Too Late, Mr. Ex: I'm Free

The scalding liquid hits my chest and face.

The pain is instant and blinding. I scream, falling backward off my chair. I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the polished wood.

The world swims. Through a fog of pain, I see Ethan jump to his feet, his face a mask of horror.

"Aurora!"

He starts toward me, but Ilene is faster. She grabs his arm, her own face streaming with tears, her voice a hysterical shriek.

"She deserved it, Ethan! She was mocking me! Don't you see? It' s her fault I crashed my car! It' s her fault I can' t have babies! She ruined my life!"

Ethan freezes. He looks from my crumpled form on the floor to Ilene' s sobbing face. The old, familiar battle plays out in his eyes. Duty versus desire. Guilt versus love.

Ilene wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. "Take me away from here, Ethan," she cries. "Please, take me home. I'm scared."

He looks at me one last time. I' m lying in a puddle of soup, my skin screaming, my vision going dark. I see his hesitation. I see the choice he is about to make.

He scoops Ilene into his arms and carries her out of the restaurant. He doesn't look back.

The last thing I feel before the darkness takes me completely is the cold, hard floor beneath my cheek.

I wake up to the smell of antiseptic and the beep of a machine.

A hospital. Again.

My chest and neck are bandaged. A dull, throbbing pain radiates from my skin.

A kind-faced nurse is checking my IV drip.

"Oh, you're awake," she says with a gentle smile. "You gave us quite a scare. You have some nasty second-degree burns, but you'll be okay. You were lucky."

I don't feel lucky.

"Your husband was so worried," she continues, fluffing my pillow. "He was here all night, pacing the halls. He just left to get some coffee. You have a good man."

The image of Ethan carrying Ilene away flashes in my mind. My heart clenches, a pain sharper than any burn.

He left me on the floor.

"We're divorced," I say, my voice a dry rasp.

The nurse looks surprised, but before she can say anything, the door to my room swings open.

It' s Ethan. He looks tired, his hair is a mess, and his eyes are red-rimmed.

"Rory," he says, relief flooding his face. He rushes to my bedside. "Don't say things like that. We're not divorced, not really."

He tries to take my hand, but I pull it away.

"Ilene… she didn't mean it," he starts, a familiar excuse on his lips. "She's just not well. She feels so guilty, she's been crying all night."

He apologizes. "I'm so sorry, Rory. I am so, so sorry."

I look at him, at this man I have loved for so long, and I feel nothing but a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion.

"She' s more important, isn't she?" I say, my voice flat. "The one you left me on the floor for."

"That's not it-"

"This whole thing," I interrupt, "this sick game of divorce and remarriage, of my pain to soothe her 'anxiety'… I'm done, Ethan."

My voice is quiet, but it' s stronger than it' s been in years.

"Go be with her. Go take care of her. She obviously needs you more."

He looks confused, as if he can' t comprehend my words. "Rory, are you still angry? I know I messed up. I know I should have stayed with you."

He grabs my hand, his grip tight. "She was threatening to kill herself, Rory! She had a knife! What was I supposed to do?"

He looks desperate, his voice pleading. "This is just for show. You know that. You will always be my wife. The only one."

He leans closer, his words a soft poison. "Just wait a little longer. Her doctor says she' s getting better. Once she' s fully recovered, we can have the life we always wanted. I promise."

"How long, Ethan?" I ask, the question hanging in the sterile air between us. "Another five years? Ten? Will you be placating her on her deathbed while I wait?"

He falls silent.

"It' s my fault," he finally whispers, the same words he has said a thousand times. "I owe her."

I' ve heard that phrase so many times. It used to make me feel sympathy. Now it just makes me feel tired.

I close my eyes. My chest feels heavy, like it' s filled with wet cement.

"Yes," I whisper back. "You do owe her."

I take a breath, preparing to say the words I should have said years ago. The words I decided on in the car.

But just as I open my mouth, his phone rings.

It' s a video call. Ilene' s tear-streaked face fills the screen. Her voice is shrill and accusatory.

"Ethan Bruce! You promised you would be right back! Why are you with her? I told you to stay away from her!"

She starts sobbing. "I'm not eating. I won't eat anything until you come back. If I starve to death, it' s your fault!"

Ethan's face sets in a familiar mask of frustration and resignation. He rubs his temples.

"Okay, Ilene. Calm down. I' m coming."

He gets up to leave. He leans down to kiss my forehead, but I turn my head away.

"Rory, get some rest," he says softly. "I'll be back later tonight to check on you."

A bitter laugh escapes my lips. Later tonight. After he' s tucked Ilene into bed and promised her the world.

I watch him hurry out the door, his phone still pressed to his ear, his voice a low, soothing murmur meant for another woman.

The door clicks shut, leaving me in silence.

I turn my head and stare at the empty doorway.

"I was going to say," I whisper to the empty room, "that you owe her everything. So you can have her."

"But I don't owe either of you a damn thing."

"From this moment on, Ethan Bruce, you and I are over. For good."