When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love - Chapter 31: Chapter 31
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My due date came and went, but the baby was comfortable as could be, showing no signs of making an appearance.
The doctor recommended hospital observation.
Marcus went to handle the admission paperwork and came back clutching the payment receipt, his brow habitually furrowed.
"Deposit was $1,000." He handed me the slip, his fingers automatically tapping on his phone calculator, "Five hundred each. Evie, Venmo me five hundred."
I lay in the hospital bed, took the receipt without looking, and directly opened my banking app to enter the amount.
The successful transfer notification chimed.
The tension in his face eased slightly as he quickly input into his budgeting app: "Category: Maternity deposit. Amount: $1,000. Split: $500 each. Status: Received (Evelyn's portion)."
He put away his phone and surveyed the double room: "This setup's not bad. The other bed's empty, nice and quiet. Oh, I saw the convenience store downstairs selling disposable underwear and maternity pads—generic brands, but cheaper than the hospital shop. Want me to grab some?"
He looked at me inquiringly, that familiar cost-calculation gleam in his eyes.
"No need." I closed my eyes. "I brought my own."
"Oh, that's good then. Saved us some money." His tone was light.
Saved us some money.
Those words stabbed into my ears like needles.
That evening, he suddenly got a call and stepped into the hallway to take it.
His voice was very low, but I still caught a few words: "...Yeah, Dad, the contract... tomorrow morning... no problem... keys..."
He came back quickly, looking completely normal: "Evie, my parents have some urgent business. I need to head over there. You'll be okay here... just hit the call button if you need a nurse?"
I looked at him without speaking.
He seemed uncomfortable and explained: "Won't be long, I'll be back after I handle things. It's just... tomorrow morning we're signing the final contract on that house, and there are some details I need to confirm in person."
He instinctively concealed that it was for his parents' house, just saying "that house."
"Go ahead." I said calmly.
He seemed relieved, gave me a few more "call if you need anything" reminders, and hurried off.
I was alone in the hospital room.
Dusk was settling outside the window.
I rubbed my belly, feeling the steady rhythm of the little life inside.
Fine.
This way, even that last tiny thread of hope was finally extinguished.
Around 3 AM, without warning, a violent contraction jolted me awake from light sleep.
Like a sledgehammer slamming into the space between my waist and abdomen.
Then a warm rush of fluid poured out uncontrollably.
My water had broken!
A few days earlier than expected, and coming on strong.
Fighting through the pain, I reached for the call button.
I pressed it.
A nurse rushed in, checked me, and her expression changed: "You're dilating fast! The amniotic fluid is murky! Quick! Call the delivery room! Prep for surgery! Where's your family? Where's your husband?"
"He... had something to handle..." I was drenched in cold sweat, barely able to speak through the pain.
"What?!" The nurse was shocked. "Something this major and he's not here? Call him back right now—we need signatures!"
Another, more violent contraction hit, making everything go black and nearly suffocating me.
The nurse frantically wiped my sweat while shouting into her radio: "Obstetrics emergency! Room 803! First-time mother! Precipitous labor! Stage three meconium! Suspected fetal distress! No family present! Prep emergency C-section! Need authorization signatures!"
In the chaos, I was rushed toward the operating room.
Harsh overhead lights flashed past my eyes.
The urgent rolling of gurney wheels, nurses' anxious voices, the cold beeping of machines.
And my own heavy, frightened breathing.
The cold metal doors of the operating room opened and closed.
Shutting out everything from the outside world.
The surgical lights were blindingly bright.
The anesthesiologist's voice seemed to come from far away: "Relax, don't be nervous..."
Cold antiseptic wiped across my skin.
Fear crashed over me like ice-cold flood waters.
Not because of the surgery.
But because at this life-or-death moment, the person who should have been holding my hand, giving me courage, was absent.
Off signing that damned house contract for his parents.
As consciousness faded, I seemed to see that transparent plastic divider in our refrigerator again.
It had been there all along.
Cold, hard, insurmountable.
Before losing consciousness completely, I had only one thought.
This fifty-fifty marriage had to end.
