Husband Fled with First Love, I Saved World with Medical Expertise Chapter 07
Thirty-five days into the lockdown, our research at the center hit a fever pitch.
The transmission dynamics model I’d been leading was adopted by the Department of Public Health three days earlier.
It forecasted the infection curve for the coming fortnight with a degree of precision that outperformed every other model in the field.
During a video conference, Professor Harrison said, “This model was completed independently by Dr. Claire Bennett.”
There were more than a dozen people on the call, all from different expert teams.
Someone asked, “Claire Bennett? That name isn’t on my radar.”
Professor Harrison adjusted his glasses.
“When she left academia three years ago, she was sitting on two lead-author papers in The Lancet and Nature.”
“If she hadn’t stepped away back then, some of you wouldn’t be holding your current fellowships.”
After the meeting, three project leads added me on WhatsApp.
As I walked out of the conference room, a news alert popped up on my phone.
A tech media outlet had run a story:
[Where Did the Most Accurate Forecasting Model Come From?]
[An Epidemiologist Who Vanished for Three Years Returns to the Front Line.]
The article didn’t use my full name. It only referred to me as Dr. B.
But the professional circle was small.
That same night, Adrian texted me.
Claire, why didn’t you tell me you went back to the institute?
He never read news like that.
Someone must have told him.
Did I need to?
You’re my wife. Of course something like going back to work should’ve been discussed with me.
Adrian, when you boarded the last flight out with another woman, did you discuss that with me?
Read.
No reply.
Forty minutes later, another message came through.
Stop making this harder than it needs to be. Once the lockdown’s over and I’m back, we’ll sit down and talk.
I replied with one word:
Fine.
Sit down and talk.
I was waiting.
The next day, I met Daniel Mercer at the convenience store around the corner from the center.
He brought a stack of printed documents with him.
“Below-market property transfer, the drainage of the joint funds, the forged signature on the second mortgage,” he said.
“Claire, the chain of evidence is basically complete.”
“What was still missing?”
“One key piece. The record showing he booked three seats and then cancelled only yours. That would prove he left with intent. Not just the affair — also that the asset transfer was planned in advance.”
“I can pull part of it from the airline app.”
“Right, but to get the full booking record, we’d need a subpoena.”
I thought for a moment.
“I know the login for his airline app.”
“That won’t work. Illegally obtained evidence—”
“That’s not what I meant.” I looked at him. “He printed hard copies of the itineraries. I found yours in the trash. The printout has the refund stamp and date on it.”
Daniel stared at me. “You still have the original?”
“It’s in my bag. I found it in a shoebox the day he left.”
He let out a long breath.
“Claire, you’re terrifying.”
I finished my milk tea.
“Not terrifying. Just a woman who spent three years being gaslit and finally decided to turn on the lights.”
As soon as I stepped out of the convenience store, my phone rang.
It was the HOA office.
Then I heard Nancy’s voice. “Claire, something’s off with Evelyn. You should come back and take a look.”
When I got home, Evelyn was sitting on the living room floor, pale and shaky.
It wasn’t her blood pressure.
It was low blood sugar.
I forced some orange juice down her throat. Slowly, the color returned to her lips.
The first thing she said was, “You’re never home anymore. If I collapsed, no one would even know.”
“Nancy found you,” I said. “She comes by every afternoon to check your blood pressure. Did you forget that?”
“I don’t need some outsider taking care of me! If you hadn’t run off every day trying to play hero—”
“Mrs. Cole.”
I crouched down in front of her.
“Take a good look around this house. The groceries in the fridge are there because I fought for the delivery slots.”
“Your medication is here because I begged the neighbor for it.”
“And the mortgage on this apartment is still being paid by me every month. Has Adrian sent you a single dollar for living expenses?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“He… he’s overseas. It’s not easy for him right now.”
“He sold the retail property for a hundred and thirty-two thousand. He transferred sixty-two thousand five hundred out of our joint account.”
“And he took out an eighty-two-thousand-dollar loan against this apartment.” I held her gaze. “Evelyn, things are very easy for him.”
Color came and went in her face.
“You’re lying. Adrian would never do something like that.”
“The transfer record for the retail unit, the bank statements, the mortgage documents. I have the receipts, Evelyn. Do you want to see them?”
She didn’t look.
She turned her head toward the TV instead, her voice shaking.
“You’re just trying to drive a wedge between me and my son!”
I stood up.
I didn’t argue anymore.
Some people didn’t refuse the truth because they couldn’t see it.
They denied it because the alternative was unbearable.
The son she loved most had never just schemed against me.
He had counted his own mother in the cost too.