I caught a glimpse of my pale reflection in the window. Before everything went black, I whispered, “Scott… I want a divorce.”
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital.
An IV was hooked into my arm, and my son was sleeping quietly beside me.
Phyll rushed in with a smile, acting as if nothing had happened.
“Babe, you’re awake! The neighbors told me you were taken away in an ambulance this morning. I nearly panicked to death! I bought your favorite crab rangoon. Hurry, eat them while they’re hot. See? Your husband’s always looking out for you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
When I was brought here last night, I’d already been burning up with dehydration. If my brother hadn’t noticed something wrong in my voice and called the ambulance for me, I didn’t even know what would’ve happened.
The hospital had called Phyll over and over again throughout the night, but he never picked up.
Meanwhile, Barbara had been busy updating her social media with photos of Phyll feeding her dinner, the two of them drinking from the same glass, and even dancing closely like lovers.
I lifted my head and said flatly, “Phyll, haven’t I told you more than once I’m allergic to crab?”