Abandoned Wife: I Fly Out of His Life

On the day of my third wedding anniversary, I wait for my husband, Jonathan Myers, in the heavy downpour for four hours even though I'm already nine months pregnant.

I can feel the rain drenching me from head to toe. At the same time, I keep suffering from the irregular contractions.

Jonathan sends me a voice message. I can hear a bell tolling and a woman's laughter in the background.

"Honey, I'll be home late. Quinn told me that she's never admired the cityscape at night before."

The moment I'm hoisted onto a stretcher, I glance at my phone. Coincidentally, Jonathan's social media feed has just refreshed, showing a grid of nine photos.

Quinn Farris can be seen standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, where an array of the city lights stretch out behind her.

The caption reads, "I'm admiring the world with my baby girl."

Meanwhile, I've lost a lot of blood in the delivery room. On the surgical forms, the spot that's supposed to bear my husband's signature is left empty.

At 3:00 am, Jonathan wakes up in Quinn's bed. He then transfers me 5000 dollars and leaves a note on the transaction history.

"Thanks for your hard work."

I reject the transaction before dialing a number.

"Dad, I've thought things through. I want to leave the country."

###CONTENT

####CHAPTER-NAME:

Elizabeth's POV

The head of the obstetrics department frowned deeply when she took the report from me.

"Are you alone?" she asked. "Where's your husband?"

I smiled but didn't explain myself. Instead, I just said, "I don't have one."

"You need someone to watch over you in your current condition," she said in a tone that suggested there would be no room for compromise, pointing to the data in the report.

"High blood pressure and proteinuria. Both are symptoms of preeclampsia. You're at risk of convulsions, cerebral hemorrhaging, and placental abruption at any time."

"I understand. Thank you, doctor."

My phone vibrated after I walked out of the consultation room.

Quinn Farris had sent me a photo.

She was wearing my silk nightgown as she lounged on the couch in my home, holding the cat I had cared for for the last three years.

The straps of the nightgown had slipped down to her elbows, but she didn't bother fixing them, languidly exposing her shoulders.

"This nightgown is so comfortable, Liz. Why didn't you wear it more often?"

My husband, Jonathan Myers, had bought that nightgown for me when we got married.

I had stashed it at the bottom of the drawer with the intention of wearing it again after I gave birth and regained my figure.

I stared at the photo for a long time. I then navigated to my chat with Jonathan and typed out a message.

"I've signed the divorce agreement. It's in the second drawer of the bedside cabinet in the master bedroom."

However, when I sent the message, a red exclamation mark popped up.

Jonathan had blocked my number.

I didn't know