After My Husband Called Me a Murderer, I Chose Myself

I sat in the sterile office at Cedars-Sinai. The air conditioning hummed a low, steady tune. I was supposed to be looking at a grainy ultrasound of my baby today. I was supposed to hear a heartbeat. Instead, Dr. Carmelo Ramos sat across from me. He didn't smile. He pulled his rolling chair close.

"Selena," he said quietly. His dark eyes were full of pity. "It’s leukemia. Stage three."

The words didn't make sense at first. I looked down at my slightly swollen belly. I was pregnant. I was supposed to be picking out cribs and painting a nursery.

Dr. Ramos kept talking. He used words like aggressive, chemotherapy, and impossible choices. I couldn't hear him over the loud ringing in my ears. He handed me a thick stack of papers. They felt heavy in my hands.

I walked out of his office and into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed brightly above me. My legs felt weak and shaky. I sank into a hard plastic chair against the wall. The cold seeped through my clothes. My hands trembled. I needed Kolson. I needed my husband. He was the only one I wanted in the world right now. I wanted him to hold me and tell me we would fix this.

I pulled out my phone. I dialed his number. It rang three times. Then, the line clicked open.

"Kolson?" my voice cracked.

"He's a little busy right now," a woman’s voice answered.

My breath caught in my throat. The voice was breezy. Light. Unbothered. I knew that voice instantly.

Brynlee Stephens.

Kolson’s first love. The woman he never truly got over.

"Who is this?" she asked. I knew she saw my name on the screen. "Oh, Selena. Kolson is picking me up from my flight at LAX. He's grabbing my bags from the carousel right now. Can he call you back?"

I didn't speak. I couldn't form a single word. I stared at the blank white wall opposite me. My fingers tightened. The thick medical papers in my hand crumpled with a sharp, dry sound. Stage three.

"Hello?" Brynlee said softly.

I ended the call.

I didn't cry. I just sat there. The hospital corridor was freezing, and I was entirely alone. People walked past me. Nurses pushed carts. I sat on that plastic chair for a very long time. The papers stayed crushed in my fist.

Hours later, I drove home. I parked in the driveway. I didn't turn on the porch light. For three years, I had left it on for him every single night. It was my way of saying he was loved. Not tonight.

I sat on the living room sofa in the dark. The house was dead quiet. The clock ticked on the wall. Midnight passed. Then one in the morning. I didn't move. I didn't eat. I just stared at the shadows.

At 2:15 AM, the front door finally unlocked.

Kolson walked in. He flipped on the hall light. He jumped a little when he saw me sitting on the couch.

"Selena? Why are you sitting in the dark?" He loosened his tie. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright. He looked alive.

He stepped closer to me. The scent hit me before he even spoke. It wasn't his usual crisp cologne. It was sweet, floral, and heavy. Brynlee’s perfume. It clung to his clothes. I looked up at his face. There was a faint smudge of pink lipstick near his jawline.

My chest felt hollow. There was no anger left in me. There was just a vast, empty space where my heart used to be.

"I want a divorce," I said quietly.

Kolson froze. He stared at me. Then, he let out a harsh laugh. He threw his keys onto the glass console table with a loud clatter.

"Are you serious right now?" he snapped. His voice was cold. "You're making a scene over nothing. Brynlee is just an old friend. She just got back from London and needed a ride from the airport. That’s it."

"You didn't answer my call," I said. My voice was completely flat.

"I was driving!" he rubbed his face in annoyance. "You're being completely irrational. It's just jealousy, Selena. Stop acting crazy."

He didn't ask how my doctor's appointment went. He didn't look at my stomach. He didn't notice how pale I was. He only looked at me with frustration. I was just an annoyance to him.

I stared at the lipstick smudge on his jaw. I thought about the crushed papers sitting on the kitchen counter.

I stood up. I didn't yell. I didn't throw anything.

"Okay," I whispered.

I walked past him. I didn't go to our master bedroom. I walked down the hall and opened the door to the guest room.

"Selena, don't do this," he called out. His voice was sharp with irritation.

I stepped inside and closed the door. The lock clicked into place. I lay down on the cold sheets in the dark. My phone stayed silent on the nightstand. And outside, the porch light stayed off.