After My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Saving Me

Over the next three days, Cassian became a fixture in room 412. He didn't make a grand entrance. He didn't bring extravagant bouquets of flowers like Julien did. He just showed up, quietly and consistently.

My mom’s overbed table had a loose wheel. It squeaked and wobbled every time she tried to eat her soup. Julien had noticed it on Tuesday. He frowned at it, checked his expensive watch, and told me to call a nurse to fix it. I never did.

On Thursday morning, Cassian walked in. He held a fresh iced oat milk latte for me. He handed it over without a word. Then he saw the wobbly table. He didn't ask for permission. He didn't tell me to call maintenance. He just unzipped his leather work bag and pulled out a small multi-tool.

He knelt on the cold linoleum floor in his tailored suit pants. A few quick twists of his wrist, and the table was perfectly steady.

“There you go, Madeline,” he said softly.

My mom beamed. Her pale cheeks actually had some color. “You're a lifesaver, Cassian.”

I stood by the window, sipping my cold drink. I watched them. Cassian pulled up a chair. He asked my mom about her beloved tomato garden back in Queens. He listened intently as she told stories about my childhood. She told him how I used to line up my stuffed animals by height, and how I cried when it rained because I thought the earthworms were drowning.

Cassian smiled. It reached his eyes. He didn't check his phone. He didn't look at the door. He was just present.

Julien was there, too. He stood near the door in a crisp gray suit. He looked like an executive waiting for a board meeting to start. He watched Cassian fix the table. He watched my mom laugh. Julien's hands were buried deep in his pockets. I saw the fabric of his trousers pull tight over his knuckles. His jaw ticked. He didn't say anything, but the silence in the room felt heavy and sharp. It cost him something every time Cassian made my mom smile.

Later that afternoon, my mom finally fell asleep. The room felt stuffy. I needed to stretch my legs. I walked out into the corridor. Cassian followed me quietly. Julien came out a second later. The three of us stood near the nurses' station in a tense, awkward triangle. The air smelled like bleach and old coffee.

Then, the shouting started.

A man in a hospital gown stumbled out of a nearby room. He looked confused and angry. A nurse tried to guide him back, but he shoved past her. He was big and disoriented. He swung his arms wildly.

He crashed right into a tall metal cart loaded with medical supplies.

The cart tipped. It was falling fast, straight toward me. Heavy steel trays, sharp instruments, and glass bottles rained down.

I froze. My feet felt glued to the floor.

Two shadows moved at the exact same time.

Julien lunged from my left. Cassian shoved forward from my right.

They both hit me, pushing me hard against the wall. The heavy cart slammed into them. Glass shattered loudly across the floor. Metal trays clattered by my feet. A bottle of rubbing alcohol busted open, filling the air with a sharp, stinging scent.

“Kiara!” Julien gasped.

“Are you okay?” Cassian asked. His voice was low and tight.

I blinked. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “I'm fine,” I breathed.

I looked at them. Julien's sleeve was torn. A jagged cut ran down his forearm. Blood beaded on his pale skin, staining his white cuffs. Cassian had thrown his hand up to catch the edge of a falling tray before it could hit my face. A deep gash crossed his knuckles. Blood dripped steadily from his hand onto the white floor tiles.

Hospital staff rushed over. They grabbed the confused patient and pulled him away. A nurse hurried toward us with a first aid kit.

Then, a sharp buzzing sound cut through the noise.

It was Julien's phone.

He pulled it out of his pocket. I saw the screen flash before he turned it away. *Elyse.*

Julien looked at the phone. Then he looked at the blood on his arm. Then he looked at me. He hesitated. I saw the familiar calculation in his eyes. It was a minor emergency on her end, I was sure. A lost key, a flat tire, a bad day at work. But it was Elyse.

“I have to take this,” he muttered.

He didn't wait for my answer. He turned his back and walked down the hall, holding the phone to his ear.

I stared at his retreating back. The coldness in my chest spread. He chose her. Again. Even now, with his arm bleeding and my heart still racing from the crash.

I turned back to Cassian. He was quietly wrapping a paper towel around his bleeding knuckles. He didn't complain.

“Let me,” I said softly.

I took the plastic first aid kit from the nurse. I pulled Cassian toward the empty counter at the nurses' station. I opened the box. I took out antiseptic wipes and a roll of white gauze.

“You didn't have to do that,” I said. My voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes, I did,” he replied simply.

I took his hand. His skin was warm and rough. My fingers trembled slightly as I wiped away the blood. The cut was deep and angry. I focused entirely on his hand. I didn't want to look up. I knew if I looked into his eyes, I would start crying. The tears weren't for Julien. They were for the sudden, overwhelming relief of being protected.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

I glanced up. He wasn't looking at his hand. He was looking at me. His dark eyes traced the lines of my face. He didn't hide his gaze. There was no hesitation. Just a quiet, steady burn. He looked at me like I was the only person in the entire hospital. He looked at me like I mattered.

I swallowed hard. I carefully wrapped the white gauze around his knuckles. I taped the end down smoothly. My thumb brushed over the back of his hand. He didn't pull away. He stayed perfectly still, letting me hold him.

Down at the far end of the hallway, Julien stood by the elevators.

I could see him in my peripheral vision. The phone was still pressed against his ear. But he wasn't talking anymore. He was staring straight at us.

He saw my hands wrapped gently around Cassian's. He saw the way Cassian was looking at me, undivided and completely focused.

Julien's free hand dropped to his side. His fingers curled inward until they formed a tight, shaking fist. His jaw locked. He looked furious. He looked desperate.

But he didn't move. He stayed right where he was.

He chose to answer the call. He stepped away when I needed him. And now, he had to stand in the distance and watch someone else occupy the space he had so carelessly left behind.