St
When I woke up, the sharp scent of disinfectant filled my nostrils.
Every inch of my body ached, and I felt utterly disoriented and miserable. After asking a nurse, I learned that I had fainted outside my front door the night before, and it was my neighbor who had brought me here.
Suddenly, my son’s words echoed in my mind, “Ms. Bloom.”
That was Lisa, Gavin Johnson’s first love.
It was noon, and the sounds of laughter and chatter from other patients and their families occasionally drifted into my room. But in front of my bed, there was no one.
After a long silence, I decided to call Gavin, but as usual, he didn’t pick up.
I opened my social media feed and saw his recent post: [An unforgettable family trip with my loved ones.]
The photo showed Gavin and Lisa, each with their arms around our son, beaming at the camera while making heart signs with their hands. They looked like the perfect little family.
A self–deprecating smile crept onto my face; it would be a lie to say my heart didn’t feel heavy. But after so many moments like this, I’d grown somewhat immune. I even liked the post before putting my phone down.
For every day I spent in the hospital, Gavin and our son were out enjoying themselves with Lisa. When I finally got discharged, I returned home alone, quietly packing my things.
As soon as I opened the door, I heard the cheerful voices of Gavin and Barry Johnson.
They were sprawled on the couch, surrounded by an array of beautifully wrapped gifts, each one more extravagant than the last.
The moment they saw me, their expressions soured.
They looked at me with cold indifference as if I were their enemy. In the past, I would have played it cool, pretending nothing was wrong and trying to engage them in conversation.
But now, I felt utterly drained, devoid of all desire to pretend.
Gavin was lounging back, legs crossed, his gaze fixed on me with annoyance. “Freya, where have you been? You’ve been MIA for days, not a single message from you. How can you call yourself a mother?”
I felt utterly bewildered.
I thought, “Is he really so wrapped up in his fun with our son and Lisa that he doesn’t notice the dozens of calls I’ve made?”
But this was the pattern. He always managed to shift the blame onto me, no matter how clear it was that he was at fault.
I didn’t even feel like arguing; it seemed pointless. Seeing my reaction, Gavin assumed I was just being unreasonable again.
He shot me a disdainful look and said, “What’s your problem now, Freya? Yes. Barry and I went on a big trip without you. Why are you making such a fuss over something so trivial?”
Trivial? It felt anything but.
“That day, it was because Lisa invited Barry and me to dinner that we missed the flight. She’s all alone here; I was just keeping her company. Can’t you, as a woman, try to see things from my perspective?”
What about me being alone? My parents had passed away; I was just as isolated.
I looked at the man I had loved for so many years, and he felt like a stranger. Ten years of devotion felt utterly wasted.
Barry, my son, chimed in, siding with Gavin, his disdain for me evident, “Mom, you’re being so petty! You’re nothing like Ms. Bloom; she’s generous and caring. Look at all these gifts she gave me! You just make Dad upset. I don’t like you anymore! I want Ms. Bloom to be my mom!”
This was my precious son, the one I had cradled in my arms, terrified of breaking him. Yet here he was, valuing someone else over me. How ridiculous. People’s hearts were made of flesh; after enough hurt, they just went numb. If both father and son looked down on me, then I would give them what they wanted.
In the next instant, without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled the divorce papers out of my bag and placed them in front of Gavin. “Let’s get a divorce,” I
said firmly.
Then, turning to Barry, who was pouting, I added, “This way, you’ll have a new mommy.”
