He Saved His Ex, So I Buried Our Marriage

Three years of marriage, and I thought Cliff was just cold by nature.

Then the one he never got over came back, and we were both in a car accident.

He chose her without a second's hesitation and left me in a car about to explode.

I dragged myself out on a broken leg and heard him tell the paramedic：“Save her first. She's afraid of pain.”

Later, when I asked for a divorce, he desperately begged me to forgive him……

……

When the airbag deployed, I heard my ribs crack.

Pain tore out from my chest into every limb, and blood ran from my forehead and blurred my left eye shut.

I was pinned in the driver's seat. The steering wheel dug into my abdomen, the pressure so tight I nearly threw up.

My phone had flown off its mount and landed on the passenger-side floor mat. The screen was still lit, the call display reading “Cliff Fox”, the timer frozen at four minutes and seventeen seconds.

Four minutes and seventeen seconds ago, I'd asked him if he was coming home for dinner.

He said：“Busy today.”

Then hung up.

I hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him I was pregnant.

Six weeks. The ultrasound report was still tucked in the glove compartment. I'd planned to surprise him with it in person today.

Now I was pinned inside twisted metal, without the strength to even look down at that ultrasound report.

The crash came out of nowhere. I was driving normally on the service road when a truck ran the red light and T-boned me. My car crumpled like a soda can.

Through the shattered window, I could see a black Mercedes stopped in the opposite lane.

Cliff's car.

His front end had hit the guardrail, and the passenger door was dented inward. He was already climbing out of the driver's side, moving fast, not even bothering to close his door behind him.

He ran toward the passenger side.

Someone was sitting there. I saw a pair of slender legs extend from the open door, feet in off-white heels.

Cliff bent down and lifted her out.

The woman had her arms around his neck, face pressed into his shoulder, long chestnut curls hanging down.

I saw her face.

Phyllis Henson.

She was back. I hadn't known. Cliff never told me.

But I wasn't the least bit surprised.

He carried Phyllis to the curb and set her down, then crouched to check her shin. His hands were so careful, like he was handling something that might shatter. She said something to him with her head lowered, and he reached up and smoothed her hair.

Seven years of knowing Cliff. Three years of being his wife. I had never once seen him that gentle.

I lay slumped against the steering wheel, blood dripping onto my knees, and almost laughed.

That was when smoke started pouring from my car.

A sharp, acrid burning smell rolled out from under the hood, and through the gaps I could see the orange glow of open flame.

People around me were yelling “Get out”“The car's on fire”, someone tried to wrench my door open, but the frame was too warped. It wouldn't budge.

I turned to look toward Cliff.

His back was to me.

Phyllis was leaning against his chest, and he seemed to be on the phone, one hand holding the cell to his ear, the other never leaving her shoulder.

The smoke inside the car was getting thicker.

I kicked the door with everything I had. Nothing. The broken ribs turned every breath into a knife between my lungs. I clenched my teeth and threw my shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

On the third hit, it gave.

The instant I fell out of the car, a dull boom erupted behind me. The windows blew apart and flames shot out from under the hood.

I lay facedown on the pavement and looked back.

The seat where I'd been sitting was already swallowed by fire.