Divorced on Our Daughter’s Birthday,My Ex-Husband Paid in Blood

I didn't want to cry, but my eyes burned and swelled with unshed tears.

This past year had wrung me dry. There was nothing left to give.

The first breakdown came when I discovered the man who'd once promised to love me forever had betrayed our family—for a fresh-faced intern barely out of college.

When Talia had a fever, one phone call from Rebecca was all it took. He'd dropped us and walked out without a backward glance.

Then came the despair. Victor's cruelty knew no bounds. To force my hand so he could be with Rebecca openly, he'd cut off our household funds entirely.

But what could I do?

I'd refused to leave because I wanted Talia to have an intact family. But tonight, at that birthday dinner, Victor's words had slapped me awake.

A man who could use his own daughter as a bargaining chip to please his mistress—keeping him around would only cast an endless shadow over my child's life.

If he was so desperate to run to his true love, then fine. Let him go.

A dull ache throbbed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I forced myself to stand, intending to check on Talia in the bedroom.

She'd cried so hard earlier. I was worried she might develop a fever overnight.

But before I reached the door, a heavy thud echoed from inside the room.

Like something had hit the floor.

My heart lurched. A terror I'd never known before seized my throat.

"Talia?"

I shoved the door open and flipped on the light.

My daughter—who should have been asleep in bed—was crumpled on the floor. Her tiny body convulsed violently, her face mottled purple, foam frothing at her lips. Her eyes had rolled back, and her throat produced a horrible rasping wheeze, like broken bellows struggling for air.

An asthma-induced seizure.

Talia had congenital asthma. The doctors had warned me over and over—no major stress, no intense crying.

"Talia! Don't scare Mommy! Talia!"

I lunged forward and scooped her up, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

Her body was burning hot. Her breathing had faded to almost nothing.

Raw terror shattered every rational thought.

I fumbled for my phone to call 911 while frantically tearing through the medicine cabinet for her emergency inhaler.

It wasn't there. The spot where the inhaler should have been was empty.

Then I remembered—two days ago, Victor had ransacked the first aid kit looking for bandages, scattering medications everywhere. I hadn't had time to reorganize it.

No inhaler.

The movements in my arms grew weaker by the second. I didn't stop for shoes. I grabbed my daughter and ran for the stairs, dialing Victor's number with trembling fingers.

Thunder rolled outside. Rain hammered down in sheets.

We lived in the suburban villa—the ambulance would take at least twenty minutes. But Victor had left less than five minutes ago. If he just turned around, if he drove us to the nearest hospital, it would only take ten minutes.

This was a life.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times...

Finally, a split second before it would have gone to voicemail, someone picked up.

I clutched at it like a lifeline, my voice cracking into a desperate scream.

"Victor! Come back! Please, come back now! Talia's having an asthma attack—she's going into shock! Come back and take us to the hospital! I'm begging you!"

But the voice on the other end wasn't Victor's frantic response.

It was a woman's voice—soft, syrupy, laced with drowsiness and mockery.

Rebecca.

"Oh my, if it isn't Odette."

"Victor left this phone at my place."

"So you really signed the divorce papers?"

"Yes, I signed them. Can you reach him now? Tell him to come back—something's happened to Talia—"