I Ran Away With My Son

In our five years of marriage, I had given in to my husband, John, for a grand total of three times.

The first time was during my pregnancy. He had taken his ex-girlfriend Stacy, who had once taken three bullets for him, back home and cared for her. When I became angry, he immediately sent her away once she recovered.

The second time was after childbirth, when I was ready to return to work. To repay a favor, he gave the position I had worked years for to Stacy. He said it was so I could rest well. I looked at my son, who needed me, and I conceded.

The third time was during our son’s birthday. In front of the entire company, he had announced that Stacy was his wife, all so she could establish herself in the company. I gave him two choices: divorce or send her away. Without hesitation, he chose the latter and immediately sent her abroad.

The fourth time was when my father suddenly had a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. He disappeared again. I searched everywhere for him to cover the hospital expenses, and I finally discovered that he had gone to the airport to pick up a pregnant Stacy, who was returning to the country. Because of that, my father missed the best chance for treatment and died.

I was done giving in.

I disguised the divorce agreement as our son’s medical bill and tricked him into signing it.

No compensation or apology would matter.

I did not wish to have him near my son or myself again.

“Mom, it’s my birthday today! Is Dad still not coming home?”

My son Jason tugged at my pants, with his voice choked with tears.

I looked at the dozen missed calls on my phone and felt anxious.

So I picked him up and went straight to John’s company, only to find his office empty.

The receptionist said he was in the banquet hall. I froze, then glanced again at the message John had just sent.

[I’m in a meeting, we’ll talk later.]

Suppressing my unease, I pushed open the banquet hall doors.

Jason shouted for his dad, but I quickly covered his mouth.

At that moment, John was holding another woman by the waist and announcing to everyone, “This is my wife, Stacy. We’ve been married for five years.”

He spoke smoothly, and the crowd turned to look at Stacy.

They stepped forward with their drinks to toast her, but John stopped them.

“My wife doesn’t like to drink, so I’ll drink on her behalf.”

My hands trembled violently, and by the time I calmed down, tears were streaming down my face.

My phone lit up with another message from John.

[My meeting is almost over. Where did you book the restaurant? I will head over.

[Stacy will come as well. Don’t throw a tantrum and embarrass her.]

I read each word, then looked up to see John slip his phone back into his