Dear Ex-Husband, You will never Hurt me again

"Angelique Church Cemetery. Plot 278."

The words echoed in my mind like a sacred chant as the cab pulled away, leaving me standing alone before the towering wrought-iron gates. I didn't care about the agonizing pain shooting up my bandaged leg. I didn't care that I was still wearing a thin, blood-stained hospital gown under my coat.

I limped through the rows of grey headstones, the freezing winter wind biting at my skin, until I reached the small, lonely corner of the grounds.

Plot 278.

It was a tiny, unmarked slab of stone. No name. No date. Just a cold, forgotten piece of earth.

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the freezing dirt, my trembling fingers tracing the rough edges of the stone. Ten years. For ten years, my baby had been out here all alone in the dark.

"My sweet boy," I whispered, my voice breaking as a violent sob tore through my chest. "Mommy is here. I'm so sorry it took me so long. I'm so sorry."

I unzipped my coat with shaking hands, pulling out the ruined, muddy blue blanket Cheska had stepped on. I carefully folded it and laid it gently over the cold stone, trying to keep him warm.

I didn't leave. I lay down on the freezing earth right next to the grave, curling my body around the stone as if I were holding him in my arms. I talked to him through the night, singing the lullabies I had kept locked in my heart, crying until my voice was completely gone and my tears ran dry.

When the pale, grey light of morning finally broke, my body was entirely numb.

I forced myself to sit up and dragged my battered body to the cemetery warden’s office. The old man behind the desk looked at me in shock—a pale, shivering woman looking like a ghost.

"I want to buy the plot directly next to 278," I rasped, my throat raw.

"Ma'am, those plots are expensive, and you look like you need a hospital—"

I didn't let him finish. I reached down to my left hand and violently twisted the massive diamond wedding ring off my finger. The symbol of my ten-year nightmare. I slammed the glittering diamond onto his desk.

"This ring is worth over a hundred thousand dollars," I said, my eyes dead and hollow. "I don't want any change. I just want the dirt next to my son. And I want it now."

The warden swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

With the deed in my hand, I walked back out to the gravesite. The sky had turned a bruised, angry purple, and suddenly, the heavens opened up.

A torrential, freezing Seattle downpour crashed over me. The rain soaked through my clothes in seconds, chilling me to the very marrow of my bones. But I didn't seek shelter. I fell to my knees in the mud, right on top of my newly purchased grave.

"Take me," I cried out to the empty, weeping sky, the rain washing away my tears. "Please, just let me stay here. Let me be buried right here with him."

I lay my head on the muddy earth, closing my eyes as the freezing rain beat down on my back. I stayed there, unmoving, as the afternoon bled into evening. My heartbeat slowed. The cold stopped hurting, replaced by a heavy, peaceful numbness.

I just wanted to sleep.

And as total darkness finally fell over the cemetery, the world faded away completely.

Two days later.

The VIP maternity suite at Seattle Grace Hospital was filled with the piercing, relentless wails of a newborn baby.

Roger rubbed his temples, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. Cheska was lounging on the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone, completely ignoring the red-faced infant screaming in the bassinet a few feet away.

"Cheska, make him stop crying," Roger snapped, his patience wearing thin. "My mother and the board members will be here in an hour to see the heir."

"I'm exhausted, Roger!" Cheska whined, not looking up from her screen. "I just pushed a baby out. I'm not ruining my recovery to rock him. Where are the nurses?"

"They're busy," Roger growled. He stared at the crying baby, feeling a sudden surge of irritation. He didn't want to deal with dirty diapers and screaming fits. He just wanted the title of a father.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

Ysabel.

She had been quiet for days. Too quiet. She should be here. She was supposed to be serving them, making sure Cheska was comfortable, taking care of the messy parts of raising a child so they didn't have to.

"That useless woman," Roger muttered, pulling his sleek phone from his pocket. "She's probably throwing another pity party at the house. I'll have her down here in twenty minutes to act as the nanny."

He dialed Ysabel's number, tapping his expensive leather shoe impatiently against the floor.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, there was a click.

"Ysabel, where the hell are you?" Roger barked instantly, his voice dripping with venom. "Get your ass to the hospital right now. Cheska needs you to watch the baby, and if you aren't here before the board arrives, I swear to God I'll—"

"Hello."

Roger froze. It was a man's voice. Deep, cold, and entirely unfamiliar.

Roger's grip on the phone tightened, a strange unease crawling up his spine. "Who is this? Why do you have my wife's phone? Put Ysabel on the line right now."

There was a heavy, chilling silence on the other end. Only the faint sound of rain and wind could be heard in the background.

Then, the man spoke, his tone completely devoid of emotion.

"I'm sorry, sir. But the owner of this phone is buried dead."