My husband's a surgeon, always so wrapped up in his job that he was hardly ever home.

A week before I was supposed to give birth, I found myself driving alone to the hospital where he worked. I was having the baby!

I parked in the underground garage and ran toward the elevator. I was about to get in when out of nowhere, I got shoved hard from behind—by his first love. Vivian Vanderbilt.

One hard shove and I was on the ground, belly-first. In that split second, I felt it—my blood, warm and pooling fast between my legs.

The contractions shot through me so deep that my skin went pale.

I gasped, begging for help. But, as if she didn't see my bloody situation, she casually took out her phone and dialed my husband right in front of me.

Her voice was all sweet and flirty as she talked to the father of my baby.

She cooed, "Marcus, I'm almost there. My finger really hurts... 'You think I can skip the line? Ivory won't mind, right?"

I watched her step into the elevator and leave me helpless on the floor. With trembling fingers, I fumbled for my phone and called my husband. But he hung up on me—three times.

When he finally answered, there wasn't a single ounce of concern in his voice.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me when I'm at work? Listen, Vivian cut her hand. I'm prepping to bandage it. I don't have time for this!"

Just like that, he ended the call before I could even say a word.

——

I closed my eyes, feeling myself slipping.

I don't know what would've happened if it wasn't for a doctor passing by. He saw me and rushed me to the ER.

Right before the operation, the doctor told me I needed a family member to sign the pre-op form.

I had no choice but to call my husband again, forcing myself to stay awake, to explain what happened. I barely managed to say I'd fallen, and I needed him to sign. But before I could even get to the point, he snapped.

"For Pete's sake, Ivory, stop freaking out every time Vivian's name comes up! Our baby was fine earlier, and now that I helped Vivian, something suddenly happened to you again. Come on, don't use the baby to manipulate me!"

"I've got real emergencies to deal with! Security cameras are literally everywhere in this hospital! What do you think Vivian and I are doing? Dammit, stop being paranoid!"

"I'm working with nerves and blood vessels here. One wrong move could be fatal. If you're gonna argue with me about this, I don't need to explain myself anymore. Think what you want."

The blood kept pooling under me, soaking the hospital bed. Time was running out, so the doctor beside me took the phone to explain, but Marcus had already hung up.

I forced a bitter smile. "I'll sign it myself," I said. "I don't have any family."

The nurses around me exchanged sympathetic glances.

I signed, over and over, with my hand shaking, and finally, they wheeled me into surgery.

The lights were harsh and blinding—that was the last thing I remembered.

The next thing I knew, my belly was flat. Just a raw, stitched-up wound was left.

I looked around the room, but the baby... I didn't see my baby.

Where was my baby?

Panicked, I tried to sit up despite the pain until a nurse who was about to change my bandages stopped me.

She must've seen the desperation in my eyes; her face full of that gentle sympathy I hated.

"I'm so sorry. Your baby didn't make it."

It felt like someone had ripped the earth from under me. I collapsed back on the bed, and tears just poured out. I didn't even feel the pain of her changing the bandages.

I'd been married to Marcus for five years.

For five years, he'd put his first love first, time and time again.

I used to ask him about it, and we'd fight. He always said she was just like a sister.

I loved him, so I believed him. I kept making excuses for why he was so cold. I thought, once the baby came, he'd finally come back to me, back to our family.

But in the end, his first love wrecked our home.

What cut hand? What bandages? Since when does a top surgeon like him need to deal with something that minor himself?

Those were all just excuses.

He loved her. He always had. He'd do anything for her.

And when she came back into his life, I lost him.

That thought pulled a bitter smile from me.

When the nurse left and shut the door, I stared at my phone.

It had been eight hours since I called my husband, and my phone was silent. No single message. No missed calls.

My fingers hovered over the screen, and with my one free hand, the one not hooked up to an IV, I typed out what should've been said years ago.

[Marcus, let's get divorced.]

I sent my husband the message, and his phone rang back almost immediately.

Before I could even get a word out, he started in on me.

"What now? I checked the hospital system—you're already there, aren't you? Aren't the doctors and nurses enough to take care of you? You really had to call me when I'm at my busiest? When are you ever going to stop acting like a child?!"

"Other women don't act like this when they're pregnant, you know."

"Once the baby's born, what excuse will you have then? Jeez, Ivory, you gotta get a grip!"

I was about to defend myself when I heard Vivian's pretentiously soft voice in the background, trying to calm him down.

"Hey, Marcus, maybe Ivory misunderstood me. Why don't I explain it to her? I don't want you two fighting because of me. I know you're working hard, and you don't have time to take care of her. I can help with that for a few days."

Marcus's voice softened in a way I had never heard him use with me.

"No, you're still recovering yourself, and you still find the energy to care about me. She's the one who's always making everything unnecessarily complicated."

And just like that, he hung up again, without another word for me.

My anger, my pain—both felt so small against his indifference.

Since I got pregnant, I never asked him for anything. I knew how busy he was, so I handled it all—taking care of myself and managing the house.

And yet, there he was, tearing me down in front of the woman who had killed our baby!

A bitter taste rose in my throat, my breath trembling as I tried to hold back everything building inside.

Numbly, I sent him another message. I wanted to explain that I wasn't just being difficult. I wanted to tell him that I had thought long and hard about leaving. About the divorce.

But when I hit send, all that came back was a red exclamation mark.

My husband had blocked me.

