Nari Yoon Get over it are three of the most hated words in the English language. When I was twenty-two years old, my husband died. My very secret husband. I never told my parents or their nosy church friends that I’d eloped. We had a few months of wedded bliss—then he was killed. It’s been ten years since his death, and I’m having a hell of a time getting over it. My life changed that day, and I’ve never been able to get back on track. Sure, I finished college, went to medical school, and I make my traditional immigrant parents proud with two degrees and a white lab coat. The perfect job, the designer clothes, the luxury car—none of that makes the pain go away. Every year on the anniversary of my husband’s death, I seek out the solace only an anonymous sex partner can give. But this year I made a big mistake. I hooked up with fellow doctor and co-worker Lucas Tucker. He’s having a hell of a time understanding the meaning of a one night stand.