My Husband Chose to Save His Lover's Daughter

Hearing the other man’s candid response, Miguel sat up straighter. Taking a deep breath, he explained, “You don’t understand. At first, I thought about enduring it. After all, she’s invested quite a lot in the hospital where I work. But feelings aren’t something you can force. You’ve been divorced so you should get it.” Miguel stared intently at the car logo on the steering wheel, his tone tinged with resentment as he continued, “Yes, she’s rich, but money isn’t everything. It can’t buy love.” “I’ve had enough of her domineering attitude. She orders me around like a servant. I feel like I’m not her husband—I’m just a dog she keeps!” My foot froze mid-air above the gas pedal. But he wasn’t done. He grew more animated as he rambled, “Do you understand that feeling? I’m a man! A man!” “Thankfully, I met someone. She reignited my passion, made me feel alive again, like a real, flesh-and-blood person. Her daughter is sick too, with the same illness as my daughter. But she doesn’t have the money...” “And Sherry? She has more money than she could ever need. So I was thinking...” The man beside him immediately caught on. “So, you want a divorce? And you’re planning to use your wife’s money to save your current lover’s daughter?” I turned to the screen, staring at the footage in disbelief. Miguel hesitated for two seconds, then nodded firmly. “Can you help me? I really think of you as a brother. Once I get the money, you’ll definitely get a share!” “I’ll connect you with the lawyer who handled my divorce. Just say I recommended you. For now, I’ll head back, and we’ll keep in touch,” the man said. The sound of the car door closing echoed, leaving the screen in silence for a long time. My mind went blank. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Miguel drove straight to the hospital. As the sports car was parked by the curb, a young girl in a hospital gown climbed in casually. “Dr. Richardson, this car isn’t as comfortable as the old one,” she said, her soft, coquettish voice sending alarm bells ringing in my head. This bastard—was he having an affair with a patient? And if she was in pediatrics, wasn’t she underage? My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, trembling with force. Miguel reached out to affectionately ruffle her hair, speaking in a tone so gentle it made my skin crawl. “Chloe, be good. I won’t drive this car anymore, okay? Whichever car you like, I’ll drive that one instead.” Before I could fully process the scene, the passenger door opened from the outside. “Chloe, are you causing trouble for your godfather again? Did you take your meds on time today? You’ve got surgery coming up, so you can’t slack off.” The voice was so saccharine it could drip honey. Miguel immediately straightened up, pretending to adjust his hair. “No trouble at all. Chloe has been good. I just brought her out to relax a bit before the surgery.” “Let’s go, Tricia. The restaurant’s already booked.” He smiled. The young girl shifted to make room for the two of them, squeezing herself into a corner. Tricia climbed into the passenger seat, settling in. Her golden curls glinted on the screen. It was her. I had met her once before at the hospital. At the time, Miguel mentioned that her daughter was battling the same illness as ours and was also on the waiting list for a kidney donor. I even felt a pang of sympathy for her situation and, as kindred souls facing similar struggles, assured her that if a donor kidney became available, I would cover the cost of her daughter’s surgery. But now, from what Miguel had said, a donor was already secured. So why hadn’t he told me? Why wasn’t he saving our daughter? The whole reason I invested in the hospital and helped him secure the director position was to ensure our daughter would be first in line for treatment.

