Sorry, Husband Expired

Peter must've set all this up earlier. I stood there, staring at the table, dazed, when the restaurant called.

"Hi there, just checking in—what time can we expect your arrival?"

I watched the curtain flutter in the breeze. "Sorry. Change of plans. Please cancel the reservation."

Next to the cake sat a tiny velvet box. I opened it—a diamond ring.

My chest tightened. I ended the call, but my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Somehow, Cindy found the energy to text mid-labor.

The first message was a photo—Peter peeling an apple at her hospital bedside.

[See? One word from me, and he's right here taking care of me.]

Then another pic—her huge baby bump.

[Our little one can't wait to meet the world. Yuna, Peter's REAL family now? That's me and our baby.]

***

I shut the jewelry box and chucked it straight into the trash.

Bottle of Romanée-Conti in hand, I stepped onto the balcony, letting the wind smack my face while the city lights blinked like nothing had happened.

Inside, my phone wouldn't quit ringing.

I staggered back in and grabbed it.

Peter had called a bunch—messages stacked up.

When it rang again, I finally picked up.

"Yuna, thank God. I was freaking out," he said, all breathless.

I stayed quiet. Let him keep acting.

"I've still got work to finish. Can't make it tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? You got the gift, right? I promised—one ring every birthday."

I glanced at the velvet box sitting in the trash.

Peter called my name a few more times. Then I heard Cindy crying out in the background.

"I get it," I said. "Go back to work."

He blew a kiss through the phone. I felt nothing but disgust.

Right after I hung up, another message from Cindy popped up:

[The baby's coming.]

Just seeing the cake made my stomach turn. I dumped it, along with the Floyd roses, straight into the trash.

Then I spotted Peter's wine cabinet.

That fancy bottle of Domaine Leroy caught my eye.

I finished the Romanée-Conti. Emptied the Leroy too.

I crashed onto the couch, eyes locked on the photo wall—shots Peter had carefully arranged of us smiling.

But all I could see was that video. Him and Cindy.

I ended up in the bathroom, curled over the toilet, dry heaving until there was nothing left.

The alcohol didn't knock me out. I stayed wide awake all night.

By the time the sky turned pale, Phoebe called.

"She had the baby. It's a boy."

My head pounded. I answered like a robot. "Okay."

By noon, Peter still hadn't shown. But Cindy? She texted again.

No words this time—just a pic.

Peter holding the baby, eyes soft.

I closed the chat and dialed Lionel's friend.

"Mr. Kane, is the divorce agreement ready? I don't want anything. I just want it done."

***

I made myself some pasta. Aunt Sophia called.

"Yuna, have you thought more about moving to Hampsburg? If you're worried about Peter, he could still work in Rivera. It's not that far."