“See? It wasn’t so bad, right? We’re set, Rachel.”
I stared out the window and said nothing.
Something inside me had broken.
The check cleared on a Tuesday. By Thursday, I was cleared for my postpartum checkup. When I came home that afternoon with my mom and son, the house felt wrong… and eerily quiet.
“Doug?” I called out.
“Doug, you home?”
Nothing.
I walked through the house. His clothes were gone. His laptop, his shoes, everything.
On the kitchen table sat a single piece of paper with words that would go on to haunt me:
“You’ll be fine.
You have Ethan. I’ve moved on. Don’t try to contact me.
The money from Monica was my compensation for seven years of going nowhere. Consider it closure. Goodbye, Rachel.”
I sank to the floor and screamed so loudly that Ethan came running.
“Mommy?
Continue reading…
