"I have work tomorrow." He turned over in bed. "Call a taxi."
The final ember of hope inside me died.
My son was burning up. I grabbed the medical bag, wrapped him in a blanket, and ran out into the downpour. Rain lashed against my face, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back.
Sitting in the hospital hallway, watching the IV drip into my son's small arm, I remembered our wedding vows.
*I will cherish you. I will never let you suffer.*
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
The most ridiculous lie I had ever heard. I thought I had found shelter from the storm.
But he *was* the storm.
---
When we finally returned home, the apartment was a disaster. Dirty clothes littered the floor. A mountain of unwashed dishes rotted in the sink.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't scream. I just walked into the kitchen and swept the stack of bowls onto the floor.
*CRASH.*
Porcelain exploded. Shards skittered across the tiles. My son screamed in terror.
My husband rushed out of the bedroom, phone still in his hand, the game paused.
"Are you crazy?" Disgust twisted his features.