Burning with fever and too weak to stand, I begged my husband, Ryan, to come home and help with our baby. He promised he was on his way, but hours passed with no sign of him. My body ached, my fever spiked, and I could barely hold my phone.Lily, our one-year-old, sat nearby, playing with a stuffed rabbit. She didn’t understand something was wrong. I couldn’t take care of her. I couldn’t even sit up,

I called Ryan. “I need you. Please come home.” He promised he’d leave soon, just twenty minutes. But an hour later, still no sign. I texted him again. He said he was stuck in traffic, but we lived in a small town—there was no traffic.In desperation, I texted Mike, Ryan’s coworker. “Is Ryan still at work?”Mike’s reply came fast: “Yeah, he’s still here. Why?”My heart sank. He hadn’t left yet. I called Ryan. Voicemail. I needed help, so I called Mrs. Thompson, our neighbor. “I’m coming,” she said, no hesitation.Mrs. Thompson arrived just in time, taking me to the hospital. The doctor informed me I was dangerously close to septic shock from a severe kidney infection,

Two hours later, Ryan arrived, holding a coffee in one hand, his phone in the other, as if nothing had happened. He asked, “You okay?”I could barely speak. “I begged you,” I whispered. “I needed you.”He shrugged. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.” He didn’t understand. He never did.I spent two days in the hospital. My parents took Lily, and Ryan came to visit once, bringing a bottle of water. When I was discharged, he barely acknowledged the severity of what had happened,

His conversation was about work, not me.That night, as Ryan scrolled through his phone, I thought about everything—the lies, the neglect, and how I nearly died while he did nothing. I wasn’t angry anymore. Just numb.I started looking for apartments. I knew I needed to leave. I made an appointment with a divorce lawyer the next day.Ryan had no idea. He went on with his life, unaware that I was already planning my escape.