When I Leave, Love Disappears

When my husband came back from his business trip, he wanted to be intimate with me, but I refused. While he was away, I had a miscarriage. The doctor said I shouldn’t be having sex anytime soon. But Raymond didn’t notice the paleness in my face or the boxes of medication crowding the nightstand.

Annoyed, he muttered something about me being a killjoy, then grabbed his phone and dialed his childhood sweetheart.

“Where are you? I’m in a bad mood. Need distraction.”

From the other side of the line, I could hear her playful voice:

“You just got home and now you’re calling me, asking if we can meet again?”

Raymond shot me a look as he walked out the door.

“I just can’t sleep at home. This place puts me in a bad mood.”

I let out a cold laugh and immediately called my lawyer.

“Start the divorce proceedings.”

——

Raymond and I had been together for ten years—four years of dating and six years of marriage. Everyone who knew us could tell how deeply I loved him. Even when I found out he had fertility issues, I stuck by him without a second thought. But over the years, his attitude toward me shifted. The man who once cared for me with tenderness became paranoid and possessive. If I did anything to upset him, he’d call up Lidia, right in front of me.

I confronted him and he would get on his knees, apologizing profusely, swearing that nothing had happened between them. He’d claim that he was just trying to make me jealous. 

My mother-in-law backed him up, of course, telling me that his condition made him insecure and I needed to be more understanding. Even his friends swore to me that nothing was going on between him and Lidia, so I forgave him. Every single time.

A week ago, I started feeling nauseous. A visit to the hospital confirmed I was pregnant. The joy I felt was indescribable. I thought this baby will bring Raymond back to me. Maybe having a child would heal the rift between us.

On my way back from the hospital, I stopped at the supermarket to pick up groceries. As I walked out, it was starting to get dark and that’s when I saw it—Raymond’s car across the street. I crossed the road and under the glaring streetlights, I saw him in the driver’s seat, locked in a passionate kiss with a woman in the passenger seat. Squinting my eyes to get a better look, it was Lidia Cruz; Raymond’s childhood sweetheart.

My heart shattered to pieces. Tears blurred my vision as the bags of groceries fell from my hands, spilling across the sidewalk. Just then, the light turned green and the car behind them honked. They reluctantly pulled apart. Lidia rolled down her window and cursed at the driver. Raymond just smiled and ruffled her hair gently, as if I wasn’t even there. Then he drove off, speeding past me without a glance.

It felt like an invisible hand pushed me and I collapsed onto the pavement. Pain shot through my stomach. My face went white as the world blurred. A stranger rushed over to help me up, noticing the blood seeping through my skirt. They quickly called for an ambulance. That fall, combined with the emotional shock, cost me my pregnancy. That tiny, fragile life slipped away quietly, just as it had come.

After the surgery, a bone-deep chill settled into me, making me shiver uncontrollably. Raymond returned home later, tossing his suitcase onto the floor. He didn’t even glance at me as he climbed into bed, still reeking of cheap women’s perfume.

He didn’t notice my pale face or the medication piled up on the nightstand. He just leaned in, ready to kiss me. I turned my head away, speaking flatly, “I’m not feeling well.”

Annoyed, he pulled away and got off the bed, looking down at me with a scowl.

“Oh, I get it. You’re just sick of me, aren’t you?” He chuckled dryly

“You know what? I don’t need you to meet my needs, Ariana.”

With that, he picked up his phone and dialed Lidia.

“Where are you? I need a distraction.”

Lidia’s voice came through the phone, teasing, “You just got home and you’re already calling me? Aren’t you worried your wife will get mad?”

Raymond smirked, clearly pleased with himself and glanced at me as if to provoke me.

“Yeah, well, she’s kind of old and worn out. Not sure what right she has to be picky.”

His words were said quietly, clearly meant for me. Lidia, not catching it, asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing. This place ruined my joy. Be there in a minute”

He hung up with a chuckle, picked up his suitcase and walked out the door.

In the past, I would have chased after him, apologized and begged him to stay. I would’ve listened to him tear me down and insult me while I desperately tried to please him. But this time, even as the front door slammed shut in anger, I didn’t move an inch. I stayed in bed, unmoving.

Raymond Matthews, you won’t get away with this.