After Losing My Child, I No Longer Love

Jake never came back that night. Not even after he stormed out of the house, furious with me for daring to challenge his affair. Hours passed, and I was left alone with the silence and a gnawing pain in my stomach that wouldn’t go away.

By the time I finally called 911, the pain had worsened, and I was rushed to the hospital.

Lying in the sterile hospital room, my thoughts kept drifting to him. I dialed his number, hoping he’d at least pick up this time. But all I got was the cold, impersonal sound of a busy tone. Jake was unreachable.

I put the phone down, trying to push the disappointment out of my chest. But then, a notification flashed across my screen. It was an update on social media—an update from none other than Angela, his secretary.

The photo she posted was simple, but the caption stung: "I knew I didn’t love the wrong man—being here for me at night, staying by my side during my hardest moments~ What should I use to repay you, boss? Maybe a favor in return?"

In the image, her hand rested on a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to her wrist. And who else was with her but Jake, his arm wrapped protectively around her, his expression one of deep concern. There was a photo someone else posted, capturing Jake holding Angela in his arms, his face etched with tenderness.

The pain in my chest intensified, and I realized it wasn’t just from my condition—it was from him. I picked up my phone again and, without hesitation, dialed Jake’s number one last time.

“Let’s get a divorce,” I said coldly, before immediately hanging up.

As I lay in that hospital bed, memories of the past seven years flashed through my mind. I had heard people talk about the infamous “seven-year itch,” but I never believed it would happen to us. Now, I realized it wasn’t just a myth. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally.

The miscarriage was barely monitored by the doctors. I could barely process it myself. After a few hours, I left the hospital, dragging my aching body home.

The moment I stepped through the door, Jake was already there, his face twisted in anger. “What the hell is wrong with you, Lauren?” he shouted the moment he saw me. “Do you have to be so jealous all the time? Angela was sick! You think I was wrong to stay with her?”

I stared at him, my heart pounding, my voice barely a whisper as I interrupted him. “I had a miscarriage. Just now.”

Jake froze, his eyes widening for a moment, but the regret or sorrow I expected never came. His eyes reddened slightly, but he didn’t rush to me like he might have in the past.

We were considered the perfect couple in our social circle—successful, happy, glamorous. But the one regret that lingered between us was that we had never been able to have children. Three days ago, when I discovered I was pregnant, my hands shook with excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Jake; I wanted to surprise him during the Mid-Autumn Festival. It was going to be the perfect gift.

But now, the gift didn’t matter. The future I imagined no longer existed.

He spent the festival with Angela, mocking me, treating her like she was the most important person in his world. And the most ridiculous part? The green designer bag he gave me—the cruelest mockery of all. He knew what green represented, and he flaunted it in front of me like a joke.

Jake’s face twisted in disbelief as he finally registered what I had said. His voice wavered as he spoke, “Lauren, I didn’t know...”

But I didn’t let him finish. “You didn’t pick up my calls. I was lying in that hospital bed, alone, and you were with her.”

I had given him so many chances, more than anyone deserved. But even when I was losing our child, he had chosen to stay by Angela’s side.

He stood up suddenly, his fists clenched, his knuckles white with tension. His eyes filled with something that resembled regret, but I couldn’t tell anymore. “Enough, Lauren!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “You’re lying! There’s no way you had a miscarriage. You’re just trying to get my attention. We’ve been married for seven years, and you never got pregnant once. Now, suddenly, you were?”

He grabbed my arm, forcing me down onto the sofa. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I pick up my secretary from work, and suddenly you’re pregnant? This is just another one of your jealousy tantrums. You’ve been watching too many soap operas, and it’s messing with your head!”

His words were like daggers, and I felt the sharp sting of every one. He shook me roughly, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I stared at the door, not moving. In the seven years we had been married, I had always been the one to apologize. In every argument, it was always me who begged for peace. I had forgotten what it was like to stand up for myself.

Over the course of those years, Jake had given me ten designer bags. The remaining ninety-nine had all come after he met Angela.

I thought we still had a chance to fix our marriage. But after today, after the miscarriage, after watching him run to Angela when I needed him most—I knew it was over. There was no love left. Only resentment and betrayal.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and sent a text message to the lawyer I had been too afraid to contact before.

“Hello, I’d like to file for divorce. The sooner, the better.”

This time, there was no going back.