Pregnant and Bleeding, My Husband Pickle His Ex Chapter 05
I spent the next week writing.
And rewriting.
And tearing up what I’d written.
The trash can in my kitchen filled up with crumpled paper. Different versions of the same story. Some too angry. Some too clinical. Some that didn’t sound like me at all.
“Thank you for this opportunity to speak,” one draft started.
Too formal. I crumpled it up.
“I want everyone to know what really happened.”
Too aggressive. Another ball of paper.
“My husband left me to die.”
Too simple. Even though it was true.
By day three, I had nothing. Just a pile of failed attempts and a headache.
Betty found me sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by paper.
“Honey, what are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out what to say.”
She picked up one of the drafts. Read it. Put it down.
“You’re overthinking this.”
“I need to get it right.”
“You just need to tell the truth.” She sat down across from me. “That’s all. Just tell them what happened.”
I looked at all the crumpled paper. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.” Betty leaned forward. “You don’t need a speech. You just need your story.”
Quinn came by the next day.
He was holding his phone. Looking uncomfortable.
“I thought maybe I could help,” he said. “With the speech. I found some articles about public speaking.”
I let him in. We sat in the living room. Leo was napping upstairs.
Quinn pulled up something on his phone. Started reading.
“It says you should start with ‘Thank you for the opportunity to speak.‘ Then establish credibility. Then state your main points. Then–”
“Quinn.”
He looked up. “What?”
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“But the article says-”
“The article doesn’t know about my husband leaving me to die.” I tried to smile. “I don’t think there’s a template for that.”
He was quiet for a moment. Put his phone down.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help with this.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He looked at me. Those gray–green eyes serious. “I’m not good at this. Social stuff. I wanted to help but I don’t know how.”
“You being here helps,” I said. And I meant it.
He nodded. Picked at a thread on the couch.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“You almost died. I know I’ve said that before. But I mean it. You really almost died.” He was still looking at the couch. “And it wasn’t because of bad luck. It was
because someone didn’t help you when they should have.”
I waited.
“You lived because forty–two people did help you.
Because they chose to.” He finally looked at me. “You don’t need a perfect speech. You just need to tell people what happened. They’ll understand.”
My eyes got hot. I blinked hard.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“I’ll be there,” he said. “At the meeting. If you get scared, just look for me. I’ll be in the back. Probably looking awkward. But I’ll be there.”
I laughed. Actually laughed.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
Mrs. Henderson showed up the next morning with a folder.
“Evidence,” she announced, dropping it on my kitchen table. “Five hundred and thirty–seven comments now.
I printed the important ones.‘
She opened the folder. Inside were pages and pages of Facebook screenshots.
“This one’s from Martha Klein. She says she won’t let Colton deliver her baby.” Mrs. Henderson pointed.
“And this one’s from Tom Patterson. He says Colton’s a disgrace to the medical profession.”
“Mrs. Henderson-”
“There’s more. Jim Kowalski–that’s Betty’s husband –he says if it was his wife, Colton would be in the hospital himself.” She kept flipping pages. “Oh, and this one’s my favorite.
Sarah Mitchell posted about how you’ve always been kind to her even when she didn’t deserve it.”
I looked at the pages. All these people. All these words.
“You can use these,” Mrs. Henderson said. “show everyone what people really think.”
“I don’t know if I need to-“|
“Honey, the Whitmores are circling the wagons. They’re telling people you’re being emotional. That
Colton made a medical decision. That you’re trying to ruin his career.” She tapped the folder. “This is proof. Proof that people know the truth.”
Jake stopped by that afternoon. He was holding his hat. Twisting it in his hands.
“Just wanted to say I’ll be there,” he said. “At the town hall. In case you need… I don’t know. Support or something.”
“Thank you, Jake.”
“You saved Rusty’s life.” He looked at his hat. “My dog. When he got hit by that truck. You stayed up all night with him. Made sure he was okay.”
“That’s my job.”
“No, it’s not.” He looked up. “Your job is fixing animals. But you cared. You called me three times that night to give me updates. You didn’t charge me extra for the overnight stay.” He put his hat back on. “Anyway. I’ll be there. And I’ll make sure other people are there too.”
Sarah came the day before the meeting.
She stood on my porch like she wasn’t sure she should be there.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
I let her in. We sat in the living room. She looked around. At Leo’s toys. At the mess I hadn’t cleaned up.
“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “For high school. For following Sienna around. For being mean to you.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” She twisted her hands together. “I spent four years making your life hell because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Because Sienna did it. Because everyone did it.”
“Sarah-”
“Let me finish.” She took a breath. “When you were bleeding out and they asked for blood donors, I almost didn’t go. I almost left. Because I thought, why would she want my help?“
I didn’t know what to say.
“But then I thought about all the times you were nice to me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Like when my cat got sick and you treated her for free because you knew my mom was struggling.
Or when you saw me crying in the parking lot after Sienna told everyone I was too fat to be a bridesmaid and you just sat with me and didn’t say anything.
I remembered. I’d forgotten until now, but I remembered.
“Anyway.” Sarah stood up. “I’ll be there tomorrow. And I’m going to tell people that you’re a good person. And that Colton’s not.
The night before the meeting, I went upstairs to check on Leo.
He was sleeping in his crib. His little chest rising and falling. His tiny fists curled up by his face.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Mommy’s going to do something tomorrow,” I whispered. “Something important. Something scary.”
He didn’t wake up. Just kept sleeping,
“But I have to do it. Because I want you to grow up knowing your mom didn’t stay quiet. That she stood up for herself.”
“I smoothed his hair back. He looked so much like Colton. It hurt to see it.
“I love you,” I said. “No matter what happens tomorrow. I love you.”
The morning of the meeting, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror.
I’d picked out a dress the night before. Dark blue. Simple. The kind of dress that said I was serious but not trying too hard.
I put on makeup. Not too much. Just enough to look like I hadn’t been crying for weeks.
I brushed my hair until it looked smooth. Put on the only nice shoes I owned.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look like a victim.
She looked like someone who’d survived something.
Betty picked me up at six. The meeting started at seven.
“You ready?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good. If you were ready, I’d be worried.” She put the car in drive. “Nervous is good. Nervous means you care.
We drove through town. Past the feed store. Past the supermarket. Past the gas station where Jake worked.
When we got to the town hall, I saw the cars.
So many cars.
“Looks like half the town’s here,” Betty said.
We parked. Got out. Started walking toward the building.
That’s when I saw them.
People. Standing outside the doors. Waiting.
Mrs. Henderson. Jake. Sarah. Quinn standing off to the side, hands in his pockets.
And others. So many others.
Betty squeezed my arm. “See? You’re not alone.”
Quinn caught my eye. Gave me a small nod.
I took a breath.
Then another.
Then I walked toward the doors.
Everyone moved aside. Made a path.
“We’re with you,” Mrs. Henderson said.
“All of us,” Jake added.
I reached the door. Put my hand on the handle.
One more breath.
I pushed it open.
The hall was packed. Every seat filled. People standing in the back.
And there, on the stage, wearing his white coat and that perfect smile, was Colton.
He was shaking hands with the mayor. Accepting some kind of plaque.
Our eyes met across the room.
His smile faltered. Just for a second.
Then he turned back to the mayor like nothing had happened.
I walked down the aisle and found a seat near the front.
Betty sat beside me. Quinn slipped into the row behind us.
The mayor started talking. Something about heroes. Something about the storm. Something about service to the community.
I didn’t hear most of it.
I just kept looking at Colton.
At my husband.
Who’d left me to die.
And was about to get an award for it.