My Ex Husband Wants Me Back

Chapter 3

I pace back and forth in the room. My heart races as I stare at the phone in my trembling hands. My vision is blurred by tears. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to call him—ten, maybe twenty—but each time, it goes straight to voicemail. I keep hoping, praying, that Warren will pick up, that he’ll answer me, that he’ll say something to explain what's going on.

“Please, Warren,” I whisper to myself, clutching the phone to my chest as if it could somehow transfer my feelings to him. My voice cracks, and I feel a fresh wave of tears burn my eyes. “Please just answer...”

I hit the call button again. My phone is about to die but I don’t care. Nothing matters except hearing his voice, understanding why he’s calling offf the wedding.

The ringing cuts off, and for a moment, I think I’ve been sent to voicemail again, but then I hear his voice.

“What the hell do you want, Michelle?” Warren screams at me.

My heart shatters. . I’ve never heard him speak to me like that, never felt such coldness in his tone. The tears fall faster now, and I struggle to find my voice, to say something, anything that will make this nightmare end.

“Warren, please,” I manage to choke out between sobs. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why are you so angry with me?”

He laughs bitterly “You don’t understand? Seriously, Michelle? Check your damn messages.”

For a second, I can’t breathe. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost drop the phone. Check my messages? What could be so terrible that it’s made him hate me like this?

“Warren, I—” I start, but before I can finish, the phone screen goes black. Dead. The last sliver of battery life finally drained.

“Damn it!” I scream.

I resist the urge to throw the phone against the wall. I don’t care about the tears streaming down my face, the way my chest feels like it’s caving in from my heavy sobbing. All I can think about is Warren’s voice, that bitterness, that disgust.

I need to know. I need to understand why he’s treating me like this. But now, my phone is dead, and I’m left alone in this room.

I grab my things, packing them into my suitcase with shaky hands. I can’t stay here, not like this. I need to go somewhere, anywhere but here. I open the door and take the elevator down to the ground floor. I keep my head down. The last thing I want is for anyone to see me like this—red-faced, puffy eyes with mascara streaked down my cheeks.

The receptionist looks up as I pass by, probably wanting to ask I need anything, but I avoid her gaze. I drop the key card on the table and rush out the door without a word. I feel like I'm about to fall apart.

I flag down a cab, giving the driver the address of a cheaper motel I noticed on my way here. All that matters is getting out of here, getting to a place where I can charge my phone and see whatever it is that Warren wants me to see.

The cab ride is silent. Luckily, the driver doesn't try to make conversation. I stare out the window, watching city blur as we pass by. My mind replays Warren’s words over and over.

"Check your damn messages"

What could be so bad that he’s speaking to me like that? What did I do?

We pull up to the motel, and I pay the driver. The place isn't as bad as I expected. I walk inside, trying not to flinch at the smell of smoke and something else I can’t recognize. The owner is an older man with bloodshot tired eyes.

“Room?” he asks.

I nod, barely able to speak. “Yes, please.”

He hands me a key without another word, and I head to my room, not caring about the peeling wallpaper, the wet carpet, or the fact that the lights flicker on and off when I turn them on. There’s no electricity.

I dump my suitcase on the bed and look through it, searching for the charger. I need to know what’s in those messages. I need to understand why Warren is acting this way. But there’s no outlet in the room. Of course, there isn’t. This place is barely holding together.

I bite back a sob, forcing myself to think. I remember seeing a convenience store down the street. Maybe I can charge there. I grab my phone and the charger, leaving the room without a second thought.

I make my way to the store. I ignore the curious glance from the cashier as I plug my phone into an outlet near the back, waiting impatiently for it to power on. Every second feels like an eternity

Finally, the screen comes to life, and I quickly open my messages. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely see straight.

The first thing I see is a picture. Then another. And another.

My heart stops, my breath catching in my throat as I scroll through them. It’s me. In each one, it’s me, lying naked between two men I don’t recognize.

My skin crawls with disgust as I take in the details—the way their hands are on me, the way I’m laid out like a doll, lifeless.

No, this can’t be real. This isn’t me. I don’t remember any of this.

But the worst part is yet to come. A video.

My finger hovers over the play button. I don’t want to watch it, but I have to. I have to know what Warren saw, what made him hate me.

I press play.

The sound of heavy breathing fills the small store, and I quickly turn the volume down, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen too much. The men are moving over me, touching me. I’m barely conscious. My eyes are half open and my body limp as they...

I can’t watch anymore. My stomach twists , and I drop the phone, backing away from it like it’s something poisonous. A scream rips from my throat, and I clasp my hand over my mouth, trying to stop the sound, but it’s no use.

The cashier is staring at me now, wide-eyed, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore.

This can’t be real. It can’t be. But it is. And Warren has seen it. That’s why he’s so angry. That’s why he hates me.

I sink to the floor, my entire body shaking with sobs. My mind races, trying to piece together what could have happened, how this could have happened. But nothing makes sense. I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember those men. I don’t remember anything like this ever happening.

“Miss? Are you okay?” The cashier asks me.

I shake my head "No. I'm not"

I wlll never be okay.

Nothing will ever be okay again.