On our wedding anniversary, I received a notification about the theater tickets I'd booked. Then Miguel Chavez called, his voice flat, "Got a surprise for you! See you later!"

I couldn't help but get excited and put on my best makeup. But I waited and waited, until the film ended, and he never showed up. Later, I saw a post from his first love on Facebook. It was a picture of Miguel busy in the kitchen. The caption read, “Even though we couldn't make it to the theater, at least someone knows how to make up for it!”

Turns out he was with her again. In the past, I would've exploded with questions, but this time, I didn't want to make a scene. I was exhausted.

In the cold of November, I stood at the now-closed theater, my nose bright red from the chill. Miguel still hadn't come. I wanted to catch a cab home, but my phone battery had died early on. Resigned, I decided to walk back, but as soon as I started down the stairs, I slipped and twisted my back with a painful snap. Tears instantly flooded my face. When it rains, it pours. I tried to calm myself, but the pain was too much, and the tears wouldn't stop. Later, a delivery guy helped me call an ambulance, temporarily rescuing me from my predicament.

When my phone finally charged, I saw messages from Miguel. “Selena Reed, do you know what time it is and you're still not home?” “Out having too much fun, are we?” “If you don’t come back, don’t bother coming back!” He mostly criticized me for being out late. But he forgot that he was the one who said he'd take me to a film, which was why I waited for him in the cold so long—from the movie’s start until it ended, then until the theater closed, and into the early hours.

I didn’t reply to his messages but instead checked Facebook. There, I saw Isabelle Wagner's post again—a picture of Miguel in the kitchen, still busy. The caption read, “Even though we couldn't make it to the theater, at least someone knows how to make up for it!” So he was with her again. In the past, I would've gone mad questioning him, but this time, I just didn’t have the energy for the drama. I was worn out.

I put the phone aside and closed my eyes to sleep. I don’t know how much time passed, but Miguel called again, this time with an impatient edge, “Selena Reed! Where are you now?” “Playing so much you don't even care about work?”

Rubbing my sore eyes, I croaked, “I'm in the hospital. I slipped and twisted my back outside the theater last night.” Miguel was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, his tone no longer harsh but still detached, “Well, get some rest. I got busy yesterday and forgot... When you’re better, we’ll go watch the film together.”

But it was all too late. I answered weakly, “Is there anything else? If not, let's leave it at that for now.”

Silence on the other end. Maybe he thought it was strange that I was the one saying this. During our past phone calls, I would've wanted to talk endlessly, making him always the one impatiently saying what I just said. Now that it was me, of course, he felt awkward. As expected, his tone turned cold, “Selena Reed? I said we'll watch another film together!”

The subtext was for me to stop overreacting. But this time, I really wasn’t. I answered calmly, “I heard you.”

Miguel’s voice softened a bit, “Send me the hospital address. I'll come to see you in a bit.”

Conveniently, there was something I needed to clear up with him.

After I sent Miguel the address, he promised he'd come over soon. But a whole day passed without a sign of him.

Thankfully, I've stopped putting any stock in his promises. I no longer have expectations.

The next day, while Natalie was changing my bandages, she mentioned I could be discharged. I was wondering how I'd get home when Miguel finally appeared.

He glanced around the hospital room before speaking in a detached tone. "Something came up yesterday, so..."

"When are you leaving?" I interrupted.

Miguel's expression shifted. "What do you mean? Are you trying to kick me out now?"

"Selena!" he snapped. "I'm trying to explain what happened yesterday! You're not listening; you're just lashing out at me."

"Why are you being so difficult now?"

He used to accuse me of being unreasonable all the time. I even doubted myself, wondering if I really was as irrational as he said. But now, it seems he's the one making excuses.

I pressed my lips together and looked out the window. "I'm getting discharged today. If you're leaving, you can give me a ride home. But if you're busy, I'll just call a cab."

I turned to meet his gaze. Miguel gave a small, forced smile. "Do you have anything you need to pack?"

I shook my head.

Then Miguel came over and leaned in to carry me out. But as soon as he got close, I gagged a couple of times.

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized me. "You're not secretly... pregnant, are you?"

For years, I wanted us to have a child, but he didn't agree. So after each encounter, I'd take birth control pills to keep the peace. Looking back now, I'm relieved we didn't have a child—I'd never win custody against Miguel.

As for my gagging... it was his overpowering cologne that made me nauseous. I pushed him away.

Instantly, the air felt fresher. I shook my head. "Relax, we won't be having any children."

Miguel's face darkened further, but he still carried me to the car. We drove home in silence.

As I reached for my keys to unlock the door, it suddenly swung open from the inside. Isabelle stood there, beaming.

"You're back!"

Miguel's face froze. "Why are you still here?"

Still here? So she's been staying here while I was away.

A flicker of panic appeared in Miguel's eyes. "Isabelle fainted yesterday, and I brought her here. You know... she can't stand the smell of hospitals."

Isabelle put on a pitiful face, "Selena... I'm sorry, it's just..."

I stood at the door, expressionless, staring at her. "Don’t call me your sister; I'm five years younger than you."

Isabelle's face paled, her eyes welling up with tears. She clutched her dress, looking utterly innocent. "I'm sorry... I thought you were older than me..."

Miguel rubbed his forehead and told her to leave. Isabelle then ran off crying.

I thought he might chase after her, but he didn't. Not that it mattered; soon our relationship would officially end.

Yesterday, I had Omari draw up a divorce settlement. Once he delivers it, and we both sign, we can proceed to finalize our divorce.