There is No Coming Back, Ex-Husband

One month ago, I lost my son after a ferris wheel accident.

It was Alexus’ fifth birthday. I was standing in the middle of the amusement park, holding two cones of melting ice cream because Anthony promised he would come.

I called him. Ninety-nine times, but he didn’t answer. So I went alone with my son.

We got into the carriage. The metal bar locked down with a heavy clank. The wheel turned, lifting us higher and higher until the people below looked like ants.

Alexus laughed, pointing at the clouds. “Look, Mommy! I can see the whole world!”

Then, a screech. A terrible, grinding sound of metal shearing against metal. The carriage jerked violently. My stomach dropped.

“Mommy!” Alexus screamed, reaching for me.

I lunged for him, wrapping my arms around his small body, trying to shield him.

Then the cable snapped.

We fell. The wind roared in my ears. The sky spun. Screams tore from my throat, but they were drowned out by the deafening crash of steel hitting the earth.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, pain was everywhere. A doctor told me I had been in a coma for three weeks.

“Where…” My throat was like sandpaper. “Where is Alexus? Where is my son?”

The doctor hesitated. He looked at the nurse beside him. That look. That hesitation. It stopped my heart.

“Mrs. Smith, the impact… it was severe.”

“Where is he?!” I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my ribs, forcing me back down.

“He’s in the ICU,” the doctor said softly. “He survived the fall, but… the oxygen deprivation was too long. There was severe trauma to the cranium.”

He took a breath.

“Alexus is brain dead, Amber. I’m so sorry. He will never wake up.”

The world shattered.

No. No, no, no.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “He’s five. He’s just five. He can’t be… he can’t.”

I screamed. I screamed until my throat bled, until the nurses had to hold me down.

“Please! Save him! Do something!” I begged, grabbing the doctor’s coat. “I’ll pay anything! Just save my baby!”

Then the door opened.

Anthony walked in. He looked impeccable. Freshly pressed suit, hair styled, not a hair out of place. He didn’t look like a man whose son was lying in a morgue of machines.

“Stop it, Amber,” he said coldly. “You’re making a scene.”

“Anthony! Our son… they said he’s brain dead!” I sobbed, reaching for him. “Tell them to fix him! Tell them not to give up!”

He stepped back, avoiding my touch like I was contagious.

“It’s your fault,” he said flatly.

I froze.

“My… fault?”

“You took him to that death trap,” Anthony sneered. “If you had just stayed home like a good wife, none of this would have happened. You killed him.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled.

“I… I just wanted him to have a birthday…”

“And now he’s a vegetable,” Anthony cut me off. “Stop crying. It’s pathetic.”

He turned to the doctor. “Sedate her. She’s hysterical.”

I woke up again hours later, or maybe days. The room was dim.

My head felt heavy, wrapped in cotton. I kept my eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe.

That’s when I heard voices.

“Keep her sedated until I say so.”

Anthony’s voice. Low. Urgent.

“Mr. Smith,” the doctor sounded nervous. “It’s been days. The drugs… high doses of amnesia-inducing sedatives can cause permanent damage. She might forget everything. Even you.”

“That’s the point,” Anthony said. “I need her to forget. If she remembers the accident, she’ll be a liability. If she forgets about me, then good. At least, I can dispose of her.”

My breath caught. My hands froze under the sheets.

The doctor hesitated. “But… what about the boy? Alexus?”

“He’s brain dead,” Anthony said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “He’s useless now. But at least he served his purpose. The transplant was a success,” Anthony continued. “My son with Alicia is going to live because of it.”

My blood turned to ice.

Alicia. My best friend. The woman I had cried to about my marriage. The woman who held my hand when I thought I was losing my mind.

She had a son. A sickly boy she claimed was from a one-night stand she couldn’t remember because she was drunk. But now I know the truth.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

My husband… and my best friend.

“I paid you to keep your mouth shut,” Anthony snapped. “If you talk, you lose everything. Just keep Amber drugged until she’s gone crazy. She’s useless to me now.”

Footsteps. The door clicked shut.

Silence returned, heavy and suffocating.

I lay there in the dark, tears streaming down my face, hot and silent.

My son was almost gone. My husband was a monster. My best friend was a traitor.

Everything I loved… everything I was… it was all a lie.

I curled into a ball, hugging myself, trying to hold the broken pieces of my soul together. The betrayal was raw, a physical pain in my chest that hurt more than the crash.

He wanted me to forget?

He wanted me to fade away?

No.

A cold, hard rage settled in my stomach, replacing the grief.

I waited until the nurse came in to check my vitals. I pretended to be asleep. When she left, I sat up.

My body screamed in protest, but I forced myself to move. I reached for the phone on the bedside table with shaking hands.

I didn’t call the police. Anthony owned them.

I didn’t call a lawyer. Anthony would buy them.

I dialed a number I had memorized years ago. A number I swore I would never use.

It rang once.

“Hello?”

A deep, velvet voice. Dangerous. Powerful.

I closed my eyes, picturing the man on the other end. The man Anthony hated more than anyone. The man who had once offered me the world, and I had foolishly turned him down for a love that was nothing but rot.

“Sebastian?” I whispered.

A pause. The line crackled with tension.

“Amber?” His voice dropped an octave. “Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m in the hospital,” I said, my voice steady now. “Do you still want me?”

“Yes.”

I gripped the phone tighter.

“I’m ready to divorce my husband. When should we get married?”