I had a miscarriage and was confined in the ICU.

Meanwhile, my husband was off traveling the world with his first love. It wasn't until he decided to divorce me that he finally remembered I existed.

He called my mother, demanding to know how long I planned to act out. She was disheartened, looking at me, who was barely clinging to life.

"Shannon will never cause you trouble again! Happy now?" she snapped.

I ended up in the ICU after a miscarriage that left me bleeding out. My organs were failing, and my life was hanging by a thread.

Ironically, my husband, Greyson Kirk, was the one who caused it.

It happened on his birthday. I'd spent hours preparing. I made a lavish dinner, baked a cake, and decorated our home with a romantic glow.

I bought him designer gifts, too, but the real surprise was something far more precious. I was pregnant.

The baby didn't come easily. We had tried it for five years. His arrival presented a chance to mend our fractured marriage.

I chose Greyson's birthday to share the news, hoping it would bring us closer. But when he walked in, he barely noticed my efforts.

He changed clothes in a rush, muttering that Emily Davis, his old crush, was in the hospital and needed him.

As he headed for the door, I grabbed his arm. "I did all this for you, and I have something important to tell you."

Greyson shook off my hand. "Emily's alone right now. I have to go."

My heart sank at his words.

Ever since Emily reentered his life, Greyson had been consumed by her. She was his unattainable dream girl, the one who always held a special place in his heart.

I questioned him, "Is she really that important? More important than me?"

He sighed, visibly irritated. "Can we not do this right now? Emily saved my life. She's in trouble, and I'm just repaying her. What's the big deal?"

Before I could respond, he added, "She and I are just friends now. Stop being so jumpy. Keep this up, and we're not gonna make it."

His eyes held nothing but disdain. Furious, I reached for him again.

He shoved me away, stormed out, and slammed the door. I lost my balance, crashing into the table's sharp corner before collapsing to the floor.

Pain tore through me as my body convulsed. Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I awoke, I wasn't in my body. Instead, I floated beside my hospital bed, staring at myself. Tubes snaked from my arms.

When one was on the edge of death, their soul would linger, watching the world like a silent ghost. Tears welled up as I gazed at my broken form.

My mother, Holly Wilcox, sat outside.

Her hair had turned gray overnight. Her face was etched with grief, and my heart shattered.

Rage pulled me to Greyson, the man responsible for this.

I found him in another hospital, holding Emily's hand. His face was soft with concern. "Don't worry. Just focus on getting better. I'll take care of everything."

Emily smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Greyson soaked up her gratitude.

She nestled closer and added, "But won't Shannon be upset if you spend so much time with me?"

He frowned. "Doesn't matter. She's always starting fights, accusing me of things with you. I'm sick of it. If it comes to it, I'll just divorce her."

Greyson stayed with Emily after her IV treatment and drove her home.

She clung to his arm, reluctant to let him go, and he showed no hurry to leave.

"Greyson," she said, her voice fragile, "I've been so low lately. When I'm feeling better, can we take a trip somewhere?"

"Of course," he agreed readily.

Emily's family had fallen on hard times after her father's business collapsed, turning her from a pampered heiress to a struggling nobody.

Greyson understood her pain, especially as she complained of constant aches. He wanted to be her protector.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Name the place, and I'll make it happen. I can take care of you now."

Emily's eyes sparkled. "Thank you. You're so nice."

I watched them, a bitter smile on my lips.

Greyson had always been too busy for me. We never took a honeymoon, and in five years of marriage, he rarely spared time for a simple date.

I never complained, playing the dutiful wife and managing his every need. His ignoring was all I received.

I tried to rekindle his affection with new makeup or stylish clothes, but it was futile. The moment Emily appeared, I vanished from his world.

Whenever he chose her over me, I'd argue with him. He'd respond with silence or call me childish.

Alive, I couldn't change it. Now, hovering between life and death, I was still powerless.

Greyson stayed at her place for the night. They didn't share a bed, but their growing closeness was undeniable.

The next day, I followed him to the office.

Instead of focusing on his demanding job, he was on the phone, booking first-class flights and luxury hotels for a trip with Emily. He had no idea I was fighting for my life. It was as if I didn't even exist.

While my mother sat by my bedside, weeping, Greyson was living a dream with another woman. They visited trendy cities, savored local cuisines, and snapped beautiful photos.

He kept things proper, booking separate rooms. He treated her like a delicate treasure. Emily radiated joy, but I felt no more jealousy.

I knew their happiness wouldn't last. Greyson never valued what he had. He didn't know how to hold onto joy.

A month later, their adventure ended.

Greyson returned home, weary. He opened the door to a grim scene: rotting food on the table and a dark stain on the floor.

The stench hit him, and his face twisted in disgust. He grabbed his phone and dialed my number. My phone, dead on the couch, didn't answer.

He called again and again. By the fourth try, he shouted into my voicemail. "If you want a divorce, just say so. Stop these stupid games. This place is a wreck. Come back, and we'll end this now."

The voicemail's cold beep was the only reply Greyson received.

He seethed for a while. Then he put away his phone and stormed back to Emily's place.

After a month of traveling with her, he looked drained. When he mentioned he was hungry, she chirped, "I'll order takeout. What do you feel like?"

Greyson frowned at the suggestion. Weeks of restaurant food and street eats had taken a toll on his stomach.

Emily failed to sense his reluctance, and he masked it with a smile. "Whatever you want is fine."

But I knew he was craving homemade food.

He had a fragile stomach, and he was fussy about food. He hated onions, peanut oil, organ meats, and fish with tiny bones. I'd memorized his preferences, tailoring every meal to his tastes.

When work dinners left him sick, I'd prepare light dishes to soothe his stomach and lift his spirits.

He never appreciated it. To him, my efforts were just the duty of a wife he provided for.

Emily, on the other hand, was his princess.

She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Of course, she didn't cook. Her hands were not for that.

When the takeout arrived, Greyson picked at it, barely eating.

Emily noticed. "Not your thing?"

He shook his head, but I caught the disappointment in his eyes.

She probed, "It seems you don't quite like these popular dishes. What do you like to eat? I'll order it next time."

Greyson shrugged. "I'm not fussy. Some salad or a rib soup would do."

His voice carried a trace of longing, though it was quickly gone.

I wanted to tell him that even simple dishes required care and effort. But now, it didn't matter anymore. My heart was done with him.

He ate little, then cleared the takeout boxes and stepped outside to toss the trash. Alone, he tried my number again. Three calls, all to a dead phone.

He paced back and forth, then scrolled through his contacts. Unfortunately, he didn't know my friends, and I had left my job, drifting from old colleagues.

Out of options, he called my mom.

When she answered, he snapped, "How long is Shannon gonna drag this out? Tell her to quit the drama, or we're through."