Dear Ex Wife Please take me back by The Every Woman

ATHENA

"What?" | gasp.

| look from left to right and left again.

"Surely there must be a mistake."

"Nope. It's you, Dr. Dawson. We have that tradition. The one with the most votes represents the hospital at the

gala. It's important because we get donations from the Kings foundation." lan explains, and | watch him with a

suspicious eye.

"Votes by whom?" Isabelle asks, and we all turn to look at lan.

"The board. They vote anonymously, and it's tradition, so changes can't be changed."

"Tradition huh?"

"Yes!" lan claps his hands together, standing like he didn't just ruin my weekend plans.

"Then I'll accompany her." Zayan says, making lan turn to face him.

"As what?"

"There has to be something you can give him. Don't they give two invites each year?" Isabelle backs him up.

"They do, so if you can tellwhat, Dr. Sinclair will accompany Dr. Dawson, as to this very professional and

important gala, please don't letstop you."

It's a trap.

lan doesn't wantto go with anyone who has XY chromosomes.

Which has to be Alex's doing.

I'm sure of it.

| was planning on going on a weekend away with Zayan. | don't want to introduce

him to Rayen just yet, so | asked Alex to swap dates, and he said,

"Sure. No problem."

Just like that. No questions asked.

| should have known it was too good to be true.

Zayan straightens, thoughtful for a moment before he finally says,

"As a doctor at this hospital."

lan tilts his head, unimpressed. "Hmm."

He uncrosses his arms and shakes his head slowly. "I wouldn't want any rumors spreading abouthaving

favorites, Dr. Sinclair."

His gaze flicks to me.

"I'll be accompanying Dr. Dawson myself."

My jaw nearly drops.

What?

"If anyone else wants to attend," he continues casually, "feel free to secure your own ticket."

Zayan stiffens beside me.

| blink at lan, utterly baffled.

"You're going with me?"

"Yes, | am. You represent the hospital, and | represent the administration. It only makes sense."

It doesn't.

At all.

But | know this isn't about logic. It's about Alex. And whatever invisible strings he's yanking from behind the

scenes.

Zayan laughs under his breath, low and humorless.

"| guess it can't be helped then."

"I'm so sorry. We can go next weekend." | whisper as | squeeze Zayan's hand.

"Okay! So, if we have that out of the picture, we are dismissed." lan claps his hands together, then he walks out.

The room empties slowly, Isabelle mouthing a tic "call me" before slipping out.

Zayan lingers, brushing his thumb over my knuckles in silent reassurance.

"I'm sorry," | whisper again.

| feel so bad.

"It's not your fault," he says, though his jaw is tight. "We'll make the next weekend better."

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn't lift.

The hospital corridors are quiet by the t| make my way to the ICU floor.

| stop in front of Room 402.

Sloane's room.

| take a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Five months have passed and she still hasn't shown any sign of waking up. She had only woken up once, but it

was so brief that we thought we imagined it. Alex has plans of taking her outside the country if she doesn't

improve. But | told him to givestime.

It's not ego or anything, but if | don't help her get better and she fails to walk for the rest of her life, it will kill me.

| pull the chair closer to her bed and sit, folding my hands in my lap.

"Hey, Sloane," | say softly. "I, uh... got nominated for the gala."

| let out a dry laugh. "Apparently it's a hospital tradition. | didn't even know we had

traditions. Can you believe it?"

She doesn't move.

| watch her face, hoping for a flutter of eyelids. A twitch. A miracle.

But | get nothing. My heart shatters even though | keep believing she will wake up and be whole again.

"| was supposed to go away with Zayan," | continue. "But now lan's going withinstead, and honestly? I think

it's Alex pulling strings. Again."

| sigh and lean back in the chair.

"You'd probably tellto ditch the gala and run off anyway."

| laugh through the tears that begin to run down my cheeks.

"I miss you, Sloane. Please wake up. | beg you."

The words cout so quietly that they almost don't exist.

"I miss our coffee breaks. Your snark. The way you always had my back, even

when | didn't deserve it."

| reach out, brushing her hand gently.

"Rayen asked about you yesterday. Said he misses your stories. | didn't know what to tell him."

My throat tightens.

"You have to wake up, okay? We miss you so much."

| sit with her a while longer, the only sound in the room, the rhythmic beep of the

monitor.

Eventually, | stand and press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"| love you, Sloane."

| leave the room slowly, glancing back once before the door clicks shut behind

me.

After my shift, | step into the boutique to get myself a dress before | embarrass myself.

| received a strange email about there being a sale, and | thought it was a scam

for a sec. | ignored it, but | received an actual call an hour later tellingthe

same.

| asked where they got my line because their shop was the most expensive and never in my wildest dreams

would | ever buy anything from there.

"You have been our biggest client, ma'am." She said. "You may have forgotten because your assistant used to

pick up the dresses for you."

Then it clicked.

They probably kept my line from the t| was married to Alex.

| could use a discount right now. So here | am, hoping the 80% off isn't going to

leave a hole in my purse.

The boutique smells like soft jasmine and wealth.

A little too much of both.

| step inside cautiously, my shoes clicking against the polished marble floor.

Everything sparkles.

Everything screams you don't belong here.

| nearly turn back until a tall woman in sleek black approacheswith a welcoming smile and a tray.

"Welcto La Miroir, Dr. Dawson," she says warmly, offeringa wine glass. "Would you like white or red?"

"Um..." | blink at her, flustered. "Water is fine."

She gives a knowing nod and swaps the wine for a sparkling water glass instead.

"May | take your bag?"

| hesitate, but she's already motioning to another woman nearby, who steps

forward with gentle hands.

"I'm just here for a quick look," I murmur.

"Of course," the first woman says. "Right this way. We've arranged a seat for you."

A seat?

Before | can protest, I'm guided

toward a plush white chair in front of

a soft runway-style mirror The lighting overhead is warm, the room; quiet except for low classicalmusic playing in

the background. s

"Someone will model the dresses for you shortly," she says.

I blink. "Wait, what?"

She pauses, mid-step. "Yes?"

"I thought was here to browse... Is that a new service? Because, no offense, I'm just here for something simple.

Can see prices first before. | waste your time? | half-laugh, feeling uncomfortable. s

The woman just smiles.

She pulls a sleek, black envelope from behind her tablet and hands it to me.

"You won't be needing prices today, Dr. Dawson."

My brows pull together. "Why not?"

She opens the envelope and removes a card. It's matte gold, my nwritten

across the top in elegant cursive.

"You can pick any dress you want. It's on the house."

| stare at her.

"l....what?"

"You've supported us for so long," she explains, a genuine smile softening her face. "We wanted to

appreciate our long-tclients, we organized a special gift care giveaway. You were one of the winners. Please

pick anything you like." s

I'm speechless.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes ma'am."

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