99 Roses for Her, One Procedure for Me - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

My overly polite, distant tone made Samuel frown without realizing it.
After a beat of silence, he gave me a half-smile and asked, "So, how are you planning to explain our split to your parents?"
When I didn't answer, he let out a cold, mocking laugh.
"Natalie, don't tell me you're having second thoughts."
Feeling his eyes on me, I finally set my phone down and glanced at him.
"Oh, sure. Whatever. Just keep your eyes on the road, okay?"
The last thing I needed was to die in a car crash with my ex-husband on my first day of freedom.
My dismissive reply made his grip on the steering wheel tighten.
Then his Bluetooth lit up with the ringtone of some sickeningly sweet love song—probably that young girl's favorite.
Right in front of me, Samuel answered the call.
A girlish, overly sweet voice filled the car as she whined about being starving after her classes.
Samuel shot me a look, but when he saw my blank expression, he softened his voice and teased, "I know, baby. I'll grab your favorite sandwich right now."
The second the call ended, I pointed ahead. "You can drop me off at the next intersection."
The black car pulled over, and the moment I stepped out, Samuel sped off like he couldn't wait to get away.
I watched his car disappear around the corner before my right leg—which had been trembling the whole time—finally gave out. I collapsed onto the sidewalk.
Two months ago, Samuel had called me in a panic, saying he'd forgotten an important document.
So I grabbed it and drove to his office.
On the way, an overloaded truck took a turn too sharp and flipped—right on top of me.
I survived, but my right leg nearly didn't. Prolonged blood loss and crushing damage had the doctors talking amputation.
That day, desperate and in tears, I called Samuel over and over.
His phone was off. Every. Single. Time.
Later, I found out why.
Emily had mentioned she'd never seen a dove before.
So Samuel dropped everything, bought her a ticket to Prague, and took her on a week-long trip.
Not wanting to worry my parents, it was my best friend Sarah who stayed by my side through the surgery.
Thanks to the doctors' efforts, my leg was saved.
As for the man who was useless when I needed him most?
I didn't want him anymore.
Back home, I made myself a simple meal.
Just as I finished eating, Sarah's furious text came through:
[Natalie, you're not even officially divorced yet, and Samuel's already out celebrating with Emily!]
She attached a photo of them sharing some disgustingly sweet meal.
I recognized the place instantly—the same restaurant Samuel and I went to every year for our anniversary.
A wave of nausea hit me so hard I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.
After the third heave, it hit me.
The next morning, I went to the hospital.
The doctor looked at my blood test and smiled. "Congratulations, Ms. More. You're three months pregnant."
I sat there in silence before saying, "Schedule the procedure, please."
For the first three years of our marriage, Samuel and I couldn't get enough of each other.
He used to beg for a child.
But after years of trying—with no medical reason for it—nothing ever happened.
Now, when I was finally pregnant, everything had changed.
I couldn't keep this baby.
As I walked out of the doctor's office, I froze.
Samuel and Emily were standing right outside the door.
My fingers clenched around my bag.