When I Became the One Who LeftChapter 1
My mom’s chemotherapy failed.
Her last wish?
One final dinner, with all of us gathered around the table, one last time.
But that night, as I set the table for what was supposed to be a sacred reunion, my husband Hayes brought his new lover with him. Zara. Her belly was round, unmistakably pregnant. She wasn’t there just to flaunt her pregnancy. No, she came to rub it in.
The shock hit my mom like a freight train. Her health had already been fragile, but this—this crushed her.
That night, she slipped away from us, the life draining from her as if her heart couldn’t take the weight of it all.
I tried calling Hayes. Once. Twice. Over and over again.
Nothing.
It wasn’t until the funeral arrangements were taken care of that he finally called back.
His voice was cold. Detached. “Zara’s just a kid, Elise. She doesn’t know any better. Don’t pick fights with her. Don’t upset your mom—she’s delicate, you know how pregnancy messes with emotions. Just… don’t start anything.”
And just when I thought I was done listening, he added, “Look, I get that you don’t like her. Fine. I’ll keep her away from you. But she’s carrying my kid, Elise. I still have to be there for her. During the week, I’ll be with you. On weekends, I’ll be with her.”
His tone left no space for debate.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I didn’t fight.
I just gave him a quiet “Mm-hm.”
And then, without a second thought, I logged onto the Global Medical Relief website and submitted my application to volunteer.
Because of those promises we once made? They were nothing but empty echoes of a past I was done holding onto.
It was time to let him go.
And it was time to free myself.
———
Elise’s POV
As Hayes went on about his plans, his words floated around me like a vague cloud. I wasn’t really listening anymore. My fingers were flying across the keyboard, filling out the Global Medical Relief application without a second thought.
The qualifications flashed on the screen. Every box was checked.
I didn’t hesitate. I was done hesitating.
When he finally stopped talking, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic clacking of my keys.
Then came the irritation in his voice. “Elise, are you even listening to me?”
I barely registered his question, responding casually, “Mm-hm.”
Silence.
Maybe he was taken aback by how easy I was to ignore. Maybe he thought I would still be waiting around for him to apologize.