My Ex-Husband's Regret: The Surgeon's Return

ty Rom

ng at the scrub sink when my husband, Garold Peck, suddenly kicked open the emergency room do

e building down!" Nurse supervisor Sarah was pr

a pair of purple surgical gloves over my raw knuckles, and sa

he air around the triage de

sive hands-the same hands that had beaten opponents bloody on the ice-were now c

versized black-and-gold hockey jacket, her honey-blonde curls spi

s cut through the flurry of terrified

d, my voice a dead, clinical flatline. "This i

lue eyes were rimmed with tears, her lower lip tr

arold. It's all my fault. I was just so c

of my lips. "There are only attending p

He took a step forward, casting a heavy shadow over m

permanent ligament damage from a lack of circulation, put her down

ing staff behind the desk. No one in Boston dared

cles grinding. Finally, he set K

his jacket, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Garold, don't fight wit

tepped up to the edge of the gurney and

lie let out a soft, pitiful hiss, shrinking ba

clamped down around my le

ind my delicate wrist bones together. A jo

?!" his voice droppe

rub sleeve. My own husband was willing to snap my wrist

e sprain of the anterior talofibular ligament. If you had driven ten mi

y red. Her fingers dug so hard into the

ent, scribbling on the chart without looking back. "Give her a

voice trembling. "My foot feels so cold. I

ribs were fractured on the ice, the man who coldly ordered his assistant to hand

g with a sickeningly sweet tenderness I had

, suffocating wave of acid. It w

d walked straight into

Just as I unclasped my hair, the heavy metal door of the

ed against my back. He grabbed my chin

ie is out there crying because of your brutal attitude. She has always adm

or three years, and a sudden, vio

human lives, and you want me to apologize to a ma

e dripped with cruel threat. "If you don't go apologize, I will pull Peck Group

didn't even fe

olute, dead calm, a shar

lating pupils, my voice dripping with pure mockery. "Go ahead. Do it. I'd love to see if tomorrow's Boston headline

face turn

at the door, "get the he