After My Husband Abandoned Me During My Miscarriage

On my birthday, some thugs cornered me, trying to kidnap and extort me. Panicking as I tried to escape, I desperately dialed Julien Ramirez for help. His irritated voice came through, "Do you have to bother me with every little thing? Why would any thug bother with you?"

After managing to dive into a nearby pond and evade capture, I finally turned on my phone. There it was, a post on Salem's Facebook page. "I mentioned wanting to see penguins in Antarctica, and someone made it happen." The picture showed Julien holding her affectionately, the wedding ring conspicuously absent from his finger. At that moment, I realized our marriage was over.

When Julien returned from the trip, I lay exhausted on the couch. He tasted the leftover food and sneered, "Your cooking's as bad as ever." In the past, I would have argued with him over such remarks. But now, I just closed my eyes, too weary to respond. My mind was still tense from the ordeal, and I couldn't muster the energy to fight.

Julien saw my indifference and pressed his lips into a thin line. He silently scraped all the food off the table into the trash. Sauce still stained the table, and the kitchen bin was overflowing—tasks that used to fall to me, chores he was clearly not used to. Once, I exhausted myself cleaning up after him, but now, I didn't care how he handled it.

After clearing the table, Julien tossed me a small box, saying grandly, "Here's your birthday present. You said you wanted to see snow, so I've brought it back for you." "Just put it down," I replied, glancing at the box without moving. I knew he was trying to reconcile. In the past, I'd coyly demand birthday gifts from him, only to be met with angry retorts. "You're how old now and still want birthday presents? You think you're a kid, how shameless!"

His gift now meant I was supposed to make peace. But why should I? Silence hung between us. Julien's expression darkened, and he pulled me up from the couch. "Arielle, who are you trying to impress? I didn’t spend yesterday with you, so what? I got you a gift. What more do you want?"

Yesterday was my birthday. Julien, supposedly "on a business trip," called to say he had a surprise for me. As the birthday girl, I went to great lengths to prepare a feast for his return. I watched the clock hands circle round and round, the dishes growing cold, yet he never showed up.

If not for Salem's smug Facebook post, I'd never have known that the man who claimed to dislike animals took Salem to Antarctica to see penguins. I winced at the pain in my legs. In the light, Julien finally noticed the dried wound—blood mixed with dirt, crusted over, some marks scarred. His expression turned icy, "How did you get hurt?"

I stared at him, and he stood tall, showing no signs of guilt. The day before, I stepped out to buy Julien's favorite foods but was stopped by threatening thugs trying to kidnap me. Trembling with fear, I called Julien for help, but he showed no concern, even questioning the thugs' taste if they bothered with me.

I could even hear Salem's sweet voice on the call, "Julien, come look at this penguin, it's so cute! Can we go back to Antarctica next time?" He hung up at that moment of hesitation. If I hadn't known how to swim and dived into the pond to escape, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

Once I escaped, I was too exhausted to tend to my wound, letting it worsen. His current line of questioning felt absurd. I replied calmly, "It's none of your concern. I'll handle it myself."

Julien's brows knitted tightly as he rose to fetch the first-aid kit. He'd never done this for me before, and I doubted his abilities, intending to refuse. But Julien pressed me down to sit, then knelt to treat my injuries with practiced ease. "I've tended to Salem's wounds countless times; I've got the steps memorized. Yours are child's play."

He spoke as if to himself, catching his slip midway. He leaned in to gauge my reaction, "You're not mad, are you?" I looked at him, expressionless, noticing his bare ring finger, and softly urged, "Hurry up."

Julien shot me a puzzled look but resumed his task. Unexpectedly, a cheerful ringtone broke the silence. Julien, who usually hated loud ringtones, only assigned such a tune to Salem. He rose, cleared his throat, and took the call on the balcony.

Even through the glass, Salem's naïve voice was unmistakable. "Julien, I had a nightmare that the prince with the princess died. Do you think I might die too?" Even from afar, I could sense Julien's tension. "Salem, don't do anything rash. I'll come to you right away."

Hanging up, he barely glanced my way, only passing me a tutorial video on wound dressing before leaving. He headed for the door, unusually offering an explanation. "Salem attempted suicide. I need to see her. Take care of your wound yourself."

Salem, his childhood friend, was a girl struggling with depression and prone to suicidal acts. Whenever Salem called threatening to harm herself, Julien would leave me without hesitation to be by her side. I once screamed at him, asking why she always called only him. Julien's reply was simple; as her childhood friend, he was the only one she trusted.

Three hours passed with no sign of him. The wound Julien had started dressing reopened, exposed to the air, multiplying the pain. Pale-faced, I hailed a cab to the hospital to have it properly treated.