Divorce After Deception

I stared at the thermometer in disbelief, my heart racing as the digital numbers climbed past 103... 104 degrees. Westin's small body trembled against mine, his forehead burning against my palm.

"Mommy, it hurts," he whimpered, his usually bright eyes now glassy and unfocused. His cheeks flushed an alarming shade of red against his otherwise pale skin.

"I know, baby. I know." I tried to keep my voice steady as panic surged through me. I fumbled for my phone, punching Aaron's number with shaking fingers. It rang once before going to voicemail.

"Aaron, Westin has a dangerously high fever. We need to go to the hospital now. Call me back immediately." I kept my voice controlled despite the fear clawing at my throat.

I tried again. Straight to voicemail. Again. Nothing.

"Damn it, Aaron!" I hissed under my breath, careful not to further frighten Westin. I quickly dressed my son in his dinosaur pajamas, wrapping him in a light blanket despite his fever. His little body felt unnaturally hot against mine as I carried him to the car.

"Where's Daddy?" Westin asked weakly as I buckled him into his car seat.

"Daddy's... busy right now. But I'm here, and we're going to make you feel better." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

As I sped toward the hospital, I kept dialing Aaron's number at every red light. Six calls. Seven. Eight. Each one reinforcing a truth I'd been avoiding for months: when we needed him most, Aaron wasn't there.

The emergency room lights were harsh and unforgiving. Westin's condition deteriorated rapidly—his small body convulsed with a seizure that lasted thirty terrifying seconds before the medical team rushed him away. I stood frozen in the middle of the waiting room, my phone clutched in my hand like a useless talisman.

"Mrs. Scott?" A nurse touched my elbow gently. "Your son is stabilizing. The doctor would like to speak with you."

Hours passed in a blur of medical terms, IV lines, and my continuous, futile attempts to reach Aaron. I sat beside Westin's hospital bed, watching his chest rise and fall, stroking his damp hair away from his forehead. The pediatrician had explained that they were bringing the fever down gradually, that Westin would be okay, but the words felt hollow without Aaron there to share the burden of fear.

At 2 AM, my phone finally lit up with Aaron's name.

"Rebecca?" His voice was relaxed, slightly slurred. Music and laughter filtered through the background. "I just saw your calls. What's going on?"

My fingers tightened around the phone. "Westin has been in the emergency room for over three hours with a 104-degree fever. Where are you?"

"I'm at that new wine bar downtown. Ivory had a fender bender today and was pretty upset. I've been helping her deal with it."

The casual way he said it—as if comforting Ivory over a scratched bumper naturally took precedence over our son's health emergency—made something inside me crack.

"Our son had a seizure,