After 8 Years Coldness, I Ditched Him

My husband has such severe social anxiety that he ran away at the last minute, even from our wedding. Later, when I was hemorrhaging while giving birth to our son, my own mother got down on her knees and begged him to come sign the paperwork. He never showed up. Our son grew up being called fatherless, and I’ve lived as a widow for eight whole years. Then one day, a crazed intruder burst into the house and drove a knife straight into my stomach. I cried out for help to Daniel Wade, standing right by the window. He only stared at me for two whole seconds before he looked away. His voice was ice-cold when he said, "Hold on a minute. I’ll call the cops for you." A deafening buzz roared through my head. In that second, every last bit of love I’d held for him died. And just when I was convinced I’d die right there, Daniel’s young secretary burst through the door. The lunatic immediately shifted his target to her. The second the lunatic reached for her, Daniel exploded into action like an enraged lion. He charged out and knocked the intruder flat to the ground with one brutal punch. Paramedics loaded me, covered head to toe in blood, into the ambulance and leaned down to ask, "Where’s your accompanying family member?" I dragged my gaze away from Daniel, who was already holding his secretary and whispering soothing words to her. I parted my lips softly, but my words were sharp and final, "I’m a widow. My husband is dead." ***** After two full hours of emergency surgery, I somehow pulled through, barely escaping with my life. When the nurse wheeled me out of the operating room, I saw Daniel a short distance away, giving his secretary emotional support. My face went rigid. The hallway was packed with people, yet the same Daniel, who’s crippled by social anxiety, acted like he was completely alone, unbothered by the crowd. And yet? That same man had bailed on our wedding eight years ago just to avoid a room full of guests. Afterward, he even took a knife and cut himself, snarling at me, "Quit pushing me! I’ll just kill myself, isn’t that what you want?!" So I gave in. For eight whole years of our marriage, Daniel only ever went to his office or locked himself inside our house. When our son’s school held parent-teacher conferences? He wouldn’t go. When we had to visit family and friends for New Year? He still wouldn’t show. Even just now, when I was hanging onto life by a thread, all I got from him was one cold line, "I'll call the police for you." The nurse knew he was my husband. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and murmured, "Do you want me to go get him for you? You're going to need someone to stay with you after surgery." "No need." Sympathy swam in the nurse’s eyes. She and the other nurses had been whispering about it just moments before. "I've never seen anyone this unlucky. The wife barely cheated death, and her husband's over there holding his mistress' hand through a panic attack. He's so worked up over her, you'd think the mistress was the actual wife." My heart twisted sharply, over and over. I squeezed my eyes shut and let them wheel me into the hospital room. It wasn’t until full darkness fell outside that Daniel finally seemed to remember I existed. He dragged his feet into the room, moving so slow it was like he was wading through molasses. "Carla, you've been through so much." I flinched away from his reaching hand, then breathed out, weak and drained. "Don't let Carl know." Carl was still so little, and he'd just had a serious illness a few weeks back. I couldn't bear to break my son's little heart. But the very next second, that little assistant, Marian Jones, pushed open the door, holding Carl's hand. "Waaaa… Mommy!" Tears flooded Carl's face instantly. He scrambled to my bedside, too scared to even touch me, his little body trembling. I fixed Marian with a death glare. I'd texted her explicitly not to bring Carl here! Marian's eyes welled up with red immediately. She pouted, looking pitiful as a kicked puppy. "Carla, what's wrong with Carl wanting to see his mom? If you're this mad at me, just hit me, okay?" Then she lifted her hand, right to slap her own face. Daniel shot out a hand to stop her instantly, then rounded on me, voice sharp with anger, "Why are you picking on her? Carl wanted to come here himself! Marian has a good heart, and yet you just keep hounding her over nothing." Good heart? A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up from my throat. This wasn't even the first time she'd pulled something like this. Everyone knew Carl was deathly allergic to seafood. But that didn't stop Marian from taking him out to eat lobster. Carl had an attack right there on the spot, his face turning purple as he struggled to breathe. It wasn't until the doctor injected the epinephrine that I got my boy back, and I collapsed into sobs, clutching him to my chest like he'd slip away any second. But Marian cried harder than I did. She sniffled, all wide-eyed innocence. "I thought lobster would be fine! It was just an honest mistake! If anything terrible happened to Carl, I wouldn't be able to live with myself!" I refused to let it slide. I demanded Daniel fire her on the spot. But all he gave me was a look of irritation. "Carla, don't push too hard when you're in the right. Everyone makes mistakes." That was the day I'd finally made up my mind, iron-set. I was going to divorce him. But Carl cried until his little face was bright red, begging me over and over again. "Mommy, please don't divorce Daddy. Please." That one moment of softness on my part? It only emboldened them to push even harder. I couldn't let Carl keep living around these people. Not another day. "Get out! Both of you, get out of my room right now!" Daniel's eyes darkened with worry, and he made no move to leave. I snatched the water glass off the side table and hurled it straight at them. Marian shrieked, and Daniel instantly moved to shield her with his body as he herded her toward the door. "Carla, just calm down. I'll come back to see you in a few days." My son's small hand wrapped around mine, trembling slightly. In his dark eyes lay a maturity far beyond his young age. "Mommy, don't be angry. It's bad for your recovery."