Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO WORE MY WEDDING RING IN HER DREAMS
I slept for six hours.
Not enough to recover from everything.
But enough to stop the room from spinning whenever I stood.
When I woke, sunlight was moving across my apartment floor.
My suitcase lay beside the door.
My unopened conference materials sat on the kitchen counter.
And my phone contained twenty-three unread messages.
Most were from Preston.
Some were from Cecily.
One was from my younger brother, Daniel, who had heard Richard was in intensive care.
I called him first.
"Althia?"
His voice was immediately worried.
"Are you okay?"
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I wanted to lie.
Tell him everything was fine.
That Richard had survived.
That I was simply exhausted.
Instead, I whispered:
"Preston married Cecily."
Silence.
Then:
"What?"
I began crying.
"While I was in Paris."
For several seconds, Daniel didn't speak.
Then his voice changed.
"Where are you?"
"Home."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"I'll come over."
I swallowed.
"You don't have to."
He answered immediately.
"I know."
A pause.
"I'm coming anyway."
Then he ended the call.
For the first time since Charles de Gaulle Airport, I felt something warm move through my chest.
Someone was coming because I needed help.
Not because I had a skill they wanted.
Not because my professional reputation could solve their problem.
Simply because I was hurting.
---
Daniel arrived twenty minutes later.
He was thirty-two.
A high school history teacher.
The kind of man who remembered everyone's birthday but regularly forgot where he put his keys.
He walked into my kitchen carrying coffee and a paper bag of sandwiches.
Then he saw my face.
His expression crumpled.
"Althia."
I tried to smile.
Couldn't.
He placed everything on the counter.
Then hugged me.
I cried against his shoulder.
For a long time.
When I finally stepped back, Daniel looked furious.
"Please tell me you aren't still marrying him."
I almost laughed.
"No."
He exhaled.
"Good."
I wiped my eyes.
"Richard survived surgery."
Daniel's expression softened.
"Thank God."
I nodded.
Then he looked at me.
"Did Preston at least apologize?"
I stared.
For a moment, I remembered the waiting room.
Cecily's wedding band.
Preston thanking me for saving his father.
I shook my head.
"He asked me not to tell Richard about the marriage."
Daniel went completely still.
Then he said something so quietly it frightened me.
"He used you."
I looked down.
I didn't want that to be true.
For fourteen months, I'd believed Preston was my future.
Now I was beginning to understand how useful that belief had been to him.
A brilliant surgeon.
A woman his father adored.
Someone who could lend credibility to his family's hospital-related philanthropy.
Someone who would drop everything if Richard needed help.
And someone who trusted Cecily enough to give her a key to the apartment.
I covered my face.
Daniel sat beside me.
Then whispered:
"You don't have to solve any of this today."
I nodded.
But I knew one part couldn't wait.
The document issued in my name.
That was separate from my heartbreak.
And potentially far more serious.
---
Eleanor Price answered my call shortly after noon.
She was the Sterling Family Foundation's compliance director.
I'd met her at two charity events.
She was fifty-one, precise, and famously unimpressed by wealthy donors.
"Dr. Morgan, thank you for calling."
"Please call me Althia."
"Of course."
She paused.
"First, I'm sorry for what you're going through."
I closed my eyes.
Apparently the marriage record had already reached more people than Preston expected.
"Thank you."
Eleanor continued.
"I need to ask whether you authorized a medical endorsement for the Sterling Aortic Response Initiative."
I frowned.
"What initiative?"
There was a pause.
"The foundation has been developing a proposed emergency cardiovascular program with Sterling Memorial."
"I know about the clinical concept."
I had attended an early planning discussion months earlier.
The hospital wanted to improve rapid identification and transfer of patients with acute aortic emergencies.
A worthwhile goal.
But that didn't mean I'd approved a particular budget, vendor, or contract.
Eleanor continued.
"The program's proposed funding is forty-eight million dollars over several years."
I sat upright.
Forty-eight million.
A major philanthropic commitment.
She continued.
"Part of the proposal involves a digital referral and transport coordination platform."
I frowned.
"That would require clinical evaluation and procurement review."
"Exactly."
I swallowed.
"What's the problem?"
Eleanor paused.
"The submitted materials include a letter in which you appear to endorse Blair Integrated Solutions as the preferred implementation partner."
My blood ran cold.
Blair.
Cecily Blair.
I looked toward Daniel.
He was watching my face.
I swallowed.
"Read me the signature line."
Eleanor hesitated.
"Dr. Althia Morgan, Cardiothoracic Surgery."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"I didn't sign that."
Silence.
Eleanor continued carefully.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
I stood.
Then sat again.
My knees felt weak.
"I have never approved that company as a vendor."
Eleanor was quiet.
