Chapter 2
511words
Pale and in pain, I had to ask a friend to come sign the consent forms.
By evening, it was over.
The doctor said I needed to rest for a few days.
Ryan never called—not once.
Chloe continued flaunting her romance online.
“I twisted my ankle slightly a tiny bit, and he totally panicked—rushed me to the ER like a madman.”
“Ugh, he was supposed to fly back today but canceled everything because of my stupid ankle.”
“OMG! He won't even let me walk—carries me everywhere!”
I opened the photos.
There was Ryan, carrying Chloe on his back.
I remembered when I was four months pregnant, at a checkup.
My hips suddenly locked up—every step was agony.
The doctor said it was synovitis—needed rest and heat packs.
I called Ryan, hoping he could come gat me.
He sounded impatient.
“I'm busy. My time is for work, not for your little aches! Being pregnant doesn't mean you get to be helpless. If you can't walk, figure it out yourself!”
I picked up my phone and texted him again.
“I only want two things, full custody and a fair settlement.”
Ryan replied quickly.
“I have got something important today.”
“Stop being dramatic. I'll come tomorrow.”
Three days later, when I was discharged, Ryan still hadn't shown.
Sitting in the car, watching the city blur past, it all hit me.
Ryan and I met in college—fell in love, got married.
First year, his startup failed—partner screwed him over, left him drowning in debt.
I worked three jobs to help dig us out, came home exhausted every night to cook and clean.
When his second venture took off, I thought we'd finally made it.
But then, a year ago, everything changed.
The day he cheated with Chloe, it all crumbled.
Soon after I got home, Ryan finally appeared.
He saw the surgery papers on the table and shook me awake, annoyed,
“You went through with the surgery? Why couldn't you wait for me?”
I hadn't slept properly in three days—finally resting only to be jerked awake.
I was exhausted, physically and emotionally.
“Ryan, are you seriously saying I should've waited three days with a critical condition until you decided to grace me with your presence?”
He paused, his tone easing a bit,
“Fine, whatever. Now go iron my suit—I have to go out.”
It clicked.
He hadn't come back for me or the surgery.
He needed something for work.
My phone buzzed—time for the baby's feeding.
Weak and sore, I got up to make a bottle.
Ryan kicked a chair in frustration,
“Goddamn it, I never should've married you. I regret it every day!”
With that, he slammed the door on his way out.
I ignored him, turning to comfort our crying son.
It took almost an hour to soothe him back to sleep.
Then I picked up my phone and typed,
“Can you refer me to a good divorce lawyer?”
The reply came quickly, “Are you serious? It's your birthday—why are you talking about divorce today?”
