My Ex Husband Wants Me Back

Chapter 2

I wake up with a pounding headache, the kind that feels like my skull is splitting in two. Every little movement sends waves of nausea rolling through me.

Groaning, I blink, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

Where am I?

This isn’t my hotel room.

Panic sets in. I sit up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins wildly. I grip the sheets beneath me, trying to calm myself. My throat is dry, and my mouth tastes like I’ve swallowed a bag of cotton balls.

The events of the previous night are hazy at best. There are pieces of my memory that don’t fit together. I can’t remember getting here. Hell, I don’t even know where 'here' is.

My phone. I need my phone. I reach for the nightstand beside the bed and find it. My heart drops when I see the time—almost noon.

Oh no.

I’m supposed to meet Warren this morning to try out wedding cakes. I jump out of bed, wincing as my head spins again.

I check my phone again and notice something strange. There’s no missed call from Warren, no frantic messages asking where I am. That’s odd. Warren always checks in, especially when we have plans.

Why hasn’t he called?

I quickly dial his number, my hands shaking as I hold the phone to my ear. It rings and rings, but there’s no answer. Anxiety churns in my gut as I try to piece together what happened last night. I remember the club—barely. I remember Samantha and Nessa, the shots, and then… nothing.

What did I do?

The thought races through my mind, sending a chill down my spine. I’ve never blacked out before, not like this. The last thing I want is for Warren to be upset with me, especially so close to the wedding.

I leave the room, still dressed in last night’s clothes, and flag down a cab. My thoughts are a jumbled mess as the driver speeds through the city. I keep checking my phone, hoping for some sign from Warren, but there’s nothing. Not a single message.

The cab pulls up to the hotel where Warren and I are staying, and I rush through the lobby, desperate to find him and explain. As I near the elevator, the receptionist calls out to me, waving me over with a concerned look on her face.

“Miss? Excuse me, miss?”

“Yes?” I ask, turning to face her.

I don’t have time for distractions. I need to find Warren.

The receptionist glances down at her computer screen. “Mr. Warren checked out earlier this morning.”

I freeze. “What? Are you sure?”

She nods. “He took all his things and said he was heading to the airport.”

My blood runs cold.

I stare at her in disbelief “The airport?”

I stare at the receptionist in disbelief. There’s no way what she just told me is true. This has to be some kind of elaborate pre-wedding prank. Warren must have managed to get her in on it.

I laugh, trying to find some humor in the madness.

"You got me good," I say, shaking my head, "I almost believed you."

But her expression remains neutral. Too neutral.

"Can you give me the key card?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "I lost mine."

"I'm telling you the truth," she says "He's gone."

"I don't believe you," I say, refusing to let panic settle in. "You're a good actress, I'll give you that."

She shakes her head, but hands me the key card to the penthouse suite anyway. Her eyes are filled with something I can’t quite place—pity, maybe?—but she quickly looks away. My laughter dies in my throat, replaced by an uneasy knot in my chest.

I take the elevator up to our suite, clutching the keycard tightly. . Feeling exhausted, I lean back against the wall as the elevator moves. My fingers itch to reach for my phone, to call Warren and hear him laugh with me, to tell me how he pulled off the best prank ever.

Instead, I open our text conversation, expecting some kind of clue—a message, a hint—but there’s nothing. I frown, scrolling through my missed calls. Nothing.

"Nice try, Warren," I think, forcing a smile. "I'm not falling for this."

Typical Warren. He loves to joke around. This has to be a joke.

The elevator dings softly, and I step out into the hallway. As I walk towards our suite, a strange feeling tugs at me. Something’s off. It’s like this growing sense of dread that I can’t quite explain. The closer I get to the door, the heavier it feels in my chest.

I push open the door, and the first thing that hits me is the silence. It’s too quiet. My eyes scan the room, and my heart drops when I realize what’s missing. His things—his suitcase, his laptop bag, even the jacket he’d hung over the chair last night—are all gone.

The air stills around me. This doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

“Warren?” I call out as I step further into the suite.

I pull out my phone again, dialing his number with shaking hands. The phone rings once, twice, and then… nothing. The call drops. I stare at the screen, my heart pounding in my chest as I redial, only to be met with the same outcome.

His phone is off.

No… It can’t be. He wouldn’t just disappear like this. Not right before the wedding. I stare at the phone, wondering what the hell is going on.

“No, no, no…” I whisper to myself.

I dial his number again. This time, my hands are shaking so much I almost drop the phone. Every time, the call drops before it even connects.

Suddenly, it hits me. His line keeps disconnecting. It's almost as if... He’s on a plane!

I can barely breathe as the realization sinks in. My chest tightens and my breath comes in short gasps. I dial his number again but nothing happens.

I quickly scroll through my contacts, hitting Nessa’s number next. No answer. I try Samantha. Nothing. My heart races as I run out and hit the elevator button, desperate to find them—Samantha and Nessa must know something. They have to.

When the elevator doors open, I bolt down the hallway, knocking on Samantha’s door first. No answer. I pound on Nessa’s door next. My knuckles are sore from hitting the wood so hard, but there’s still nothing.

“Where are you guys?” I mutter, my voice cracking.

I check my phone again, hoping to see a missed call, a text, anything. But there’s nothing.

I drag myself back to the suite. By now, terror has settled deep inside me. I collapse onto the bed, holding my phone in both hands as I redial Warren’s number over and over for what seems like hours but it doesn't connect. Hours pass. My battery icon turns red.

“Come on… please…” I whisper into the empty room.

My phone is down to its last battery percentage when, finally, the call connects. My breath catches.

It rings.

Once. Twice. And then…

“Hello,” his voice answers, but it’s not the warm, loving tone I’ve known for years. It’s cold. Distant.

“Babe!” I cry, feeling relieved “My love, where are you? What’s going on?”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “What? Warren, what are you talking about?”

“The wedding is off, Michelle,” he says bluntly. “It’s over.”

His words slam into me like a cast moving train. I can’t breathe.

“What? No, no, Warren, please, let’s talk about this. Just come back, and we’ll—” I beg but he cuts me off with a laugh. A cruel, bitter laugh.

“I’m in London,” he says “I’m not coming back. I regret ever meeting you. I’m never going to see you again.”

The line goes dead.

I sit there, staring at the phone. A feeling of numbness spreads through my body. My mind is blank and my heart is shattered.

"Warren?" I whisper into the silence as if saying his name might somehow reverse the nightmare.

But the only response is the quietness around me. My stomach twists violently, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m sick, throwing up everything inside me.

Tears burn my eyes as I grip the sink, trying to hold myself together, but it’s no use. This can’t be happening. It’s not real.

Warren wouldn’t do this to me. We’re supposed to be getting married in a few days. We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together.

I wash my face and stumble back to the bed, pulling out my phone again. My hands are trembling as I dial his number, again and again. Each time, it goes straight to voicemail, and with each failure, another piece of my heart breaks.

Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I drop the phone beside me and curl into a ball on the floor. The tears fall freely now, unstoppable. Everything hurts—my chest, my throat, my soul.

“Why, Warren?” I whisper “Why did you leave me?”

But the only answer is the suffocating silence.