“His arm is fractured in several places. There’s a risk of long-term damage unless we operate soon. Unfortunately, there’s a problem with his insurance.
His policy lapsed last month. As his wife, you can authorize the procedure and arrange payment.”
I blinked, trying to process his words. “His insurance… lapsed?
Why didn’t he renew it?”
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t speak to that, but we do need to act quickly. Will you authorize the surgery?”
When I stepped into Oliver’s room, the sight of him startled me.
His face was pale, a bandage wrapped around his head. His arm was in a sling, and he looked more fragile than I’d ever seen him. “Jen,” he croaked when he saw me, his voice weak.
“Oliver,” I said stiffly, standing by the door. His eyes searched mine, pleading. “I know you’re upset, but please… just listen.
It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think,” I said, my voice icy. “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me.
And last night, I saw you with her. You brought her to that party, didn’t you?”
His face went pale. “I can explain—”
“I don’t want your explanations,” I snapped, cutting him off.
“The doctor says you need surgery, but your insurance lapsed. That sounds like a problem for your real wife to handle.”
“Jen, don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I made a mistake.
Please, just sign the papers.”
I stared at him for a long moment, my heart pounding. Part of me wanted to scream, to cry, to give in and help him. But then I thought of all the times I had trusted him, only to find out it was all a lie.
“No, Oliver,” I said, my voice firm. “You’ve made your choices. Now you can live with them.”
I turned and walked out of the room without looking back.
In the hallway, my steps felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted off my chest. For the first time in years, I realized I wasn’t responsible for cleaning up his messes. It was over.
Whatever happened next was up to him. A few days later, I received a call from the hospital. It wasn’t the doctor.
It was Oliver. “Jen, please,” he begged. His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable.
“She didn’t come. I’m alone here. I need you.”
I said nothing, gripping the phone tightly as his words sank in.
The “real wife” wasn’t so real after all. She hadn’t shown up, not for the surgery, not for anything. She’d disappeared the moment she realized he wasn’t the man he pretended to be.
“Jen?” he whispered. “You made your choice, Oliver,” I said, my tone steady. “Now you can deal with the consequences.”
I hung up and blocked his number.
In the weeks that followed, I heard through mutual friends that Oliver’s career was falling apart. Word of his affair spread at work. The woman he’d paraded at the party was no longer seen with him, and his charm didn’t seem to fool anyone anymore.
But I didn’t feel sorry for him. I felt free. For the first time in years, I wasn’t carrying the weight of his lies.
Instead of worrying about his needs, I focused on myself. I signed up for a pottery class—a silly dream I’d put off for years. I spent weekends hiking trails I’d always wanted to explore.
I started painting again, filling my apartment with canvases splashed with color. For years, I, Jennifer, had been the dutiful wife. But now, Jen was stepping into her own life.
