Chapter Two Sloane
Chapter Two
Sloane
Ididn’t know how I was going to focus at work today. As a doctor, concentration wasn’t just important. It was a matter of life and death. But I hadn’t slept a single wink.
Last night, I turned just in time to see him walk away from me again, just like the night before, and the night before that.
But this time, it was different. This time, I really watched him leave.
I watched his back as his feet dragged toward the door of our bedroom, and I felt everything all at once.
Guilt. Regret. Love. Desperation. It crashed over me in one brutal wave.
But still, I didn’t stop him. I just stood there, watching.
I cried. I didn’t think I’d stopped since.
Because even now, I was still crying.
I was a goddamn wreck, curled into a crumpled ball on the bed.
Thankfully, Harper was with Anita; otherwise, I know I would have been neglecting her.
Cameron’s words kept playing over and over in my mind. We had just come back from the gala, where he picked me up so we could go together, just for appearances. No one knew we weren’t living together anymore.
He was usually quiet, but something felt off. I could tell there was tension around him.
Cameron hesitated at first, then finally spoke. “I’m in a relationship with someone. It’s something real and deep between us. It’s getting serious.”
My entire world seemed to stop at that moment. I was stunned into silence by how brutally honest he was. Our marriage was struggling, and I wasn’t blind to that, but hearing that he had already moved on before we even ended things felt like a knife twisting deep inside me.
Then he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, but this wasn’t planned. It just happened between me and her. She makes me happy again. And I’m going to see where it goes.”
I stayed silent, unable to respond. My mind kept replaying his words over and over, but they didn’t quite sink in. I didn’t understand why they felt so hard to accept. Every word was clear and harsh, and it should have hit me immediately. But it didn’t. I was still trying to believe it.
And I was too consumed with trying to manage the pain in my chest. It hurt so much.
It felt like being hit by a car, but only my heart bore the impact.
The pain was right there, real and physical.
Not just a figure of speech like I once believed, but something aching so deep it echoed through the rest of me, twisting and tormenting every part it reached.
But somehow, I was still breathing, even though just barely.
Until we arrived home, I still hadn’t said a word. Not until we stepped into our bedroom.
Then he told me her name.
Evie Moore. That’s her name, the woman who now receives his smiles, his affections, the warmth of his body.
When Cameron’s attention was on you, it was intoxicating, making you feel like the center of his world.
I remember that feeling all too well. And I was the center of his world for the better part of our marriage, even though most of the time, I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
Now, he gave that place to someone else.
He had been with her for three months before he even moved out of our home. While I still believed his heart belonged to me.
He fucked her, then sneaked back into our bed in the middle of the night and lay beside me.
He spent time with her, happy and carefree, then came home with a frown and snapped at me.
He couldn’t wait to be with her, but couldn’t wait to get away from me.
Fuck you, Cameron.
Anger surged through me, swallowing my grief whole. I pushed myself up from the bed and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. I was already running late.
After I finished getting dressed, I checked my reflection, hoping the tears hadn’t left my face swollen. But they had. I dabbed on some concealer, trying to mask the damage, then gave up when it made no difference. There was only so much you could hide.
Then I hurried downstairs while ordering an Uber. We only had one car, and Cameron had taken it since I had the house. We worked the same shift, so he would usually pick me up and drive me home. But today, I assumed I’d have to manage on my own.
As I stepped outside, Cameron was already there, standing by the car, giving me a sad attempt at a smile.
I stared at him, confused. “Why are you here?”
“Coming to pick you up, like always,” he said simply.
“I already ordered an Uber. You don’t need to pick me up anymore.”
“I’m still going to pick you up, Sloane.” He sighed deeply. “I promised you.”
“Yeah,” I shrugged, “you’ve promised me a lot of things, Cam. Why not break one more?”
He drew back as if the words had struck him. “Don’t say that. It hurts me too.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re hurting, but honestly, you’re the one who hurt yourself.”
He stepped closer, his voice low and gentle, as if trying to soothe me. “Let’s not fight again. Just come with me. We’re going the same way, after all.”
I shook my head, firm and resolute. “From now on, I’m going by myself. We have nothing left between us, Cam. It’s time to let it go. Besides, what will your girlfriend think if you’re still driving your wife to work?”
He didn’t answer, and that silence twisted the knife still lodged inside me even deeper, though I couldn’t quite understand why.
“There’s my Uber,” I said as a car pulled up. I jogged toward it. “See you there.”
I felt his gaze searing into my back, but I didn’t turn around. I slid into the car, murmured a quick thank you to the driver, then asked him to please just drive.
Today was not a good day for me.
I was buried in patients all morning, barely catching my breath between rounds and consults. Two patients required immediate surgical intervention: one with suspected bowel perforation, the other with acute appendicitis complicated by rupture. There was no question about who I needed to call.
Cameron arrived quickly, calm and focused as always. We barely exchanged words beyond what was necessary—professional and detached. Exactly how it needed to be.
But even in those brief moments, I caught the look in his eyes.
He wanted to say more—maybe ask if I was holding up, maybe offer something like comfort.
But he didn’t. He kept it all behind that sterile surgeon mask.
Just like I kept mine, after all, we’re in a hospital where hundreds of people rush around us at all times.
During lunch, I deliberately avoided him.
