Hospitalized, While My Husband Partied with His Secretary
Joy Brown · Completed · 4.4k Words
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Introduction
I gave five years to my husband's ambition—and got betrayal in return.
Forty-three days without a break on the Imperial City project. I collapsed from exhaustion and woke up in the hospital. He never picked up the phone.
He was too busy celebrating his mistress's birthday.
The blonde hair wrapped around his jacket was like a slap to the face. I'd cut my own hair short years ago because he said long hair wasn't "professional." He just meant it wasn't professional on me.
He promised we'd move to Imperial City together once he succeeded. But he was always too busy—except when it came to touring my project sites with her.
I'd had enough.
I froze the accounts. Pulled the funding. Took back everything I'd built.
He tried to push me out of my own position, so I reclaimed the patents and withdrew my support.
He called a press conference to save face. I attended—as an executive at his largest competitor.
I watched him crumble.
For five years, I held him up. And for five years, he treated me like something disposable.
He forgot that the empire he thought he built was never his.
It was always mine.
Forty-three days without a break on the Imperial City project. I collapsed from exhaustion and woke up in the hospital. He never picked up the phone.
He was too busy celebrating his mistress's birthday.
The blonde hair wrapped around his jacket was like a slap to the face. I'd cut my own hair short years ago because he said long hair wasn't "professional." He just meant it wasn't professional on me.
He promised we'd move to Imperial City together once he succeeded. But he was always too busy—except when it came to touring my project sites with her.
I'd had enough.
I froze the accounts. Pulled the funding. Took back everything I'd built.
He tried to push me out of my own position, so I reclaimed the patents and withdrew my support.
He called a press conference to save face. I attended—as an executive at his largest competitor.
I watched him crumble.
For five years, I held him up. And for five years, he treated me like something disposable.
He forgot that the empire he thought he built was never his.
It was always mine.
Chapter 1
"Ms. Brown, you've pushed yourself too far."
"Three days straight without sleep, severe low blood sugar, and your anemia levels are dangerously low. If this continues, next time they bring you in, it might not be to the ER."
"What about your family? We called five times and no one answered."
I lay in the hospital bed, my throat too dry to speak.
For the Imperial City Project, I'd worked overtime for forty-three days straight and finally finished the final proposal last night. But right after I sent the email, I passed out at my desk.
I picked up my phone and saw that Michael Johnson hadn't called at all.
Just as I was about to contact him, I noticed his pinned post was from Elizabeth Perez today.
It was a photo—two hands clasped together beneath a large bouquet of roses.
The caption read: "Thank you for the surprise, Mr. M."
Today was her birthday.
And I had just collapsed from exhaustion.
A nurse came in to change my IV and glanced at me: "Ms. Brown, your husband still hasn't come?"
I shook my head.
"Should we try calling again?"
"No need," I said.
The hospital wanted me to stay longer, but I was worried about work, so I checked myself out the next day and went home.
I was just putting the key in the lock when the door opened from the inside.
Michael stood in the doorway, smelling like booze.
He saw me and froze for a moment.
"Why are you back so early?"
"I was in the hospital last night."
He frowned: "The hospital? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I called five times. You didn't answer."
"Oh..." He scratched his head, "I was drinking with clients last night and had my phone on silent. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
He took off his suit jacket and handed it to me: "That's good then. Hey, hang this up for me."
I took the jacket and went to hang it in the closet.
Something caught between my fingers.
I stopped and pulled a strand of hair from the dark fabric.
Blonde, long and wavy.
Definitely not mine.
Michael always said he didn't like long hair, thought it wasn't professional enough and was inconvenient for housework.
So for all these years we'd been together, I'd cut off the long hair I'd kept since college and maintained a neat short style.
Apparently he didn't really hate long hair. He was just strict with me. That rule was only for me.
"What's wrong?" Michael walked over.
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