He sounded strangely upbeat. “I’m getting married this weekend. I thought it would be… polite to invite you.”
I gave a weak, exhausted laugh. “Ethan, I just had a baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a brief silence. Then, dismissively, he said, “Alright. I just wanted you to know,” and hung up.
I stared at the ceiling, surprised by how heavy my chest felt. Our marriage hadn’t ended because the love was gone. It ended because Ethan believed ambition mattered more than family. When I told him I was pregnant, he accused me of trying to trap him. A month later, he filed for divorce and vanished from my life.
Half an hour later, as I drifted in and out of sleep, my hospital room door flew open. Nurses gasped. My mother jumped to her feet.
Ethan rushed in, pale and frantic. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“Ethan, you can’t just—” I began.
He ignored me and went straight to the crib, staring at my baby like the world had stopped. His hands shook. “She… she looks exactly like me,” he murmured.
The room went completely still.
