My Husband Hung Up While I Was Dying

I didn't cry on the drive home.

The car service dropped me at our building just before dawn. The doorman held the door. Asked if I was all right. I nodded. Took the elevator up.

The apartment was dark. Empty. Cassian's shoes weren't by the door.

I walked to the bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed. Pulled out my phone. Watched the video again.

Cassian cradling Daisy. Whispering to her. Kissing her forehead.

I watched it twice. Then I locked the screen.

Something inside me had gone quiet. Final.

I stood. Walked to the bathroom. Washed my face. Looked at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were dry.

I wouldn't cry again.

I opened my phone. Texted Rachel.

*I need a favor. Can we meet Monday?*

She replied within seconds.

*Of course. Where?*

*Coffee shop near the studio. Not the office.*

*I'll be there.*

I set the phone down. Went to bed. Slept dreamlessly.

---

Monday morning. The coffee shop was small. Quiet. Rachel was already there when I arrived. She had a table in the back. Away from the window.

I sat down. Set my bag on the floor.

"You look tired," she said.

I didn't answer. I pulled out my phone. Opened the audio file from New Year's Eve. Slid it across the table.

"Listen."

She picked it up. Put in her earbuds. Pressed play.

I watched her face. Saw the moment she recognized the caller's voice. Then confusion. Then comprehension.

She pulled out the earbuds. Set the phone down carefully.

"That's Cassian," she said.

I nodded.

Her jaw tightened. "How long?"

"I don't know. Months. Maybe longer."

She leaned back. Crossed her arms. "What else do you have?"

I pulled out the movie ticket stubs. Set them on the table. Then I opened the photo of the mug. The bracelet. Finally, I played the ER video.

Rachel watched in silence. Her expression didn't change. But her knuckles whitened around her coffee cup.

When the video ended, she set the phone down.

We sat there. Neither of us spoke.

Finally, she picked up her cup. Took a slow sip. Set it down.

"Tell me what you need."

I looked at her. "I need the broadcast archive. The full recording from New Year's Eve. Not just the clip. Everything."

"Done. What else?"

"I need you to keep this quiet. No one at the station can know."

"Understood."

I reached into my bag. Pulled out a folder. Slid it across the table.

"What's this?" Rachel asked.

I opened it. Inside was the Golden Microphone Awards nomination letter. My name at the top. Best Radio Host. National broadcast. Televised live.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Milena—"

"I'm going to win," I said quietly. "And when I do, I'm going to make sure everyone hears what I heard."

She stared at me. Then she nodded slowly. "You'll need the audio cleaned. Isolated. Broadcast quality."

"Can you do it?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Two weeks. Maybe less."

I closed the folder. "Thank you."

Rachel reached across the table. Squeezed my hand. "He doesn't deserve you."

I didn't answer.

Because it didn't matter what he deserved.

This wasn't about him anymore.

It was about me.

---

I went home. Cassian was in the kitchen. Making coffee. He smiled when he saw me.

"Hey. Where were you?"

"Meeting with Rachel. Work stuff."

He nodded. Poured himself a cup. "I have surgery this afternoon. I'll be late."

"Okay."

He kissed my cheek. Grabbed his coat. Left.

I stood there. Listened to the door close. Then I walked to his office.

His laptop was on the desk. I opened it. Checked his calendar. Backed up his research files to the cloud. Organized his notes.

I did everything I always did.

Because I needed him to believe nothing had changed.

---

The weeks passed.

I ironed his shirts. Hosted a dinner for his colleagues. Smiled at the right moments. Laughed at the right jokes.

I backed up his USB drives. All of them. Labeled them. Filed them in the drawer.

I was meticulous. Patient.

At night, I worked on my acceptance speech. Wrote it longhand in my legal notepad. Crossed out lines. Rewrote them. Practiced in front of the mirror.

Rachel sent me the cleaned audio file. I listened to it once. Then I saved it to an encrypted drive.

I met with Patricia Vance again. Signed the divorce papers. She slid them into a manila envelope. Sealed it.

"When do you want to file?" she asked.

"Not yet."

She nodded. "Let me know."

I took the envelope home. Tucked it in my desk drawer. Locked it.

---

The Golden Microphone Awards ceremony was three weeks away.

I bought a dress. Black. Simple. Elegant.

I rehearsed my speech every night. In the shower. In the car. In the editing booth when no one was around.

I didn't tell Cassian I'd been nominated.

He didn't ask.

---

One week before the ceremony, I stood in our bedroom. Cassian was asleep. I opened my desk drawer. Pulled out the envelope.

I held it in both hands. Felt the weight of it.

Then I set it in my purse.

I walked to the window. Looked out at the city. The lights stretched endlessly. Bright and cold.

I thought about the woman I'd been. The one who believed love was enough. Who believed devotion would be returned.

She was gone.

I wasn't her anymore.

I turned away from the window. Went to bed. Slept.

And when I woke, I was ready.