He murmured the promise in the same gentle tone he'd used the day he married me ten years ago. Only back then, the words were different:
"Moira, I'll be faithful to you. Always."
So this was where Lionel's "always" ended.
My stomach lurched violently and the nosebleed surged back, soaking his white coat red in seconds.
Something close to concern flickered in his eyes. He grabbed a fistful of tissues and pressed them against my nostrils.
I watched his hands work, then smiled a thin, ruined smile.
"Couldn't you two have waited until I was dead?"
Lionel's expression went blank.
I pulled free of his arms, walked to the door, and picked up the medical report crumpled with shoe prints. I held it out to him.
He was about to take it.
The lounge door opened from inside.
"Dr. Dickerson, you tore my clothes..."
The voice was syrupy, with a lilt I recognized.
I turned around and every drop of blood in my body went cold. The report slipped from my fingers and drifted to the floor.
Fay Simmons stood there wearing Lionel's dress shirt, the hem barely reaching her upper thighs.
Lionel's gaze dropped to the skin the fabric couldn't cover. Mine locked on Fay's face.