“I can’t even bend over.”
He stared without moving.
“That’s not my problem.”
With shaking hands, I called my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Rivera. Within minutes, she rushed in, wrapped an arm around me, and helped me toward her car.
At the front door, Mark leaned against the wall with a smug grin.
“Don’t bother coming back.”
Those words followed me all the way to the military medical center.
The nurses were kind. The doctors reassured me. But my phone stayed silent.
No calls.
No texts.
Not one question asking if our baby was safe.
The next afternoon, the hospital room door opened.
Mark walked in like he owned the place.
Beside him stood a beautifully dressed woman with a sparkling ring on her finger. She looked at me with a victorious smile.
“Looks like you lost,” she said softly.
Mark folded his arms.
“I’ve moved on.”
