My mother’s chemotherapy had failed. Her last wish was for one final family dinner. But on that day, my husband Julian's new flame showed up at our door, pregnant and provocative. The shock was too much for my mother. Her condition worsened, and she passed away that same night. I called him again and again, but he never answered. It wasn't until after I had arranged the funeral that he finally called back. "She's just a kid, she doesn't know any better," he said, his tone dismissive. "You and your mom shouldn't take it so seriously." "Her emotions are all over the place because of the pregnancy. Don't go looking for trouble with her." "If you can't accept her, I'll make sure she never shows up in front of you again. But she's the mother of my child, so I have to spend time with her. I'll be home with you on the weekdays, and I'll stay with her on the weekends." Listening to his non-negotiable terms, I didn't argue. I just gave a quiet "mm-hmm." Then I turned back to my laptop and submitted my application to Doctors Without Borders. If the promises of our youth were now empty, then I would let him go. And I would let myself go, too. 1 As Julian laid out his new life plan, I calmly scrolled through the requirements for Doctors Without Borders. I met all of them. Without a second thought, I started filling out the application. When he finished speaking, he heard the faint tapping of my keyboard. "Anna, did you hear a word I said?" he asked, a note of annoyance in his voice. "Mm-hmm," I murmured, a flat acknowledgment. He fell silent, clearly surprised by my easy compliance. After a long pause, he sighed. "Anna, if only you'd always been this agreeable." His words made me freeze. I remembered the countless fights. In the five years we'd been married, a parade of women had shown up at my door. The first time it happened, I had shattered everything in our living room, screaming at him, demanding to know why he was doing this to me. Back then, his eyes were filled with nothing but exhaustion. "It was for work," he'd insisted. "We were just playing a part. Nothing happened between us. How many times do I have to tell you that for you to believe me?" He was disappointed by my lack of trust, worn out by my willingness to believe others over him. Afterward, I hated myself. Maybe I was being paranoid. I apologized, begged for his forgiveness. But not long after, the tabloids exploded with photos of him and a famous actress entering a hotel together. I lost my mind again. All I wanted was an explanation. This time, his eyes were filled with disappointment. "Anna, in your eyes, am I really that untrustworthy? If that's the case, then I'll be exactly what you think I am." From that day on, he stopped hiding. He was in the headlines with a different woman every week. I even saw him with my own eyes once, kissing a woman passionately in his car. When I confronted him, he no longer offered explanations. He just met my rage with silence. I've lost count of how many times we've fought over the past five years. All I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion. I had thought about divorcing him, about ending this tragic, ridiculous marriage. But my mother's greatest wish was to see me happy. She was suffering so much already; I couldn't bear to add to her pain. So I endured. I ignored everything related to Julian, turned a blind eye to the women who showed up at our door. I thought that by doing so, I could maintain the illusion of happiness. But just before she passed, my mother, her body withered to almost nothing, lay in her hospital bed, tears streaming down her face. "My dear girl," she whispered, "it's all my fault… I just wanted you to be happy… If you're unhappy, you have to let yourself go…" Her last wish had changed from a simple family dinner to my happiness. Thinking of her final words, my eyes welled up. "Julian," I asked, my voice trembling, "you can't give me the happiness I want anymore, can you?" 2 He didn't answer my question directly. He just sighed. "Anna, we're almost thirty. We need to be more mature. Love… it's not that important anymore." It was his way of telling me he didn't love me. I understood. A laugh escaped my lips, but it was hollow, laced with the sound of a sob. "Okay," I said. "Then I'll let you go. And I'll let myself go." The moment I said the words, my heart clenched. Five years ago, Julian had said something similar to me. We were living in a tiny, dark apartment, and the only ring he could afford was a simple silver band. He had proposed with such earnest devotion. "Anna, I promise you, wherever I am, that will be your home. I will build you a safe harbor, a place where you will never suffer again. For the rest of your life, you will only know happiness." I believed him. I said yes. He had reacted like a child given the most precious gift in the world. "Anna," he'd exclaimed, "from now on, you are my wife! We will never be apart! Don't you ever think I'll let you go!" But now, he had forgotten his promise. After I spoke, he didn't argue. He just said, "Okay. But don't worry, the title of Mrs. Vance will always be yours. No one can ever take your place." When we were first married, hearing someone call me Mrs. Vance filled me with pride. Now, the title was just a bitter irony. Since his affairs became public, I was the object of pity in our social circle. Someone had even sneered at me once. "The way Mr. Vance goes through women, who knows how long you'll be Mrs. Vance. You should try to have a baby while you still can. At least you'll get a bigger settlement when he divorces you." "If she could have a baby, don't you think she would have by now? It's been five years. I bet she's barren. That's why she can't hold on to him." They didn't know that in our first year of marriage, I had been pregnant with our child. Julian was at a networking dinner, and some clients were deliberately trying to humiliate him, forcing him to drink. To close the deal, he endured it all with a smile. I had just finished dinner with some colleagues and saw the whole thing. My heart ached for him. I saw the pain on his face, the way he held his stomach, and I went to get him out of there. But the clients jeered. They said if I drank a glass of whiskey, they'd sign the contract and even pay for our ride home. I knew how much that contract meant to Julian. I couldn't bear to see him fail. So I took the glass and drank it all. That day, he got the deal he'd been working so hard for. And we lost our first child. After that, no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many doctors we saw, I never got pregnant again. Maybe it was God's punishment for not protecting my baby. Maybe I just didn't deserve to be a mother. As Julian’s words hung in the air, a tear I'd been holding back finally fell, landing hot on the