After My Surgeon Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me Chapter 9 – I sat in the back of the town car, watching Boston’s skyline slide past the tinted windows. On the seat beside me, my tablet displayed the morning’s headlines. The top story: Jamie Collins’s tearful interview on Channel 5’s Boston Today.
“I was manipulated,” Jamie’s voice quavered from the video, her eyes brimming with perfectly timed tears. “Dr. Montgomery was my mentor. I trusted him. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
I turned up the volume slightly, studying her performance with detached curiosity. The Jamie on screen bore little resemblance to the woman who had deliberately dropped her “promise ring” at the hospital gala, who had left her scarf in my home like a territorial marker.
“Did you know Mrs. Montgomery?” the interviewer asked.
Jamie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I tried to apologize to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She used her family’s influence to destroy my career. I just want a chance to practice medicine again.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Olivia Chen:
Are you watching this performance? We’re all laughing in the break room. Should’ve nominated her for an Oscar instead of firing her.
I smiled, typing back:
Keep me posted on the staff reaction.
Within the hour, Olivia sent me a link to a joint statement from five Boston General nurses, contradicting Jamie’s version of events. By afternoon, three former residents had come forward with stories of Jamie’s calculated pursuit of married attendings at previous hospitals.
Marcus called as the car pulled up to my mother’s estate.
“Jamie’s interview backfired spectacularly,” he said without preamble. “The medical community is closing ranks against her. No hospital in Boston will touch her now.”
“She made her choices,” I replied, gathering my things. “Just like Chris made his.”
Two weeks later, Marcus and I sat in his office reviewing the financial reports. The numbers told a devastating story: Chris’s pet projects were collapsing without my family’s backing. The surgical wing expansion, the research initiative he’d been so proud of all stalled indefinitely.
“The Montgomery family is refusing to bail him out,” Marcus said, sliding another document across the desk. “They’re blaming him for losing the Parker connection. And the penthouse just sold twenty percent below market value.”
I studied the sale document dispassionately. “Where is he living now?”
“He’s rented a condo in Back Bay. Significantly more modest than what he’s accustomed to.” Marcus hesitated. “Meredith says he’s trying to negotiate a better settlement. His lawyer claims financial hardship.”
I thought of the nights I’d spent alone while Chris worked late, of the anniversary dinner where I’d waited for hours, of the casual cruelty of his dismissals when I’d voiced concerns.
“The terms stand,” I said firmly. “He made his bed.”
The Grand Ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton glittered with Boston’s elite. Champagne flowed, diamonds sparkled, and at the center of it all stood a ten-foot banner:
The Parker Foundation for Emotional Abuse Awareness and Women’s Economic Empowerment.
My mother appeared at my elbow, resplendent in midnight blue.
“Governor Wilson just arrived,” she murmured. “And the Ashfords have doubled their donation.”
I nodded, scanning the room. The faces that had once whispered behind my back now smiled in open admiration. The same society that had watched my humiliation now celebrated my resurrection.
Marcus approached, champagne in hand.
“The donation total just crossed two million,” he said, his eyes bright with triumph. “And Boston Magazine wants to feature you in next month’s issue ‘Boston’s Most Influential Women.’”
I accepted the glass he offered, allowing myself a moment of satisfaction. “Not bad for a woman who was just arm candy three months ago.”
“You were never just arm candy,” Marcus said quietly. “Some of us always saw that.”
Before I could respond, Catherine Leighton, the hospital board chair, appeared beside us.
“Evelyn, what a magnificent event,” she gushed, air-kissing both cheeks. “The board has been discussing your foundation’s work. We’d like to offer you honorary recognition at our annual gala next month.”
I met her gaze steadily. “I’m honored, Catherine. But I have one condition.”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Oh?”
“The recognition must come with a commitment a new women’s health wing, funded by tonight’s donations, completely separate from any of Dr. Montgomery’s former initiatives.”
Catherine blinked, then recovered smoothly. “Of course. We’d be delighted to discuss terms.”
As she walked away, Marcus leaned closer.
“Nicely played.”
I sipped my champagne, watching the crowd that had gathered to support my vision.
“This is just the beginning,” I said softly.
What no one knew was that tomorrow, I would be meeting with the CEO of Montgomery Medical Industries Chris’s father. He had requested a private conversation, away from his son’s knowledge.
And I was very curious to hear what he had to say.
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