18 Hours of Surgery Couldn't Save Our Marriage

A car accident left me with severe brain injuries. I was left hanging by a thread.

My wife, a renowned medical genius, personally operated on me for 18 consecutive hours, pulling me back from death's grasp.

Yet, the first words I said to her after waking up were, "Grace, I want a divorce."

Her eyes were filled with tears. "Derek, I just saved your life, and now, you want to leave me? Is it because I've been too busy at the hospital? Because I haven't spent enough time with you?"

I frowned. "It's exactly because you saved me that I want this divorce. I won't let you sacrifice your reputation for me."

The family elders tried to reason with me. "Grace is such a wonderful wife. She takes care of everything and loves you deeply. Why insist on a divorce? Why throw away such happiness?"

No matter who approached me, I dismissed them with the same response. "If you think she's so perfect, then she'll be available once we're divorced."

The elders were furious. "Fine! Get your divorce! But don't come crying to us when you regret it!"

I whispered under my breath, "The only thing I regret is not divorcing her sooner."

The door to the hospital ward burst open as my mother charged inside.

"You ungrateful wretch! Grace didn't sleep for three days trying to save you, and the moment you wake up, you spout this nonsense?"

I looked down. "Haven't you always wanted a daughter? Why don't you take her as one? Such a wonderful woman is wasted on me anyway."

"You!" Mom trembled with rage.

Grace Reed steadied her, saying gently, "Mary, please don't get upset. Derek just woke up. His mind isn't clear yet."

I let out a cold laugh. The way she called my mother was so intimate.

The attending physician entered, frowning as he glanced at Grace, whose eyes were red and swollen.

"Mr. Hudson, you just came back from death's door. Your health should be the priority. As husband and wife, you shouldn't fight when you just cheated death."

I closed my eyes, refusing to engage. The ward fell silent except for the monotonous beeping of the medical equipment.

Shortly after, a student nurse entered carrying a syringe. "Ward 6, time for your blood work."

She held the needle, repeatedly positioning it over the back of my hand. The first attempt missed the vein. A drop of blood appeared as she frantically pressed a cotton swab to the spot.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She tried a different spot, her hands shaking even worse. The second needle went straight through the blood vessel.

Sharp pain shot through me as cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The rage inside me ignited completely.

"Get out," I growled.

The nurse was on the verge of tears.

"What's happening here?" A clear male voice came from the doorway.

Ryan Cross, Grace's graduate student, walked in. Seeing the nurse's distressed state, he frowned. "Can't you handle