It had to.
The doctor recommended hospital observation.
Marcus went to handle the admission paperwork and came back clutching the payment receipt, his brow habitually furrowed.
"Deposit was $1,000." He handed me the slip, his fingers automatically tapping on his phone calculator, "Five hundred each. Evie, Venmo me five hundred."
I lay in the hospital bed, took the receipt without looking, and directly opened my banking app to enter the amount.
The successful transfer notification chimed.
The tension in his face eased slightly as he quickly input into his budgeting app: "Category: Maternity deposit. Amount: $1,000. Split: $500 each. Status: Received (Evelyn's portion)."
He put away his phone and surveyed the double room: "This setup's not bad. The other bed's empty, nice and quiet. Oh, I saw the convenience store downstairs selling disposable underwear and maternity pads—generic brands, but cheaper than the hospital shop. Want me to grab some?"
He looked at me inquiringly, that familiar cost-calculation gleam in his eyes.
"No need." I closed my eyes. "I brought my own."
"Oh, that's good then. Saved us some money." His tone was light.
Saved us some money.
Those words stabbed into my ears like needles.
That evening, he suddenly got a call and stepped into the hallway to take it.
His voice was very low, but I still caught a few words: "...Yeah, Dad, the contract... tomorrow morning... no problem... keys..."
He came back quickly, looking completely normal: "Evie, my parents have some urgent business. I need to head over there. You'll be okay here... just hit the call button if you need a nurse?"
I looked at him without speaking.
He seemed uncomfortable and explained: "Won't be long, I'll be back after I handle things. It's just... tomorrow morning we're signing the final contract on that house, and there are some details I need to confirm in person."
He instinctively concealed that it was for his parents' house, just saying "that house."
"Go ahead." I said calmly.
He seemed relieved, gave me a few more "call if you need anything" reminders, and hurried off.
I was alone in the hospital room.
Dusk was settling outside the window.
I rubbed my belly, feeling the steady rhythm of the little life inside.
Fine.
This way, even that last tiny thread of hope was finally extinguished.
Around 3 AM, without warning, a violent contraction jolted me awake from light sleep.
Like a sledgehammer slamming into the space between my waist and abdomen.
Then a warm rush of fluid poured out uncontrollably.
My water had broken!
A few days earlier than expected, and coming on strong.
Fighting through the pain, I reached for the call button.
I pressed it.
A nurse rushed in, checked me, and her expression changed: "You're dilating fast! The amniotic fluid is murky! Quick! Call the delivery room! Prep for surgery! Where's your family? Where's your husband?"
"He... had something to handle..." I was drenched in cold sweat, barely able to speak through the pain.
"What?!" The nurse was shocked. "Something this major and he's not here? Call him back right now—we need signatures!"
Another, more violent contraction hit, making everything go black and nearly suffocating me.
The nurse frantically wiped my sweat while shouting into her radio: "Obstetrics emergency! Room 803! First-time mother! Precipitous labor! Stage three meconium! Suspected fetal distress! No family present! Prep emergency C-section! Need authorization signatures!"
In the chaos, I was rushed toward the operating room.
Harsh overhead lights flashed past my eyes.
The urgent rolling of gurney wheels, nurses' anxious voices, the cold beeping of machines.
And my own heavy, frightened breathing.
The cold metal doors of the operating room opened and closed.
Shutting out everything from the outside world.
The surgical lights were blindingly bright.
The anesthesiologist's voice seemed to come from far away: "Relax, don't be nervous..."
Cold antiseptic wiped across my skin.
Fear crashed over me like ice-cold flood waters.
Not because of the surgery.
But because at this life-or-death moment, the person who should have been holding my hand, giving me courage, was absent.
Off signing that damned house contract for his parents.
As consciousness faded, I seemed to see that transparent plastic divider in our refrigerator again.
It had been there all along.
Cold, hard, insurmountable.
Before losing consciousness completely, I had only one thought.
This fifty-fifty marriage had to end.
It had to.
End of When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love Chapter 31. Continue reading Chapter 32 or return to When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love book page.