Then asked:
"Have you authorized someone to use your professional credentials for this purpose?"
"No."
My voice tightened.
"And I want that documented."
She answered immediately.
"It will be."
Then she said something that changed everything.
"Dr. Morgan, the endorsement was submitted with supporting correspondence from Preston Sterling."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Preston.
The man who had secretly married the woman connected to the proposed vendor.
The man who expected me to save his father without asking questions.
The man who had apparently been using my name inside a major charitable funding proposal.
I took a breath.
"Eleanor, please preserve the original submission, the accompanying correspondence, and any available document history."
"Already underway."
"And notify the independent review committee that I dispute the endorsement."
"Of course."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then I asked:
"Does Richard know?"
Eleanor sighed.
"Before his emergency, Mr. Sterling had asked questions about the proposed vendor arrangements."
My heart tightened.
"What questions?"
"He's been concerned that the foundation's medical programs are becoming entangled with his son's private business interests."
I stared at the wall.
Then Eleanor continued.
"He had requested an independent review."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Richard had known something was wrong.
Perhaps not about the wedding.
But about Preston's business arrangements.
And now he was lying in intensive care while the two people who betrayed me tried to keep their secrets intact.
I closed my eyes.
Then whispered:
"Thank you for telling me."
Eleanor's voice softened.
"Althia, you shouldn't have to carry this alone."
I looked toward Daniel.
My brother sat quietly beside the kitchen table.
Waiting.
For the first time that day, I believed her.
---
That evening, Cecily came to my apartment.
I hadn't invited her.
The doorbell rang.
Daniel looked through the peephole.
Then his expression changed.
"Althia."
I already knew.
Somehow, I knew.
"Is it Cecily?"
He nodded.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I considered ignoring her.
But she still had a key.
And I wanted it back.
I opened the door with Daniel standing nearby.
Cecily wore a beige coat.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail.
Her face was pale.
And the gold wedding ring was still on her finger.
She looked at me.
"Althia."
I said nothing.
Her eyes filled.
"Please."
I held out my hand.
"The key."
She blinked.
"What?"
"My apartment key."
Her expression crumpled.
"Can we talk first?"
I shook my head.
"The key, Cecily."
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she reached into her handbag.
Placed the key in my palm.
I closed my fingers around it.
For a moment, I remembered giving it to her.
A rainy Tuesday.
She had offered to water my plants while I attended a conference.
I trusted her.
Completely.
Now I looked at the key.
And wondered how many times she'd entered my home while keeping Preston's secrets.
I took a breath.
"How long?"
Her eyes widened.
"Althia—"
"How long have you been involved with Preston?"
She began crying.
For several seconds, she couldn't answer.
Then whispered:
"Nine months."
My stomach dropped.
Nine months.
We'd been engaged for fourteen.
For nine of those months, my best friend and my fiancé had been together.
While we chose flowers.
While we discussed venues.
While I tried on my mother's wedding dress.
I stared.
Then asked:
"Did you wear the dress?"
Cecily blinked.
"What?"
"My mother's wedding dress."
My voice broke.
"The one you helped me restore."
She shook her head.
"No."
I swallowed.
"Good."
For a moment, I thought that tiny mercy would comfort me.
It didn't.
Then I asked:
"Why did you marry him?"
Cecily looked down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then whispered:
"Because he promised we'd stop hiding."
I almost laughed.
"He promised?"
She nodded.
Tears spilling down her face.
I stared.
"He called me on your wedding night."
Her expression changed.
"He what?"
I looked directly at her.
"Friday evening."
"While I was in Paris."
"He told me he'd booked bridal appointments."
Her face went white.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"He said he'd told you."
I stared.
"What?"
Cecily's breathing changed.
"He said your engagement was already over."
Silence.
Then I asked:
"Did you believe him?"
She looked down.
"I wanted to."
My chest tightened.
There it was.
The truth.
Not innocence.
Not a misunderstanding.
A choice.
She wanted Preston enough to accept a story that required ignoring every wedding plan she continued helping me make.
I looked at her.
Then asked one final question.
"Did you use my name in a medical endorsement for your company?"
Cecily froze.
The tears stopped.
For a moment, her face became completely still.
Then she whispered:
"What endorsement?"
I held her gaze.
And knew.
Whatever else she might have lied about, that was the question she hadn't expected.
I stepped back.
"Goodbye, Cecily."
She reached toward me.
"Althia, please—"
I closed the door.
Then turned to Daniel.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, my brother asked:
"Are you okay?"
I stared at the key in my palm.
Then whispered:
"No."
A tear slipped down my face.
"But I finally know what I need to do."
I would save Richard if he needed more care.
May you like
I would cooperate with the independent investigation.
And I would never again mistake being indispensable to Preston for being loved by him.
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