I Sent Him Our Child’s Remains with the Divorce Papers

At twenty-eight weeks pregnant, I could barely manage the baby's movements and begged my husband, Jesus, to drive me to the hospital. Just as we were about to leave the garage, he received a call and told me to get out of the car.

"Catalina's running a fever and wants some apple cider from The Orchard. I have to take it to her. You'll have to get to the hospital by yourself."

I battled the intense pain gripping my abdomen and pleaded with him, "Jesus, we live in the suburbs, and there are no taxis around. Please, just take me to the hospital first."

Growing impatient, he shoved me out of the passenger seat and drove away. As I sat on the pavement, I felt the warm trickle of blood running down my legs and lost consciousness from the pain.

While my husband savored the sweet cider with his muse, I was robbed of my nearly full-term child and my womb. I woke up in the hospital bed, my heart shattered. I sent the remains of our child and a divorce agreement to his office via courier.

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I clung desperately to Jesus's arm, the searing pain in my abdomen rendering me speechless. "Please, take me to the hospital," I begged.

He sneered and pulled his arm away. "Cali, stop pretending! If you're in pain, why didn’t you call an ambulance earlier?"

I wanted to tell him I had called an ambulance, but living so far out in the suburbs meant it could take a while to arrive. I had hoped he would take me first.

But now, the pain was too overwhelming to form words. Jesus, seeing my anguished expression, grew more irritated.

"Every time Catalina calls, you pretend to have stomach pains! You're almost due, and you think this excuse will still work on me?"

"Catalina’s feverish right now and waiting for me to bring her the cider!"

"Cali, can't you understand plain English? I told you to get out of the car!"

When I didn’t move, he lost his temper and shoved me to the ground. "If I had known it would be this much trouble, I’d have told you to terminate the pregnancy the day you found out!"

Stunned, I fell, instinctively protecting my stomach with both hands. As he slammed the car door and drove off, I heard him reassure Catalina over the phone, "Don’t worry, Catalina, I just had a little issue to deal with. I’m on my way to you now."

The car sped away, and I felt the moisture of blood spreading between my thighs. In panic, I reached for my phone and tried calling Jesus. I heard the ringtone again and again, but he never picked up.

The blood flowed faster, and my consciousness began slipping away. There wasn’t a single car on the road in our isolated neighborhood. Fighting the darkness creeping at the edges of my vision, I used the last of my strength to dial Catalina's number.

The call connected quickly, but before I could say a word, Jesus's cold voice came through, "Cali, can't you just stop? Can’t this wait until I get home?"

The line went dead, and when I tried again, no one picked up. Despair enveloped me as I collapsed into the pool of blood and lost consciousness.

When I regained consciousness, I was already in the hospital. Frantically, I pulled back the sheets and felt my stomach—there was nothing there anymore.

My heart plunged into a cold abyss as tears streamed down my face. The baby was gone, and at that moment, I felt hollow.

Ignoring the nurse's protests, I insisted on being discharged. I checked my phone—no missed calls.

Logging into the home surveillance camera, I unsurprisingly found Jesus absent. He'd stayed with Catalina for two whole days, personally tending to her.

In the past, I would have demanded answers about where he'd been and who he was with. But now, I didn’t care anymore.

Jesus didn’t come home that night, and I barricaded myself in the bedroom, finally finding deep, uninterrupted sleep.