That was my mistake.
The next morning, I woke up with nervous excitement buzzing through my entire body. Today was the day I would review the final offer documents, sign them, and officially accept the position that would transform my career and my life.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and opened my email.
What I saw made the room spin.
A message had been sent from my account at one o’clock in the morning—hours after I’d fallen asleep.
The subject line read: “RE: Medical Director Position.”
With shaking hands, I opened it.
“I’M TURNING DOWN THE OFFER. I’m not interested in working with you. Don’t ever contact me again, you fucking idiots!”
My hands started trembling so violently I nearly dropped the phone.
“No,” I whispered to the empty room. “No, no, no. I didn’t write this.”
But there was only one person who knew my phone password. Only one person who had access to my email. Only one person who had been awake when I fell asleep.
Norman.
My husband had sabotaged my dream job while I slept.
And he was about to learn that I don’t forgive. I get even…
I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Norman read the newspaper and whistle cheerfully, looking more relaxed and pleased with himself than I’d seen him in months.
There was absolutely no sign of last night’s rage. No trace of the man who had slammed his fist on the table and called me stupid. He looked as happy as someone who’d just won the lottery.
“Morning,” he said without looking up from the sports section.
Every muscle in my body tensed. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his coffee cup against the wall. I wanted to confront him right there about what he’d done, demand answers, make him admit to the sabotage.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I took a breath and smiled. “Good morning, honey,” I said sweetly.
Because in that moment, standing there looking at my husband’s smug, satisfied face, I made a decision. Confronting him now would be emotional and chaotic. I would lose control of the situation, and he would find a way to twist it, to make me seem irrational or ungrateful.
Doing nothing would cost me my future. So I decided to do something much smarter.
I would teach Norman a lesson he would never, ever forget.
“I’m running late,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Have a good day at work.”
As soon as I got to the hospital, I took my lunch break sitting in my car with the doors locked, heart pounding, hands shaking as I dialed the clinic’s number.
When Linda Morrison answered, I had to force myself to sound calm and professional instead of panicked and furious.
“Linda, this is Teresa Hayes,” I said. “I need to speak with you about the email you received from my account last night.”
There was a pause. “Yes. We were… surprised by the tone. It seemed very out of character.”
“That’s because I didn’t send it,” I said, the words tumbling out faster now. “My phone was hacked. Someone accessed my email and sent that message without my knowledge or permission. I would never communicate that way, and I absolutely did not decline the position.”
Another pause, longer this time. I could hear the hesitation, the doubt.
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