I could not accept that the man I had loved deeply for years had become this unfamiliar figure.
I remembered the day we met, both of us strangers in an online support group for victims of medical malpractice.
Both of our parents had died in medical accidents.
We comforted each other, supported each other, and swore to become doctors who would never repeat those tragedies.
We poured every coin into our studies.
In our tiny rented room, he had once held my hand and vowed, “I’ll become the best anesthesiologist. I’ll be your most reliable partner in the operating room.”
Later, we made it happen.
At the hospital, we were the couple everyone envied.
We spent our days in white coats saving lives and our nights eating instant noodles while watching movies.
Life was simple, not wealthy, but brimming with happiness.
The day I completed my first neurosurgery, he proposed to me.
The very next day, I discovered I was pregnant.
When I told him, his eyes reddened.
“Arizona, we finally have a family. I’ll protect you and our son for the rest of my life.”
Back then, I believed him.
But now, this same man stood before me, weaving a flimsy lie in a cold voice.