Six months after the divorce, I never thought I’d hear my ex-husband’s voice again. But that morning, as I lay in a hospital bed with my newborn daughter sleeping beside me, my phone buzzed. The screen showed Daniel Moore. My ex.
I nearly ignored it.
“Why are you calling me?” I asked when I finally answered.
He sounded strangely upbeat. “I’m getting married this weekend. I figured it would be… polite to invite you.”
I gave a weak laugh. “Daniel, I just had a baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a pause. Then, flatly, “Alright. Just thought you should know.” He hung up.
I stared at the ceiling, heavier inside than I expected. Our marriage hadn’t ended because love disappeared. It ended because Daniel believed ambition mattered more than family. When I told him I was pregnant, he accused me of trying to trap him. A month later, he filed for divorce and vanished from my life.
Half an hour later, I was drifting in and out of sleep when my hospital door flew open. Nurses gasped. My mother jumped to her feet.
Daniel rushed in, pale and frantic. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“You can’t just—” I began.