A Love that Shatters the Past

ANNABEL’S POV My life was turned upside down when I caught my boyfriend, Steven, in bed with another woman. The pain of betrayal was exacerbated by the discovery that I was pregnant with his child. As a dedicated cardiac surgeon, I forced myself to focus on work, putting my emotional turmoil aside. I had so much belief in love. A kind of woman who is loyal, trustworthy, and possesses everything a man could want from a woman. But as I stood frozen at the entrance of his bedroom, watching the man I had given my life and love to, devow the bed which was about to become our matrimonial bed with another woman, I realized how gullible I was. My heart beat per second, and rage fueled my mind. A tense and uncontrollable scent filled the room- an expensive cologne mingling in the air into something suffocating. He was surprised to see me as their gaze met. His mouth opened, unable to close—as he thought of an excuse, a lie, anything that could make this disappear. “Annabel, wait, it is not what you think—” he said. I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I stumbled backward as my eyes dimmed, and the apartment walls became too tight suddenly as I moved. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, and the betrayal cut through me like a sharp-edged blade. “How could he? After everything?” I said, screaming at myself. My hand shivered as I got to my car, so much that I could barely fit the key into the ignition. I should have seen it coming. The fuzzy excuses, the late nights, the way Steven had made me feel in the last few months. But love clouded my mind, making me overlook things. As I drove without caution, I saw the scene replay in my mind. All I could see was him. The man who promised me heaven and earth. The man I had fantasized about, the man who had just destroyed my world. My stomach crumpled, the queasiness twined in my gut. Then, like a cruel slap from fate, I remembered—I was pregnant but never had the chance to tell him. The weight of reality crashed over me. I was going to be a mother. Alone. Tears rolled down my eyes as I pulled over on an empty street, crying over the issue on the steering wheel. I had saved countless lives in the operating room and mended broken hearts. But who would mend mine?? I had forgotten myself, trapped in a curdle of grief, but eventually, I forced myself to breathe. I wouldn’t let this break me. Steven had taken enough from me already. He wouldn’t take my strength. I straightened my seat and wiped away my tears. Work. I realized that only work would be my escape, my anchor. In the operating room, there was no room for emotions, no space for heartbreak. Just precision, expertise, and control. Right now, I'm keeping myself in control so as not to fall apart. Ready to put the nightmare behind me, I took a deep breath and drove off, leaving behind the broken pieces of my past. Because if there was one thing I knew, it was this: a shattered world could always be rebuilt. I returned to the hospital, replacing the warmth of the world with unaffected, clinical precision. I welcomed the cool atmosphere. It was easier this way, easier to drown in the rhythm of my work, to let the beeping monitors and the hushed voices of nurses pull me away from the wreckage of my life. My fingers moved repetitively as I carefully washed my hand at the medical sink. It was muscle memory by now: scrub, rinse, repeat. The aroma of medicine ignited my nose, destabilizing me, harboring me. “Dr. Sinclair?” I turned to discover Dr. Ethan Carter, one of the senior surgeons, watching me with serious concentration. He was an extraordinary doctor, brilliant and intuitive, but he had a bad habit of reading people too well. “Are you okay?” he asked, with a low voice, so only she could hear him. I forced a tight smile. “I’m fine.” His eyes stayed put on my face a second too long, as if he’s assessing the truth behind my words, but he simply nodded. “Good. Because we’ve got a patient in critical condition with an aortic rupture. And you will be assisting.” A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through my body. This was what I needed. The Operation Room was my battlefield, and here, I was in charge. Minutes later, I stood over the operating table, hands steady, heart calm. The world outside, the betrayal, the heartbreak, the child growing inside me, ceased to exist. All that and chi chi“Lancet,” I murmured. The instrument was placed in my palm without hesitation. “Incision at midline, suction ready,” Ethan instructed. I moved with practiced precision, working alongside him, our years of training turning their movements into an unspoken language. But as I focused on the delicate procedure, a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over me. My vision dipped for some second, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Not now. I blinked rapidly, forcing the nausea down. The last thing I needed was to collapse in the middle of surgery. “Dr. Sinclair?” Ethan's voice was sharp, a note of concern underlying his usual commanding tone. “I'm fine,” I said, my tone firm again, though I wasn't sure if it was entirely true. I continued strongly, refusing to let my body betray me. I wouldn't let pregnancy make me weak. After what felt endless, the surgery was over. The patient was stable. I let out a slow breath as I stepped back, removing my gloves. The moment I left the OR, I braced a hand against the wall, willing myself to stay upright. Ethan was there before I could compose myself. "Annabel," he said, and it wasn't Dr. Sinclair this time; it was Annabel. The concern in his voice was unmistakable. “I'm just tired”, I muttered. "You don't get tired," he shot back. "Not in the OR. Something’s wrong." I hesitated. Telling him would make it real. "I'm fine," I insisted, pushing myself off the wall. I couldn't afford to be vulnerable. Not here, not now. But deep down, I knew the truth. I wasn’t fine at all. And soon, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.