I gritted my teeth and said, "Fine, I'll do it! Just transfer the money now!"

"Hold your horses. First, make sure the IOU is clear," he said, his voice calm and unhurried, not a hint of concern in it. "Write down why you're borrowing, the interest rate, and the payback date. We don't want any hiccups later."

"Okay, just let me know when you're done, and I'll send the money right away."

"Waylon, I'm begging you, please send the money first. My mom can't wait any longer!"

"No way. What if you pretend this never happened? Do the IOU first, and I'll transfer the money immediately." His tone was firm and unyielding.

I couldn't hold back any longer. Tears streamed down my face as I opened the note-taking app on my phone, my hands trembling, and painstakingly typed the IOU. "Forty thousand dollars to be repaid within three months. If overdue..."

At that point, I choked up, unable to continue.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop? And the interest? You're not planning on ditching this, are you?" Waylon's voice was cold, like a blade slicing through my heart.

"Do you have any shame? That's your mother-in-law!" I finally lost it and shouted into the phone.

Just then, the door to the hospital room swung open.

"Victoria, what's going on? What happened?" It was my best friend, Genevieve. As soon as she heard about my mom's hospitalization, she rushed over immediately.

"Genevieve, you're here, I..." I couldn't hold back any longer and collapsed into her arms, sobbing.

"There, there, don't cry. Tell me, what happened?"

I quickly explained the situation to Genevieve, who listened with growing anger, her fists clenching tightly.

"Waylon George is a jerk!" she fumed. "Don't worry, I'll cover the money for now, and we'll sort things out with him later!" Genevieve stepped in, quickly pulling out her phone and tapping away expertly.

"It's done. I've transferred the money to the hospital account. Go take care of the paperwork now!" she said.

I looked at Genevieve with immense gratitude, struggling to find the words.

Just then, a message arrived from Waylon on WhatsApp: "Where's the IOU? Did you finish it?"

I glared at the message, an unprecedented wave of fury rising within me. I picked up my phone and typed back a single word: "Buzz off!"

The surgery was a success, pulling my mom back from the brink of death. I clasped her cold hand, unable to hold back my tears. Ever since Dad passed away two years ago, she's been my only family, and I can’t bear to imagine what would happen if I lost her too. Genevieve stayed by my side through it all, helping with paperwork, comforting me, and looking after me.

I lay exhausted on a hospital bench, completely drained. Waylon never once came by the hospital—didn't call, not even a message. Life seems to have a way of kicking you when you're down. The whirlwind of emotions I’ve been through, combined with severe morning sickness, meant that the baby... was gone.

Dr. Jireh explained with sympathy, "Your pregnancy was already fragile, and with this recent turmoil, it was too much to sustain..."

I lay in the cold hospital bed, feeling like my heart was as empty and chilly as the room around me. I had lost the child and, with it, my last bit of faith in Waylon.

Nala, sitting next to me and wiping my tears, furiously denounced Waylon as a jerk, saying he wasn’t fit to be a husband, let alone a father. I stared at the ceiling, suddenly seeing the absurdity of it all. How could I have ever fallen for someone like him?

If everything else could be shared, why was the burden of losing the child solely mine to carry?

The night I lost my child, I came across a social media post from Kendra Parker while scrolling through my Facebook feed. In the photo, she and Waylon George were sitting at my dining table, surrounded by an impressive spread of dishes. Waylon wore a soft smile, one I had never seen before.

The caption read: "Someone's culinary skills are as impressive as ever!"

Waylon and I had been together for many years, and he had never once cooked for me. Even when I was curled up in pain from cramps, all I asked for was a simple cup of ginger tea. He'd dismissively remark, "Can't you just order something? Stop bothering me."

Yet, here he was, cooking for another woman and looking so pleased. A wave of nausea hit me, not just at Waylon's hypocrisy and cruelty, but at my own naivety and blindness in the past.

That's when I decided—I needed a divorce, for myself and for the child I lost.

When Nala Lawson heard about my decision, she was incredibly supportive. She reassured me confidently, "Don't worry. I have a friend who's an excellent divorce lawyer. They'll make sure you leave that jerk with nothing."

Her words warmed my heart. Having a friend like Nala in my life was truly a blessing amidst my misfortune.