Chapter 8 - The Zero-Sum Marriage
"You didn't feel lost, Cameron," I said, my voice cutting through his soft, wet sniffling like a scalpel through tissue. "You felt small."
He lowered his hands, his eyes red and swollen, his face wet with tears that looked entirely real and entirely useless.
"You couldn't handle having a partner who was your equal," I continued. "You wanted a subordinate. You wanted someone like Sophie—someone who would look at you with the deference of an intern, who would validate your ego because she needed your signatures on her rotation logs."
"That’s not true," he whispered.
"It is," I said. "You turned our marriage into a zero-sum game. You thought every time I saved a life in the ER, some part of your authority was stripped away. You couldn't even let me have my own labor, Cameron. You had to control that, too. You had to make sure I was the patient—the weak, emotional patient—so that you could be the calm, heroic attending who saved the day."
He looked down at his shoes, his fingers twisting the wool of his coat.
"I don't have an excuse," he said. "I know that. I’m... I’m going to lose my license, aren't I?"
"Yes," I said. "You are. And you're going to lose your son."
He looked up quickly, his face tightening.
"Amelia, please. Don't take him from me. He’s my son, too."
"You don't have a son, Cameron," I said, my voice finally gaining a cold, hard edge. "You have a victim who survived your clinical management. The court will have the complete file of the compliance investigation before we even reach the first custody hearing. If you try to fight me, I will make sure the text messages are entered into the public record."
He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly as he realized the complete, legal finality of his position.
He had no cards left to play. He had no reputation to protect him, no institutional authority to hide behind. He was just a suspended physician who had been caught trying to manipulate a medical delivery to secure a financial and legal advantage in a divorce.
"I want you to leave now," I said.
He stood up slowly, his movements heavy and old. He looked at the baby monitor beside my bed, at the steady, green line of Theodore’s heart rate, but he didn't ask to see him. He knew he had lost that right, too.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a breath. "I know that doesn't change anything."
May you like
"No," I agreed, turning my face toward the window where the rain was finally starting to let up. "It doesn't."
The door clicked open, then closed, and I was alone again with the gray light and the steady, beautiful sound of my son's heart.
