Chapter 2

I scoffed. Daniel had started to resent me and Ian ages ago.

Once, after too many drinks, Daniel had asked me:

“Sarah, how could we have produced such a… a *burden*?”

In that moment, I knew there was no going back for us.

On the day of our divorce, Daniel stood at the door, a look of utter relief on his face, like a weight had been lifted.

He didn't even hug Ian, just gave my shoulder a curt pat:

“Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

I nodded and left.

He, meanwhile, wasted no time rushing off to his dates.

I found a modest apartment in Oceanview and an office job that paid about four thousand a month, with flexible hours.

But Ian kept getting sick, every other week it seemed.

The frequent sick leaves forced me to quit my job.

What came next was even worse. Ian developed pneumonia, and I caught the flu, burning up with fever.

I hired a professional caregiver, but Ian hated her; his anxiety kept him up all night.

I had to shoulder everything alone.

Ian finally fell asleep in my arms, but he was still whimpering “Daddy.”

The fresh-faced nurse, clearly new to the realities of life, quietly asked me:

“Ma’am, where’s the baby’s father? Can’t he come take over for a bit?”

That’s when I remembered I hadn’t contacted Daniel in almost three months.

I picked up my phone and dialed his familiar number.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered.

“Daniel, Ian is hospitalized with pneumonia, and I’m just completely—”

“I’m tied up, can we talk later?”

Loud music and carefree laughter blared in the background.

The call ended.

I froze for a few seconds, then called again, but it went straight to voicemail.

After that, Daniel stopped sending Ian’s child support.

I felt justified in confronting him, but all I got from his friend, Mark, was a lecture:

“Frankly, Daniel carried you and Ian for *seven years*. He’s done more than his share.”

“You’re being completely ungrateful, practically harassing him.”

A chill ran down my spine.

On a chilling impulse, I opened Daniel’s Instagram.

His latest post was from ten minutes ago.

The photo showed Daniel, an arm around a scantily clad young woman on each side.

He was smiling so broadly, his eyes radiating the same confident, carefree swagger I once knew.

The caption read:

“Freedom at last! New chapter begins!”

My fingers trembled as I scrolled down.

Before that, there were pictures of him on ski trips, road trips, and lavish parties.

Three months after our divorce, his life was so vibrant, it was as if he’d traded his old one for a brand new one.

And me? I was in a strange city, with our sick child, being chewed out by the hospital staff.