Marrying His Uncle

My husband is Mike Collins, one of the top emotional troubleshooters in the business. To put it plainly, he specializes in cleaning up infidelity messes for rich and powerful people. Among his major clients, the most unusual is his younger uncle, Bruce Shaw. I've long since gotten used to Mike's schedule. He always comes home late at night, smelling of perfume that's not mine, and I pretend not to notice the occasional flirtatious text that pops up on his cell phone. Until the day I suddenly had appendicitis and was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. When the anesthesia wore off, I opened my eyes to an empty hospital ward. The nurse came in to change the dressing and casually said, "Your husband just left a little while ago. He said something urgent came up." My heart sank. I took out my cell phone and sent Mike Collins a W Chat message: "I'm awake. Where are you?" The message went unanswered. I don't know how long I waited before the hospital ward door pushed open. I thought it was Mike, but when I looked up, Bruce Shaw was standing there, holding an insulated container. "What are you doing here?" I frowned. Mike had told me earlier that Bruce was supposed to be at a hotel on the outskirts handling something today. So how did he end up here? "I heard you had surgery, so I came to check on you." Bruce Shaw put the insulated container on the bedside table. "I had the housekeeper make some chicken soup." I didn't say anything, the knots of suspicion tightening inside me. Bruce didn't stay long, just gave me a few reminders before leaving. Shortly after he left, Mike Collins finally came back. It was well past midnight. His shirt collar was crooked, and there was a bright red lipstick mark on his neck. "Where did you go?" My voice shook. Mike shrugged off his jacket and said casually, "Bruce's girlfriend Lisa Lynn was throwing a fit, so I went to calm her down." "What's that bruise on your neck?" I kept my eyes on his neck. Mike Collins paused for a beat, then shrugged it off, "Lisa got carried away and accidentally brushed against it." "Accidentally?" I repeated the word, my chest tightening like a hand was squeezing my heart. "What else do you think it could be?" Mike frowned, voice edged with impatience, "This is my job. Don't start with the wild accusations." "Your job?" I laughed, the sound trembling with unshed tears, "My operating table isn't as important as your job, huh?" "This isn't the time for this. You should just rest." Mike avoided my gaze and turned toward the sofa outside the hospital ward. I lay on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. In that moment, I finally realized clearly that I was nothing more than a dispensable ornament in this marriage.