Who Exposed My Husband's Affair? The Super Bowl novel Chapter 24

Chapter 1

“Where are the oranges?”

11 PM. My husband finally walked through the door–empty handed.

I was three months pregnant. For once, I actually had an appetite. He’d promised to grab my favorite oranges on his way home.

But now? Nothing.

We just stared at each other. It took him a few seconds to even register what I was asking.

“Oh, shit! I totally forgot! Babe, I’m so sorry–I was in surgery all day. My brain’s fried.”

“I swear I’ll get them tomorrow!”

I wasn’t even mad. I told him it was fine.

But then I went to hang up his coat–and pulled a strawberry hair clip out of his pocket.

Callum’s face went red.

“Oh, that. My junior resident’s obsessed with that brand. She wouldn’t stop bugging me to grab one when I passed by the store, so I just… picked it up.”

Here’s the thing–I knew that store.

There was a fruit stand RIGHT NEXT TO IT–the one that sold my favorite oranges.

Something inside me snapped.

I turned around, voice calm.

“I think we should get a divorce.”

Callum froze. His expression hardened.

“What’s your reason?”

I clutched the clip tighter.

“You didn’t bring me oranges.”

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“Are you serious right now?”

His face went dark in an instant. He pinched the bridge of lis nose like I was giving him a migraine.

“Sloane, you’re about to be a mother. When are you going to stop acting like a child?”

“Pregnant women are impossible. Fine, throw your tantrum. I’m not doing this.”

He yanked the clip out of my hand, grabbed his pillow, and stormed off to the study,

I stared at his retreating back, my chest aching with a dull, persistent pain.

That night, I went digging.

It didn’t take long to find her–Ivy Winters, Callum’s precious junior resident.

Her Instagram was a shrine to him.

[My mentor acts all cold, but he’s a softie. Complains about me every day, but still eats lunch with me without fail.]

Attached: a photo of Callum, stone–faced, eating the fatty bits of meat she’d pushed off her plate.

Callum hated food waste. He’d lecture me if I so much as picked out a piece of ginger.

But with Ivy? Totally different guy.

[Been so stressed lately I actually developed a breast lump. Thank God for my mentor.]

Attached: a photo of Callum performing a breast exam on her.

The most recent post? One minute ago.

A screenshot of them on video chat. She was wearing a bunny girl outfit, swaying her hips.

[Mentor got pissed off by some pregnant hag tonight, but I cheered him right up.]

My stomach dropped.

So this was what he’d been doing behind my back.

This was how close they’d gotten.

The next morning.

Callum had the day off.

He came home early with a bag of oranges–big, round, perfect ones.

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He peeled every single one and arranged them on a plate, then held a slice up to my lips.

“I didn’t forget on purpose last night. I really was just swamped.”

“I know pregnancy makes you emotional, and I know you probably overthought everything. So I went out first thing this morning and got these. They’re sweet. You’re going to love them.”

I stared at the orange. It looked perfect. But made me want to throw up.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

Caller ID: “Biggest Dummy.”

Sounded affectionate.

Whatever Ivy said made his face shift instantly–panic, clear as day.

He didn’t ask. He told me.

“Ivy’s being harassed by a patient. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know how to handle this. I need to go.”

I grabbed his arm.

“She’s at a hospital. There are security guards. Other doctors. She could call the cops. Why does she need someone

else’s husband?”

“And you promised. Today’s my ultrasound. You said you’d come with me.”

He looked at me like I was a stranger.

“Sloane, how can you even say something that heartless? Ivy’s my mentee. I’m responsible for her.”

With that, he pulled his arm free and walked out.

I watched him leave, suddenly remembering the day I told him I was pregnant. He’d cried. Actually cried.

He said the baby and I were his whole world.

Guess we weren’t anymore.

Ten minutes later, Ivy posted again.

Location tag: Callum’s office.

She was on her knees under his desk, wearing something barely there, her face flushed as she tugged at his zipper.

[I lied about the harassment thing lol. Just wanted to reward my mentor.]

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I laughed. Actually laughed.

Then I called my best friend–the lawyer.

“Draw up a divorce agreement. I’m leaving Callum.”

Then I met her at a coffee shop.

When I told her everything, she went pale with rage and didn’t stop cursing him out until I calmed her down.

She had the papers ready in minutes.

“Get him to sign ASAP. Also, I’m moving abroad in two weeks. Come with me.”

On the drive home.

A black sedan swerved into our lane out of nowhere.

Our driver yanked the wheel. We hit another car.

I slammed into the seat. A sharp pain tore through my stomach. Something warm pooled between my legs.

I couldn’t even scream before everything went dark.

The last thing I saw: two people stepping out of that black sedan.

Callum sprinted toward me, hickeys blooming across his collarbone like accusations.

He grabbed me, voice breaking.

“Babe, stay with me! I’m getting you to the hospital!”

I couldn’t answer.

Everything went black.

When I woke up, I was on an operating table. Callum was in scrubs, working frantically.

“Don’t be scared. You and the baby are going to be fine. This Il be over soon.”

Ivy stood nearby, eyes red and brimming with tears.

“I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I distracted him while he was driving. I’m so, so sorry.”

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“But don’t worry–he’s the best. You and the baby will be okay.”

I pictured them in that car. Together. My anger flared, but the anesthesia kept me silent.

Callum’s hands were steady. The surgery went perfectly. The baby was safe.

But then, during the final stage–closing me up–Ivy, who was assisting, made a mistake.

A fatal one.

The instrument slipped. It tore through my abdomen.

Blood poured out, flooding the table.

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