Sorry, Husband Expired

I closed the video, and bam—Cindy had dropped another message:

[Every time Peter comes to see me, I'm sore all over afterward.]

Before I could bail from the chat, a text from Peter popped up.

[Babe, what kind of cake do you want today? Strawberry, chocolate, or matcha?]

I just stared at it. How did he have time to play house with her and still pretend to care about me?

Didn't answer. Just shoved my phone deep into my pocket.

By the time my shift was almost over, my stomach was in knots—I'd skipped lunch. That's when a young nurse pushed into the lounge, grinning.

"Dr. Zander, your husband's here!"

And there he was—Peter. Flowers in one arm, cake and milk tea in the other.

I didn't even know what I felt. Just knew the smile on his face looked painfully fake.

He set the milk tea on the table, calling out to my coworkers to help themselves. Then he dropped the cake and flowers on my desk.

"I know you're not into milk tea, so I didn't get you one. Got you a matcha cake. Saw some camellias at the flower shop—figured you'd like them."

I stared at the bouquet, but all I could see was him in Cindy's kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on.

He leaned in, peeked at my screen, and kissed the top of my head.

"I checked your shift—no night duty. Can you clock out? Just picked up some fresh Boston lobster. Gonna cook it for you tonight."

The second his lips touched me, my skin crawled. I hadn't eaten since lunch, but now my stomach twisted and my chest felt tight.

I stood, brushed him off, voice tight. "Wait outside."

As I shrugged off my lab coat, Emma, the new intern, sipped her milk tea and muttered,

"Dr. Zander, your husband treats you so well. I hope I find someone like that someday."

I paused, then turned. "Don't count on it. Rely on yourself. Love and guys? Just bonus points in life."

She blinked, totally thrown.

I sighed. "For now, focus on your internship and thesis. Prof. Harington's not exactly a softie."

Emma groaned and flopped onto her desk. I slid the cake Peter brought in front of her, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

***

Peter was standing by the department board, staring like he was deep in thought. When he spotted me, he smiled and reached for my bag.

Noticing I only had my purse, he asked, "Where's the cake?"

"Gave it to the new intern, Emma. She's drowning in her thesis proposal."

I kept my tone flat. His smile twitched, then stalled.

He knew the old me would've never handed off something he brought. But now? I didn't even blink. That shift clearly threw him.

I didn't add anything—just kept walking.

If I hadn't seen Cindy's latest message, maybe I would've hesitated. But five minutes earlier, she'd sent a pic—two slices of cake, one strawberry, one matcha.

[Told Peter I wanted cake. He went out just to get it. He was going to give you the strawberry one, but I pouted a little, and he let me have it.]

Later, when Peter served the chicken soup, I looked at him through the steam.

"Peter, is there something you want to tell me?"