In the end, all my efforts had only paved the way for those two scumbags! The fury of betrayal consumed me, surging through every fiber of my being. With trembling fingers, I pressed the fast-forward button, skipping through their meal. After dropping the young girl back at the hospital, Miguel returned to the car with Tricia. Together, they drove to the most secluded corner of the parking garage. Once the car doors were locked, the two immediately clung to each other, passionately kissing. "Trish, your new hair color is stunning," Miguel said, his voice thick with desire. Like a beast freed from its cage, he growled between his movements. Every expression on his face was something I had never seen before. At a critical moment, Miguel triumphantly took out a small bottle. "Let's try this. Last time you said it hurt—this will make it better." In his eagerness to open the bottle, the liquid splashed onto the windows, leaving sticky streaks everywhere. A wave of nausea washed over me. I grabbed the cleaning cloth and hurled it against the glass in disgust. The fruity scent lingered in the air as I stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. Those two despicable people planned to trample on me and my daughter for their so-called happiness. Dream on! Switching to another car, I made a quick call to my assistant. “Cancel today’s meetings and handle the clients for me. Print out the financial details of the hospital investments over the past few years.” “Also, have the lawyer contact me—I need to discuss something.” If Miguel wanted me to walk away with nothing, he’d better be prepared for a fight. As a major shareholder in the hospital, I had access to its administration. I opened the app and messaged the hospital director. “Please look up a patient named Chloe. She supposedly has the same condition as my daughter. Could you send me her medical records? I’d like to understand more.” The response was swift, and within two minutes, I had a complete file on the girl. Using this as a starting point, I reached out to a friend to dig into Tricia’s background. Just as I sent the request, the hospital called. “Ms. Gomez, did you and Dr. Richardson decided to make a donation? Thank you so much! Chloe’s mother is deeply grateful!” “If it weren’t for Dr. Richardson this past year, Chloe wouldn’t even have been able to stay in the hospital. You and your husband are so kind—you’re bound to be blessed for it!” “Dr. Richardson is even representing the hospital at the upcoming medical conference to present surgical solutions for this condition. It’s rare to see such dedicated doctors these days.” I frowned, puzzled. “This past year, Miguel has been covering that child’s hospital expenses?” “Yes! Her biological father is in prison and is supposed to be released in a few days. It’s such a tragic situation...” After hanging up, a message from Miguel came through. [Did you make it to the office, honey? It’s forecasted to rain today—don’t forget your umbrella, or I’ll worry.] [If you need anything, call me anytime. Love, your husband.] To avoid raising suspicion, I swallowed my rage and replied in my usual tone. [I’m here. Busy with social engagements today. Remember to eat on time—your work is important, but so is your health.] He sent back a “Love you” sticker, followed by a photo of himself seeing a patient. The live photo even had the hospital’s announcement system calling out patient numbers in the background. Too bad I no longer cared if he was overworked. His routine updates were likely just a tactic to keep me from suspecting anything, giving him free rein to indulge with that woman at the hospital. Not long after, my friend sent me a document along with a voice message detailing Tricia’s background.

"Sherry, what’s going on with you? Why are you involved with a woman like this? Don’t say I didn’t warn you—cut ties with her immediately! This woman will only bring trouble, and she won’t hesitate to use you if it benefits her!" I didn’t understand my friend’s warning until I opened the file and saw the contents. Tricia’s imprisoned husband had been convicted of manslaughter—he had accidentally killed her lover in a fit of rage when he caught them in the act. The file also listed every man Tricia had entangled herself with over the years. Without exception, all of them were successful in their respective fields, much like Miguel. Miguel, of course, probably had no clue about any of this. I spent the entire day compiling evidence of his infidelity. By nightfall, I returned home, acting as though nothing had happened to avoid raising suspicion. Even after the lawyer sent me the divorce papers, Miguel still hadn’t come back. All he left was a single text message. [Honey, I have a medical conference in another city the day after tomorrow. I’m working late on a proposal tonight and will sleep at the office. Don’t wait up, and rest early.] I decided to test him and called him. “It’s been so long—has there been any update on the kidney donor for our daughter? Isn’t your hospital supposed to be the best?” In the past, he would have told me to patiently wait. But this time, likely due to guilt, he stumbled over his explanation, going on and on in an attempt to justify the delay. I listened, a cold smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, before feigning helplessness. “Alright then. Just make sure to arrange everything as soon as a donor becomes available. Our daughter’s life depends on you, dear.” “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control,” he assured. The next day, he claimed he was too busy with appointments to come home. That evening, he said he was finalizing the proposal and checked into a hotel in the other city for the night. I knew he would take this opportunity to bring that woman and her daughter along for a little getaway. But I wasn’t idle either. I contacted a friend who worked at the prison to confirm Tricia’s husband’s release date, then sent him the address of the hotel Miguel was staying at. Every great drama needs a heavyweight guest star. Over the six years we had been married, Miguel had been too busy spending my money to notice that the five-star hotel he was staying at was part of my property. As soon as he and Tricia checked in, the front desk notified me of their room number. They also mentioned that the medical conference was drawing participants from all over the country, including renowned specialists from top hospitals. I instructed them to discreetly install a hidden camera in Tricia’s room while she took her daughter out for some “relaxation.” Such acts of selflessness—using someone else’s money to save another’s child—deserve to be publicized, after all. That night, Miguel sent me a series of excited messages, pretending to be the devoted father. [Honey, our daughter has hope! One of the experts attending the conference specializes in her condition. I’ll try to discuss her case over dinner tonight!] [But I might have to drink a bit, so I won’t be able to reply to your messages promptly.] Using our daughter as an excuse for his affair—it was disgusting! I scoffed and ignored him, pressing the gas pedal as I sped through the night. He must have heard the sound of the engine because he suddenly called. "Honey, are you not at home? Why do I hear a car engine? Where are you this late at night?" he asked, puzzled. Not wanting to alarm him, I chuckled lightly and replied, "I’m just picking up some documents from the office. What else would I be doing? Cheating on you? Look how scared you are!" He laughed it off awkwardly, dropping the subject. In the background, I heard the shower stop running, and Miguel hurriedly ended the call. By the time I arrived at the hotel, it was already the next morning. After a quick check-in, I settled into my room to wait for his conference to end. The hidden camera in Tricia’s room was linked to my phone. Barely five minutes after the conference concluded, Miguel rushed eagerly into her room.

Miguel walked into the room, tossing his suit jacket onto the floor, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Meanwhile, I instructed the hotel to project the footage from his room onto the conference hall’s screen and simultaneously started a livestream online. "Miguel, if you want to rise to fame, I’ll make sure it’s for all the wrong reasons!" I muttered to myself. Immediately, the massive conference hall was filled with the sound of heavy breathing. On the screen, two entangled bodies were on full display. Doctors who hadn’t yet left the venue looked up, their faces frozen in shock. Gasps and screams rippled through the crowd. Midway through their passion, Miguel pulled out that disgusting bottle of lubricant again. Tricia stopped him with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed. “Dr. Richardson, about Chloe’s surgery...” “We’ll do it as soon as we’re back! Be good, perform well, and I’ll head back tonight to make sure it’s scheduled for tomorrow...” he answered roughly. Viewers of the livestream quickly recognized Miguel and Tricia. The chat exploded with furious comments. [No wonder my son’s surgery keeps getting postponed—guess it’s because I’m not a woman who can trade my body!] [What kind of scumbags are allowed in hospitals nowadays? Surgery scheduling depends on spreading your legs now?!] [Can someone drop the hotel address? My daughter hasn’t even gotten a consultation yet. I’m going there today to ‘thank’ this doctor myself!] Seeing that last comment, I helpfully enabled the hotel’s location tag and pinned the room number for good measure. Within three minutes, enraged local patients’ families showed up at the hotel. Armed with cans of paint and baseball bats, they stormed into the elevator, seething with anger. Meanwhile, the footage continued. Miguel and Tricia were now basking in post-coital tenderness. It took less than three minutes for their performance to become a nationwide laughingstock. Just then, I received a message from my friend at the prison. [Ms. Gomez, your guest has arrived.] Moments later, the hotel lobby echoed with the enraged roar of a man. “Where the hell is that bitch Tricia? Daring to cheat on me—I'll break her legs!” It was Tricia’s freshly released husband, Brandon. I escorted him to their room and, out of politeness, knocked on the door. Inside, Miguel’s irritated voice snapped, clearly unhappy about being interrupted. “Who is it? Get lost!” “It’s your daddy!” Brandon bellowed. The door was kicked open with a loud bang. Brandon stormed in, pulling a kitchen knife from his waistband.