As I Was Micarrying, My Husband Ran Off to Save His Childhood Friend

During a fight with my husband, he shoved me. My stomach bumped into the couch’s armrest.

Just then, his childhood friend called him, sobbing. “Caleb, hurry, come to Cloudpeak Hotel and save me! My boss got me drunk, and now he’s forcing me to serve our client…”

I nearly blacked out from the twisting pain in my stomach. I begged him to take me to the hospital.

However, my husband said, “There’s a life at stake here! Can you not be so cruel?”

He left, slamming the door behind him. I had no choice but to call for an ambulance.

That night, he spent the night with his childhood friend, while I lay in the operating theater, undergoing emergency surgery.

Good news, Caleb Gordon! You'd never have children again! Weren’t you glad?

You deserved it!

Caleb Gordon and I were high school sweethearts. We dated for seven years, and then were married for five.

We had been aiming to conceive since our second year of marriage. However, we found out that Caleb had some kind of disease. Our chances of conceiving naturally were meager.

We chose to go for IVF instead. In the next four years, I had twelve implantations and three successful pregnancies. Each time, I would miscarry for one reason or another.

I got used to the pain of egg extraction and the weariness of the recovery period. I did not mind, because I wanted to give the man I loved a healthy son.

Six months ago, I finally got pregnant for the fourth time.

I was afraid of miscarrying again, so I decided to take my doctor’s advice and give up my career at the peak of its glory. I went home and stayed on bedrest.

I rarely left the bed for six whole months. I nurtured this baby carefully, waiting for the day it was born, hoping it would be the cherry on top of our twelve-year relationship.

I never expected to lose the child more than halfway through the pregnancy.

Caleb’s absent-minded shove shattered my dream of becoming a mother and killed his last hope of continuing his family line.

When the paramedics arrived, I was already losing consciousness from blood loss. They lifted me into the ambulance, asking in my ear hurriedly, “Ma’am, where’s your family? Hurry up and contact your next of kin!”

My heart twisted in my chest. My so-called next of kin was saving his damsel-in-distress at Cloudpeak Hotel.

“If I need to go for surgery, I can sign the forms myself…”

I signed my name with the last of my strength and finally fainted away.

The next day at noon, my best friend Sydney called me in a huff. “Look at your social media feed, Ella! Luna is openly provoking you!”

I never saw Luna James’ posts on my feed, since I blocked her. Sydney sent me a screenshot.

The post was a nine-picture collage, with Luna cuddling in Caleb’s embrace as the centerpiece. Seven of the other eight pictures showed Caleb busying away in her kitchen, while the last was him feeding her some soup.

The caption was, “One house for the two of us. I’m glad to have you for the rest of my life.”

It was clear that they had spent the night together, and they were still together the next afternoon.

They were a man and a woman alone in a room. She had been drunk, and he was no saint. Even if they told me they had not done anything, I would not believe them.

Still, starting last night, what they did had nothing to do with me anymore.

Last night, before I was wheeled into the OR, I had called my lawyer to draft the divorce papers. I signed them this morning, took a picture, and sent them to Caleb.