2
I had lived in the Downtown Loft for two years, and packing took three suitcases.
I sat on the couch, waiting. By 11 PM, Ryan still hadn’t come home.
I called him.
He answered almost immediately.
But on the other end, it was Claire’s voice,
“Mrs. Carter, is there something you need from Mr. Carter? He’s exhausted from back–to–back meetings and fell asleep at the office.”
Claire had just undergone the kidney transplant surgery in Chicago–I knew that.
But I didn’t expect her to head straight to Ryan’s office after getting off the operating table.
She really did love him.
I spoke calmly, “It’s nothing important. Just let him know when he wakes up.”
“I’ve left the divorce papers on the dining table. Tell him to sign them when he has the time.”
Claire gasped in shock on the other end of the line, her excitement barely concealed.
Before she could say anything else, I hung up.
I moved back to my Gold Coast Apartment, the one I’d bought before we were married.
I thought Ryan would come looking for me, or at the very least call to discuss the divorce.
But, as it turned out, I was overthinking it.
There was no word from him.
His phone had even been turned off.
With no other choice, I went to his office.
To my surprise, the receptionist informed me that Ryan had been in a car accident three days ago. His phone had been smashed, and he hadn’t had a chance to replace it.
He had just undergone surgery and was now out of danger.
My first reaction wasn’t worry, but amusement.
I had been diagnosed with kidney failure and hadn’t told him.
He got into a car accident, and I didn’t know.
This marriage had clearly run its course.
I drove to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and sure enough, I ran into Claire outside the Private Suite.
She was dressed casually, with perfectly applied makeup, radiating friendliness.
I glanced toward the hospital room,
“Is Ryan not here?”
“Mr. Carter’s getting some tests done. He should be back in about an hour.”
Claire’s expression turned cold as she closed the door to the suite. “Why don’t you head home?”
Her disdain for me was clear.
I smirked. “Claire, you can play the part of Mrs. Carter all you want after the divorce. But right now, you’re still not qualified.”
Claire frowned, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Is that all you’ve got?”
She paused for a moment, then smirked, bragging,
“Did you know, when Ryan was unconscious and being rushed to the hospital, he was calling out my name the entire time? That’s why the hospital called me and not you, Mrs. Carter.”
She bit hard on the words “Mrs. Carter,” her tone heavy with ridicule.
In the past, hearing this would have sent me into a rage.
But after all the arguments and silent treatments, I no longer cared.
I was dying anyway–what did it matter what she said?
I remained calm, pulled out the divorce papers from my bag, and handed them to her,
“In that case, could you give this to your Mr. Carter? Have him sign and return them when he gets the chance.”
As I spoke, I watched Claire’s face change.
She grabbed my wrist, trying to make me slap her with the papers.
The divorce papers scattered everywhere, and Claire turned her head to the side, dramatically covering her face with her hand, feigning pain.
I winced from the
12:31
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Before I could react, Ryan’s cold, angry voice came from behind,
“Apologize.”