My fingers hovered over the screen, while a bitter smile pulled at the corners of my lips.

Later, when the nurse came to change my bandages, I casually asked about the security cameras near the elevator in the parking lot.

It turned out, they'd been broken for two days, still not fixed.

No wonder Vivian, that bitch, had the guts to act innocently in front of my baby's father!

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my teeth clenched to stop the pain from the blood-soaked bandage pulling at the cut across my stomach.

After half an agonizing hour, the nurse finally left.

And that's when I heard my husband's voice outside the door.

"If you want to go see her, go ahead. I can't stand the sight of her. Every time I see her, she starts something. I'll just wait here."

Then, the door creaked open, and the woman who killed my baby stepped inside. That bitch even had the nerve to smile at me!

The little strip of gauze wrapped around her finger was like a silent taunt.

She didn't even wait for me to confront her—she came to me first, daring to show her face.

I must've looked pathetic—pale, weak, and broken in front of the woman responsible for my child's death.

The grief, the anger—it rose up all at once, making my whole body shake.

Before she could get any closer, I shouted, the words tearing from my throat.

"Did you come here to show off? To laugh at me?! Get lost!"

I forced myself up from the bed, my hands gripping the mattress as I threw the pillow at her with everything I had.

The sudden motion ripped at my wound, and blood immediately soaked through the fresh bandages.

Her expression shifted instantly, and tears started spilling from her eyes as she rushed out of the room.

I heard my husband's furious voice from outside.

"She dared to yell at you? That's it. I'm going in there and making her apologize!"

He stormed toward the door, already halfway inside before Vivian stopped him, her voice trembling as she cried.

"N-No... Let's just go. I don't want you two fighting because of me…"

Her voice faded as they walked away, and I sank back onto the bed, feeling like the last bit of life had been drained from me.

My husband only had to take one more step—just one—and he would've seen that I wasn't making any of this up at all, that I was actually bleeding in pain.

But he didn't check on me. Instead, he walked away with his first love, not even bothering to check my records when he had the chance.

The line between love and indifference had never been this painfully clear.

I took a moment to steady myself, then contacted a lawyer to draft up the divorce papers and had them sent to the hospital. Marcus Hartman was the one listed to receive them.

It wasn't until the courier called that I realized Marcus had already left the hospital. With my number blocked, I had to log into an alternate account just to ask where he was so he could sign. But just as I logged in, I saw he had a new update on his Facebook.

It was a photo—of two people, clinking beer bottles in front of the beach. The bandage on one delicate hand hadn't even been removed yet, and it stung my eyes just to look at it. Meanwhile, Marcus… Well, he never wore his wedding ring.

The carefree happiness in the image radiated from the screen. It was evident in the caption: [I can't count the times I've been thankful, turning around to find you still by my side.]

He said those exact words to me once.

I remember that night so vividly—when Vivian left Marcus to go abroad. I found him drunk, passed out on a street corner. I took him home and stayed up all night, taking care of him, washing him up, and changing his clothes. He looked at me with those blurry, drunken eyes and said, "I'm so glad you're here."

That's how we ended up together. But that felt like a lifetime ago. Things are different now. Now I'm the burden that stands in the way of his true love.

I opened our chat box, typing out a simple message.

[The divorce papers were sent to the hospital. You weren't there, so I had your colleague sign for them. Make sure you sign them when you get back.]

No sooner had I sent it than he replied with a voice message. I hesitated but played it anyway. His voice was harsh, filled with irritation.

"I've already taken time off work, and I still can't avoid you? Just because I didn't take you for your delivery prep? Seriously, Ivory, how long are you going to drag this out? Did you really have to drag my colleagues into this shit? Are you not embarrassed enough?"

"You were the one who cried about wanting a baby. What kind of a pregnant woman, about to give birth, is still getting jealous? If you won't think about yourself, at least think about the baby. You're too selfish to even be a mother."

I just stood there, stunned, as his accusations sank in. It was unbelievable how he was turning this around on me.

Just as I was about to respond, I heard her voice again—Vivian—soft and sweet, calling my husband's name.

"Hey, Marcus, look at this shell! Isn't it pretty? Let's take it home as a memory. Thanks for coming with me to the beach, even with your busy schedule. This is for you!"

As she got closer, I heard a subtle edge of nervousness in her tone.

"Oh, are you talking with Ivory?"

Maybe Marcus didn't want her to know, or maybe he just didn't want me disturbing their perfect little moment. Either way, he didn't say another word to me and stopped recording right there.

It was like the final blow, leaving me completely numb. I stared blankly at the screen, reopening that picture. The one where his life looked so easy, so free—so far removed from mine.

That's when the nurse came in to check on me. She glanced at my phone and smiled.

With a voice full of admiration, she remarked, "You still have Dr. Hartman's contact? He's really so dedicated to his patients. Most doctors wouldn't go the extra mile like that. I heard he hasn't taken a vacation in years, and now he's finally on a long break."

Yeah, even our wedding was squeezed into his lunch break. There was no wedding ceremony. No one at the hospital even knows he's married.

Looking back now, maybe this was how it was always meant to end.

I didn't say anything. I went back to our chatbox and reminded him to sign the papers, only to realize… he had blocked my second account, too.

A scoff escaped my mouth.

In the end, I stopped trying to reach him.

Instead, I began looking up what legal punishment there is for causing a pregnant woman to deliver prematurely.