back of my cold hand. 3 After my mother's funeral, I went back to work at the hospital. My mentor, Dr. Evans, had heard about my application to Doctors Without Borders. "Anna," she said, her voice gentle, "are you sure about this? The next deployment is to a country in the middle of a war. You'll be facing gunfire every day." "I'm sure, Dr. Evans. I've wanted to do this for a long time. I just never had the chance." Before, I couldn't leave my sick mother. I couldn't leave Julian. Now, my mother was gone. And the Julian who had loved me was gone, too. I had no reason to stay. One place was the same as another. I might as well do something meaningful. Seeing my determination, she didn't press the issue. She gave me a few words of advice and left my office. Just as she walked out, Julian walked in. "Where did you just say you wanted to go?" he asked, a frown on his face. I paused what I was doing and looked up at him. "Traveling," I said calmly. "I haven't really gone anywhere since I started working." He knew that in college, I was always taking trips with my friends. He didn't seem suspicious. "That's a good idea," he said. "It'll be good for you. Oh, by the way, Noelle needs to come to this hospital for a prenatal check-up. Can you arrange a time for her?" He was so direct. Not even a hint of pretense. A sharp pain lanced through me. I thought of the child we had lost. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him if he ever thought of our baby while he was so eagerly awaiting this one. But I bit back the words. What was the point? The past was the past. He had probably forgotten anyway. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "All the doctors at this hospital are very responsible. You can just book an appointment and wait in line like everyone else." Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the door. Noelle, her baby bump prominent, walked in and took Julian's arm. "Julian, honey," she said, her voice a wounded whisper, "does Dr. Hayes not want to help us? It's all my fault, I forgot to make an appointment. I'm so sorry to waste your time." Julian didn't push her away. He gently squeezed her hand. "It's no waste of time to be with you and our baby. If she won't help, it's fine. I'll wait with you." He saw the fatigue in her eyes, leaned in, and kissed her forehead, murmuring words of comfort. The tender scene was like a knife in my heart. There was a time when he had been that gentle with me. He would make silly faces to cheer me up, spend all his money on a necklace I wanted just to see me smile. He used to say that whatever other girls had, I would have too. He worked so hard, and no matter how exhausted he was, he would come home with a smile, telling me funny stories about his day. He'd stay up late just to listen to me talk, even when he could barely keep his eyes open. He said it made him feel complete. I don't know when it changed, but we went from having endless conversations to sitting in silence. I looked away. I couldn't watch anymore. But Julian seemed to remember something. "What happened the other day was Noelle's fault," he said. "I had someone buy some gifts. We'll bring them to your mom later to apologize." "Don't bother," I said, my voice flat. "She doesn't need them anymore." 4 The day my mother died, I had called him countless times. All I got was a cold, mechanical voice on the other end. With each unanswered call, my initial rage slowly cooled into a numb emptiness. I had thought about hunting them down, making them pay for what they did to my mother. But whenever I closed my eyes, I heard her last words. She told me not to blame anyone, not to live with hatred. She wanted to see me free, happy, living my life to the fullest. And I would honor her wish. Julian, however, misunderstood my words. He thought I was still holding a grudge against Noelle. "Anna," he said, his brow furrowed, "you don't need to hold on to such a small thing. It's in the past." It was in the past for him. For me, it would never be. I looked at him, my eyes cold. "My mother is gone. You won't be able to find her." "Anna! Don't be ridiculous! She's your mother, how can you say such things? She's so sick, where else would she be but the hospital?" My mother had treated him better than she treated me. She always saved the best for him. When his business was failing, she had given him her life savings to pull him out of debt. And because of him, she couldn't even die in peace. Noelle chimed in. "Dr. Hayes, I know you and your mother are upset with me. I apologize, okay? Julian is really worried about her. Can't you just stop being difficult?" "You don't have the right to speak her name!" Hearing her mention my mother, the dam of my anger finally broke. "Get out! I don't want to see you!" I stood up, pointing to the door. Julian immediately moved to shield her, as if I were going to attack her. His eyes turned cold. "Anna, throwing a patient out of your office… is this your idea of professional ethics?" He pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, dialed the hospital's complaint line. "I'd like to report Dr. Anna Hayes in surgery for a serious breach of medical ethics…" He was going to teach me a lesson, he said. Watching him, my calm facade finally cracked. He didn't wait for me to say anything. He just turned and left with Noelle. As they walked out, she looked back over her shoulder and gave me a triumphant smile. See? it said. He's on my side. You've lost. Soon after, I received an official warning from the hospital administration. When Dr. Evans heard, she helped me appeal to the board, and they allowed me to take an early leave to prepare for my deployment. After completing the paperwork, I went home. Julian wasn't there, but his social media was constantly updated. A picture of Noelle's ultrasound, sharing his joy about becoming a father. A photo of the nursery he was putting together himself, with the caption: "Come out soon, little one. Mommy and Daddy can't wait to meet you." He hadn't blocked me from seeing his posts. I stared at the screen for a moment, then calmly liked his latest post. When I checked again later, I found that he had blocked me. I wasn't angry. I opened his profile and, just as he had done to me, I blocked him. From now on, we would be strangers. For the next few days, Julian felt a persistent sense of unease. He was so distracted he didn't even hear Noelle when she called his name. He chalked it up to the guilt of not visiting my mother. One day, he left work early and bought a basket of expensive gifts, heading straight for the hospital. But a nurse told him, "Dr. Hayes's mother? She passed away a few days ago. We were the ones who took her to the crematorium. You're her son-in-law… didn't you know?"
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