I hurried toward the operating room to see my husband, but a nurse suddenly leaned in and whispered, “Ma’am, please—hide now and trust me. This is a setup.” Ten minutes later, when I finally saw him, I went cold. It turns out he…

 

When the hospital called that gray afternoon, my knees nearly buckled. “Mrs. Collins, your husband has been in an accident. You need to come immediately,” a tense voice urged.
I grabbed my purse, jumped into the car, and sped off, my heart pounding. Marcus and I had been distant for months—his late nights, suspicious behavior, and constant lies had chipped away at our marriage. But hearing he’d been in an accident awakened a swirl of fear, sorrow, guilt, and anger all at once.

When I arrived, a young nurse with anxious eyes led me down a quiet hallway toward an operating room.
“Your husband is preparing for surgery. We’ll call you in shortly,” she said, trying to steady her voice.

I moved toward the door, desperate to see him—until the nurse suddenly gripped my arm.

“Ma’am… hide behind the supply cart. Please. It’s a setup,” she whispered urgently.

My blood ran cold.
“What are you talking about?” I breathed.
“Don’t ask. Just stay hidden,” she insisted, her voice trembling.

Her expression told me she wasn’t exaggerating.
I crouched behind the cart, heart racing, listening to the silence stretch.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Finally, the operating room door opened — and Marcus walked in.

No crutches.
No brace.
Not a scratch on him.

He was laughing into his phone.

“Yes, Dr. Lewis, everything’s ready. Once she signs the papers, it’s done,” he said in a tone that chilled me.

The nurse had been right.

There was no accident.
No surgery.

Marcus pulled an envelope from his pocket and spread papers out on a tray.

“Divorce forms… property transfer… and medical consent. After she signs these, this entire charade ends,” he muttered.

My heart stopped when he added:

“She still has no idea the ‘surgeon’ is fake.”
The plan became painfully clear: Marcus was using a staged emergency to strip me of everything my father had left me after he passed away last year. I felt sick.

Moments later, another man walked in—impeccably dressed, wearing a lab coat that didn’t match his casual posture. Marcus shook his hand.