Chapter 1If Life Were Only Like the First Time We Met

Ten years into our marriage, I got into a car accident on the way to yet another prenatal appointment my husband had forgotten. As I lay bleeding, I called him for help, but he just brushed me off, annoyed:

"If you're not dead, go to the hospital. I'm busy."

The next second, I saw my husband, sitting in the passenger seat of the car that hit me, hang up my call. He turned to the woman in his arms, his voice full of tenderness, and said to his young secretary:

"Don't worry, I'm here."

He calmly left the scene with her, leaving me alone in a pool of blood. In that moment, it finally hit me. My marriage had been crumbling for a long time. Ten years of love had turned into nothing.

* * *

The doctor handed me the miscarriage papers, sighing softly.

"Ms. Thompson, you just had a miscarriage. You need to rest."

Then, he looked at me with a hint of discomfort.

"We contacted Mr. Davis, but he said…"

The doctor avoided my eyes, his voice barely above a whisper:

"He said, 'If she's not dead, tell her to get back here and make dinner.'"

I took the papers, smiling through my tears as I stroked the image of my baby. Just hours before, I'd been dreaming about the day my child would call me "Mom." Now, I'd never get to hold my little one.

As soon as I walked through the door, Mark greeted me with an angry glare.

"Did you tell the hospital to call me?"

I didn't say anything, just sat down wearily on the couch.

Seeing my silence, Mark frowned.

"Sarah, do you know how busy I am?"

"Lily's puppy needs to be neutered tomorrow, and the vet still hasn't confirmed the appointment. Do you know how stressed I am? Can't you be more mature and stop bothering me?"

I looked at Mark's anxious expression and then down at the scrapes on my knees. Apparently, my life and my baby's were worth less than Lily's dog.

Mark kept complaining, each word like a knife stabbing into my heart. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Mark," I said. "Do you know that I almost died in the hospital just now?"

He looked annoyed at my interruption, his eyes shifting to my flat stomach, his tone dismissive.

"You weren't even showing. A little fender-bender isn't going to kill you."

I stared at Mark, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. He didn't even know how far along I was. What he thought was "not showing" was actually the aftermath of losing our baby.

Mark was about to say something else, but he caught sight of the cuts on my wrist and instinctively grabbed my hand.

"What happened to your hand?"

I used to cherish my hands. Mark always complimented them. But then, he decided he wanted to start his own business, and I started working five jobs to support him. My trendy hair color faded, and my makeup just collected dust on the vanity. I transformed from a young woman into a worn-out housewife. My hands went from delicate to rough and calloused.

When Mark landed his first big order, he held my hands against his chest, tears streaming down his face.

"Sarah," he choked out, "I'll never let you suffer again. I'll take care of you and make your hands beautiful again."

His passionate words had burned away my last doubts. I followed him without regrets, but it had all led to this.

I was about to speak when his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, Mark quickly dropped my hand. His worried expression vanished, replaced by pure adoration.

My heart twisted as I watched the love in his eyes. There was a time when Mark used to look at me that way, whispering sweet nothings on the phone. But now, he made no attempt to hide his affection for someone else.

Tears welled up as I stared at him. In that moment, I understood that my marriage wasn't just crumbling. Mark was rotting from the inside out.

"Mark, let's get a divorce."