Chapter 4
Mia's POV
The days at the postpartum care center are unexpectedly quiet.
The place Ryan found is very private, with security at the entrance twenty-four seven. Ethan's shown up three times, gets stopped in the parking lot every time. Apparently the last time he even tried to climb the fence, and security pulled a taser on him.
The nurse tells me this like it's some funny story.
I don't laugh. Just hold my daughter a little tighter.
Late on the twelfth night, Scarlett texts me.
"Don't be mad at Ethan, it's all my fault."
I'm about to delete it when another message comes through, a voice note.
I open it.
"Don't leave yet... it's still raining outside..." Scarlett's voice, crying.
"Don't worry, I'm right here with you." Ethan's voice.
Sound of fabric rustling.
"You're so good to me... way better than you are to her..."
Three seconds later, a new message pops up.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry! Sent it to the wrong person! That was from that night... it's not what it looks like!"
The message gets deleted immediately.
I put down my phone, take a sip of water.
"You okay?" the nurse asks.
"I'm fine." I hand her my phone. "Block this number, delete the chat, report it for harassment."
She does it quickly.
"Even better now," I say.
That night during the storm, while I was on the operating table getting blood transfusions, he was at her apartment saying "I'm right here with you."
Disgusting.
On my first day out, I go back to the apartment.
Ethan's not there. Supposedly at some art show in Boston, or maybe just holed up with Scarlett again. I don't care anymore.
The movers work fast. The movers are packing everything up box by box—my stuff, all the baby things I bought, everything.
I bought this loft, put down the down payment, designed the whole renovation. Every detail was about giving Ethan a comfortable space to create.
Now even the abstract paintings on the walls look like garbage to me.
In the nightstand drawer, the wedding ring's sitting in its velvet box.
A sterling silver ring with tiny diamonds. Three hundred bucks. Ethan bought it when he sold his first painting, said he'd get me a better one when he had money.
Later he did have money.
Last Christmas he gave Scarlett a limited edition bracelet that cost ten times more than this ring.
I put the wedding ring back in the nightstand with the signed divorce papers.
Simple agreement. I just want custody of my daughter, split everything else fifty-fifty.
I don't need the money. I just want to be done with this man.
One last look at the place I've lived for three years.
The wedding photo's still hanging in the living room. Ethan's smiling, I'm smiling.
Back then I thought if I just loved him enough, put up with enough, he'd see me eventually.
What a joke.
I pull out my phone, send Ethan one last message:
"Divorce papers are in the nightstand. Sign them and send them to my lawyer. Don't contact me. Don't make me ruin you."
Send.
Block.
Delete contact.
Ryan's already waiting downstairs. I'm holding my daughter, walking out of the building into the sunlight.
"Let's go."
Outside the car window, the sky is bright blue.
