night, I think. Or maybe just the blinds are closed.

Dr. Mercer is sitting in the chair beside my bed. He's not looking at his tablet. He's looking at me.

"Genevieve," he says quietly. "You're awake."

I try to speak. My throat is dry. He hands me a cup of water with a straw. I sip. It hurts to swallow.

"What happened?" I whisper.

"You had a severe arrhythmia. Your heart went into an unstable rhythm. The fragment—" He stops. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "You can't keep doing this."

"I didn't do anything."

"I know." His voice is very gentle. "But your body can't take much more. Another episode like this—" He pauses. "It could kill you. Not someday. Soon."

I stare at the ceiling. The tiles are white with small gray flecks. I count them. One. Two. Three.

"Is there something at home," Mercer says carefully, "that's making it hard for you to take care of yourself?"

I keep counting. Four. Five. Six.

"Genevieve."

"I'll be more careful," I say.

He's quiet for a long time. Then he stands. He writes something in my chart. He doesn't let me see it.

"Your husband is in the waiting room," he says. "Do you want me to send him in?"

I close my eyes. "Okay."

Mercer leaves. The door hisses shut.

I wait.

Evander comes in eleven minutes later. I know because I watch the clock on the wall. He's still wearing his coat. He doesn't take it off. He stands at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets.

"They said you're stable," he says.

"Yes."

He nods. He pulls out his phone. He scrolls through something. Emails, maybe. Or messages.

I watch him. The light from his screen reflects on his face. Blue and cold.

"Evander," I say.

He doesn't look up. "What."

"You pushed me."

His thumb stops moving. He doesn't lift his eyes from the screen.

"You were upset," he says. "You came at Waverly. I had to protect her."

"I wasn't—"

"I have an early meeting." He pockets his phone. He turns toward the door. "I'll have someone pick you up when they discharge you."

"Evander."

He stops. His hand on the door handle.

"Don't do this again," he says. He still doesn't look at me. "Don't make scenes. Don't embarrass me."

Then he's gone.

I lie there. The beeping continues. Steady. Even. Alive.

I turn my head toward the window. The blinds are closed but I can see a sliver of light between the slats. Morning, maybe. Or just the city that never sleeps.

I think about the pavement. The cold. The way he walked away.

I think about the word he used. *Protect.*

I close my eyes.

I don't cry. I'm too tired to cry.

I just lie there and listen to my heart. The one I broke saving his.