I didn’t go to the cafeteria, as I usually do, and I also skipped the break room.
Instead, I grabbed a sandwich from the vending machine and found an empty supply closet.
It smelled faintly of antiseptic, but it was quiet.
I sat on a stool in the corner and ate alone, grateful for the silence and the space to breathe without having to see his face.
But he was looking for me.
After finishing a consult, I turned the corner and found him standing in the hallway, waiting. The moment I tried to walk past him, he reached out and gently caught my arm.
I froze.
“What do you want?” I hissed, keeping my voice low and tight, barely above a whisper. The hallway was busy, and the last thing I needed was to fuel the already uncontrollable gossip that floated through every corner of the hospital.
He leaned in just slightly, like he was trying to shield the moment from prying eyes.
“Can we talk?”
I tried to pull my arm free, but he wouldn’t let go. His grip wasn’t rough, but it burned where he touched. It blistered. “We are talking right now.”
He looked frustrated, but I didn’t care. I was exhausted—emotionally and physically—and this wasn’t the place for another confrontation. Not here, not now, not ever, actually.
“Alone,” he added.
I hesitated, weighing the risk of dragging this out any longer. He wasn’t going to let it go. If I didn’t give him five minutes now, he’d find another time, another hallway.
“Okay,” I said, exhaling sharply. “But I only have five minutes. Make it quick.”
His hand was still gripping my arm as he steered me gently into an empty patient room and closed the door behind us. Then he just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know where to begin.
“What?” I snapped. My patience was long gone. He finally let go of my arm.
“You’ve been crying,” he said quietly. He reached to touch my cheek, but I dodged. “Your eyes are so swollen.”
I threw my hands in the air, my voice sharp with disbelief. “For God’s sake, Cam. You told me you cheated on me, that you cared about her deeply. That you’re going to be with her. You left me, Cam. And you’re surprised that I cried?”
He flinched, just barely, but enough for me to see. “Honestly... yeah. I never thought you’d care enough to let yourself cry.”
Now it was me who flinched. I stepped back. Then further back.
“Go to hell, Cameron.” I spun toward the door, but he grabbed my arm again.
“Sloane...”
I faced him, fury bristling under my skin.
“If you’re going to say sorry again, Cam, I’ll scream so loud everyone in this damn hospital will hear.
Because sorry won’t cut it. It won’t erase how much you broke me.
My face is still swollen from crying all night, and you know it.
You’re secretly laughing, seeing me like this, aren’t you?
Because you have it all now. You have her. And you’re happy, just like you said.”
“Fuck, Sloane, I’m not trying to—”
I cut him off quickly, needing to get away before I exploded. “Your five minutes are up. Catch you in rounds, Dr. Davis.”
I yanked the door open with force and stormed out, leaving him there.
In the evening, I took an Uber again, heading to my mother-in-law’s to pick up Harper. Cameron had another surgery, so he’d be tied up for a while.
Good.
But on the way, I kept wondering how I’d explain to Anita why I wasn’t with Cameron. I always waited for him, and together we’d pick up Harper from her house.
Should I tell her we’re separated? She didn’t even know he’d moved out. We were always the ones going to her, rarely the other way around, so she never knew.
Would I lose Anita, too?
The thought gnawed at me. I loved her. She was more of a mother to me than my own. I decided to focus on that. On Anita. I tried to come up with something to say, something that would keep our relationship from changing. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, too.
But no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept drifting back to Cameron. I knew I was only distracting myself by thinking about anything else.
Because if I didn’t, those questions would take over my mind.
Would he be with her tonight?
Would he whisper those same seductive words in her ear, the way he used to with me?
Would he touch her, make love to her, while I lay alone in our bed, surrounded by memories?
Would he think about me at all?
I rubbed my face with both hands and cursed under my breath.
How was I supposed to go on from this?
From him?
From the life we built and the pieces he so carelessly left behind?
The truth was, I didn’t know if I could.
Because I loved him.
Goddamn it, I still loved him.
When did it all go wrong? I kept trying to figure that out.
To trace back all the wrong turns we took that led us to this point.
Cameron’s love for me used to be so strong that anyone who knew us wouldn’t believe what we’ve become.
That he could cheat on me. That he could choose someone else over me.
And decide to end our marriage along with it.
By the time I arrived at Anita’s, I was so exhausted I could barely lift my feet to the door. She opened it and said, “Harper just fell asleep. I took her to her room. Maybe we should wait a little while before waking her.”
I nodded as I took off my shoes and coat, then drifted toward the room.
When I opened the door, the sight of my five-year-old daughter greeted me.
I walked closer, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips.
She had dark hair like Cameron and me, a little wavy just like her dad’s.
Her cheeks were rosy, her lips soft and pouty, her thick lashes fluttering slightly in sleep. So lovely.
And it looked tempting, lying there beside her.
So I did.
I lay down next to her and took her tiny hand, resting it gently against my cheek. I closed my eyes, and sleep took me instantly.
Sometime during the night, I heard voices behind me, near the door. Cameron’s voice. He was talking to Anita, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
A moment later, I felt a hand gently brush against my temple. I knew that hand as well as I knew my own. The slow stroke, the way it swept my hair aside to bare my cheek.
I wanted to say something. To tell him not to stop.
But I was too tired.
So I let sleep take me again.