The terminal of happiness
I married a freaking General, a total military
geek.
When I was in labor, begging him to sign off
on a C–section, he just stared at me, cold as
ice, and asked, “What’s the top speed of a
Boeing 747?”
“Get it right, and I’ll sign.”
My body ended up tearing, and our son died
of asphyxiation.
He just shrugged and said, “1120 kilometers
per hour. Got it memorized, Wendy?”
That was the moment. Looking at his
heartless face, I just… fell out of love.
L
I left divorce papers and ran, went far away.
“John Rivers, your ‘military idiot‘ wife is never
coming back.”
I shoved the divorce papers and our son’s
ultrasound under his precious model airplane.
Figured that was the only way he’d actually
see them.
My lower abdomen was throbbing, and I felt
sick to my stomach.
I booked a one–way ticket to Seaside and
walked away.
Our housekeeper, Agnes, came rushing out of the kitchen, all flustered, trying to stop me. “Mrs. Rivers, the General said… he said if you
uldn’t
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just studied up on military stuff, he wouldn’t
be mad anymore.”
I just gave her a sad smile, shook my head,
and kept walking. “It’s no use.”
I’d barely made it to the airport when John, of
all people, called.
He was barely holding back his rage. “You ran
off on your own, caused a premature labor,
and killed my son. And now you want a
divorce?”
My hand holding the phone was shaking so
bad.
I stood there in the security line, tears streaming down my face.
<
That day was supposed to be my prenatal
appointment.
John, the baby’s father, didn’t just forget; he
locked me in the house to drill me on military
facts!
I had to sneak out a first–floor window.
Then, on the way to the hospital, I got hit by a
car. That’s what caused the premature labor.
But before I could even explain, John was
yelling at me again. “Wendy, as a mother, you
risked our son’s life, snuck out, and got him
killed. You’re a failure.
“And as the General’s wife, you’re an empty-
headed embarrassment.”
く
The airport noise was deafening.
I could barely breathe.
After a long, silent moment, I finally snapped.
“Don’t you have any responsibility for this?
I was eight months pregnant. Our baby was
fully formed.
The doctor said if I’d had a C–section in time,
he would have lived.
If John had just signed the damn papers, my
son would be alive.
But he wouldn’t.
Maybe he didn’t want our baby anyway.
く
I vividly remember our wedding night. His ex,
Elle Davies, suddenly went into premature
labor and called him, begging for help.
“Johnny, my stomach hurts so bad! Waaah…
“You have to save me, Johnny, or I’m gonna
die…”
He ditched our wedding reception with nearly
a hundred guests and me, his new bride, and
sped to the hospital like a bat out of hell.
“I’m Elle’s soulmate. I’ll sign!
“I’ll take full responsibility!”
In the end, Elle and her baby were fine.
John breathed a sigh of relief, showered them
with gifts and supplies
and even personally.
with gifts and supplies, and even personally cooked and spoon–fed Elle’s meals.
Meanwhile, I became the laughingstock of the whole military base.
I sniffled and tried to pull myself together. “You saved Elle and her baby, but you killed your own son, Johnny…”
Silence on the other end of the line.
Then, finally, he snapped, “Who are you to
compare yourself to Elle, Wendy? Don’t
forget…”
That thing was like a knife twisting in an old
wound.
I laughed, a short, bitter sound, cutting him
off. “That’s why we’re getting divorced.
“So you can marry who you really want, and
be a legitimate father to her daughter.”
I could hear him grinding his teeth on the
other end. “Wendy, you’ll regret this!”
My boarding announcement crackled over the
loudspeaker. I grabbed my bag and headed
for the gate. “I won’t.”
This city where I’d spent the last decade was
now officially dead to me.
The plane landed late at night.
My brother, Mike, was already waiting at the
gate. As soon as I got to the arrival area, |
spotted him in the crowd.
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spotted him in the crowd.
“Wendy, over here!”
