My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 09

My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 09

Victor Pierce recovered well after the surgery.

A week later, he was already sitting up in bed, eating soup.

I came in for rounds and found him propped against the pillows. Someone sat beside him.

Nova.

She was in civilian clothes, hair pulled back in a ponytail, peeling an apple for her father.

When she saw me walk in, the apple peel snapped.

Her hand had definitely jerked.

“Dr… Dr. Ashford.”

She called me Dr. Ashford.

Not Sloane.

I picked up the chart and began checking Victor’s drainage tube and incision site.

Victor watched me with a complicated expression.

“Dr. Ashford. You saved this old man’s life. I owe you one-for good.”

“You’re too kind, sir. Just doing my job.”

“No.” He shook his head, his voice firm. “If you hadn’t scrubbed in that day, I’d be gone. Chief Morrison told me. You did the surgery solo. Three and a half hours. No one assisting.”

He looked me in the eye.

“You’ve got more skill than a lot of surgeons who’ve been doing this their whole careers.”

I didn’t respond to that. Just kept writing my notes.

Nova sat rigid in her chair, her face frighteningly pale.

Her lips moved, but no words came out.

This was probably a scenario she had never imagined in her worst nightmares.

She’d schemed so hard to drive me out of Gavin Whitmore’s life. She’d thought I’d end up miserable

and broken.

Instead, I hadn’t just survived. I’d become the woman who saved her father’s life.

That taste-

I only had to glance at her face to know how bitter it was.

When I finished rounds and turned to leave, Nova followed me into the hallway.

“Dr. Ashford-”

She called out.

It was just the two of us in the corridor.

She took a deep breath and did something I never expected.

She looked him in the eye and held his gaze. “Thank you for saving my father.”

Her voice trembled.

I looked at the top of her lowered head, and I felt a terrifying calm.

In my last life, this woman had destroyed my marriage. Destroyed my life.

In this life, her father’s life had rested in my

hands.

And I’d saved him anyway.

Not out of kindness.

Because I’m a doctor.

“No need to thank me.”

I said it, and I walked away.

Five steps later, I heard a soft, strangled sound behind me.

She was crying. I didn’t know why she was crying. And I didn’t care to find out.

Not long after Victor was discharged, a story started circulating through military medical circles

around Crestwood.

“That young surgeon at Crestwood General-she saved old man Pierce’s life solo.”

“I heard she’s only twenty-six.”

“No way. Twenty-six and she pulled off a liver repair and renal artery anastomosis?”

“It’s true. Lawrence Hayes said it himself. He reviewed the surgical notes. Said her suturing technique is cleaner than his.”

Suddenly, consultation requests started pouring in.

Crestwood University’s affiliated hospital. Campbell Military Medical Center. Even several regional hospitals outside the city started requesting me by name.

Chief Hayes was delighted.

He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sloane, you’re the best doctor I’ve ever trained.”

“Chief, please, can you not hit my shoulder? It hurts.”

He burst out laughing. And that’s how life went. Busy. Full. Charging forward.

Until the spring of 1980, when a letter arrived at my dorm.

The envelope had no return address. But I knew that handwriting.

Square. Hard. Every stroke carried a soldier’s edges.

Gavin’s writing. I held the envelope for a few seconds, then tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. One line.

[Sloane, I’m back in Crestwood. Can we meet?]

I folded the paper, slid it back into the envelope, opened my desk drawer, and tossed it in with the

rest of the clutter.

No response.

Three days later, Gavin Whitmore showed up outside Crestwood General anyway.