Chapter 1

Back in New York, my first surgery was on a young woman with fibroids.

While signing the consent form,

she was still whining to her boyfriend on the phone.

“It’s literally a minor procedure. Did you really ditch a huge deal and fly back from London for this?”

“And stop buying me bags and jewelry. I seriously have no room left.”

She handed me the form. My eyes landed on the emergency contact line.

Ethan Hayes.

Same name as my boyfriend.

I smiled politely. “What a coincidence.”

She took my hand, looking utterly innocent.

“Doctor, are all guys named Ethan this obsessed?”

“I swear he did this to me. He’s so clingy. Like... scary levels of energy.”

“I just wanted a few quiet days, but he found out and flew back anyway.”

I froze, almost saying my Ethan wasn’t like that.

My Ethan was composed. Polished. Married to work.

An untouchable tech elite with a cold, almost ascetic edge.

She held up her phone and showed me her lovesick boyfriend.

My heart stopped.

On the screen was my boyfriend of three years.

Ethan Hayes.

Smiling at her like she was his whole world.

...

But my Ethan was never clingy.

Never the lovesick type.

Even at our most intimate, he always held something back.

Tiffany kept bragging.

“Okay, Dr. Reed, consent form’s done. Do you need anything else?”

I kept a professional smile.

“I still need your allergy history before we can finalize the surgical plan and date.”

She tapped her forehead and wrinkled her nose.

“Oh no. I left my file at home after my premarital checkup. Looks like the surgery has to wait again.”

I looked up and blinked it back.

“You’re married? You look barely out of college.”

She smiled at me innocently.

“Yep. We got married on May 9 last year. It was my birthday.”

“You have no idea how scared he was I’d run. I was still at Columbia—hadn’t even graduated yet—and he dragged me to the City Clerk’s office, like I’d marry someone else if he waited another second.”

“Back in college, he bought a place right by campus to look after me. He’s so clingy it’s suffocating.”

She flicked her wrist, looking mock-annoyed.

Under the desk, my hand wouldn’t stop trembling.

May 9th.

The day my mother died.