Chapter 2
I wake up to a flat stomach and an angry red line of stitches where my baby should be.
The room’s empty. “My baby – where is he? Is he okay?”
I try pushing myself up through the stabbing pain, but a nurse rushes to stop me.
“Don’t! Your stitches!”
One look at her face tells me everything.
“I’m so sorry… we couldn’t save the baby.”
My whole body goes numb. I fall back, tears streaming down my face. I can’t even feel them changing the bloody bandages anymore.
Five years married, and he’s ditched me for Ray Palmer more times than I can count. That rainy night floods back – coming home soaked, empty house, no response to calls or texts. When he finally showed up, stinking of perfume, hair a mess, all he said was: “Ray’s back.” Then walked straight to his study like I was fucking invisible.
Over and over again. One call from her and he’d drop everything. At first, I tried to talk it out. All I got was cold looks and colder words.
“She’s like my sister! We grew up together, went to school together, worked at the same hospital. What, I’m supposed to ignore her when she needs help? Stop being so fucking paranoid – you’re embarrassing yourself!” He played this broken record every single time.
I loved him enough to swallow those lies. Five years of making excuses, thinking time would fix us.
Reality’s a bitch. I thought a baby would bring him home. Instead, his precious Ray
took that away too.
Her injured hand? The bandages? Please. Since when does a paper cut need a surgical specialist? He just can’t resist playing her games.
The moment she swaggered back into the hospital with her fancy British accent
and Chanel suit, I knew I’d lost him.
My split lips twist into a bitter smile. Eight hours since my call. Not one fucking message. My hand trembles as I type:
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11:06 AM Wed 5 Mar
02
[Marcus, I want a divorce.]
Five years of swallowing my pride, finally spit out.
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