What I Lost For His Mousse

I was bleeding out, a casualty of a demanding job and a marriage that ran me ragged, yet I couldn't get my husband, Alex Harding, on the phone.
His text finally dropped as I was wheeled into recovery, post-procedure: Swamped. Will get there later.
I tried to swallow the familiar wave of disappointment, convincing myself that he must be dealing with a crisisa merger, a regulatory filing, something truly urgent.
Then I saw the update.
Sierra Miller, his intern, had posted a story.
Accidentally sliced my finger while filing, was just going to slap on a Band-Aid, but the Boss insisted on driving me straight to Urgent Care. How do I ever thank him?
The accompanying selfie was a perfect soft-focus shot of her looking fragile and fetching, with Alexs chiseled jaw and expensive suit just visible in the background.
The comments section was already a bonfire, full of giddy emojis from Alexs long-term employees: Im screaming, Ship it, 99%.
The old methe girl I had been for the last three yearswould have started screaming and crying, demanding a full accounting and an immediate explanation.
The new me, however, just tapped out a single, calm reply.
Suggest you take the opportunity. A classic "thank you" dinner is so pass.
Less than ten seconds later, Alex, the man I couldn't reach for an emergency, launched a full-scale assault of frantic calls.
1
In the past, if Alex Harding called, no matter how important the meeting or how delicate the conversation, I dropped everything.
But this time, I set my phone to silent. I just watched the screen light up repeatedly, then fade to black, a mesmerizing pattern of digital desperation.
Finally, he switched to voicemailsa barrage of sixty-second clips, full of his signature corporate fury.
Amelia, did you honestly think before posting that comment? Do you realize the damage youre causing?
Youve twisted a completely professional colleague helping an intern into something filthy! Your mind is diseased!
Sia is hysterically crying, threatening to quit out of shame. You have one minute to delete that comment and post a public apology. Tell them you were overcome by jealousy and made a baseless accusation. You need to fix this and make it up to her.
Listening to his voice, I could picture the rigid set of his jaw, the hard glint in his eyes.
For years, a mere furrow in his brow was enough to make me apologize unconditionally, tearfully begging for his forgiveness.
We were college sweethearts. I fell for him firstthe reserved, brilliant iceberg of the campusand it took three years of relentless effort to finally thaw him, to claim my spot next to him.
Before and after the wedding, I lived by the creed of ceaseless, selfless devotion. Even when his affection remained distant and cool, I convinced myself that dedication would eventually lead to the golden dawn of his true love.
When the pregnancy test was positive, I was euphoric. I foolishly believed this child would be the catalyst, the moment his shallow affection would deepen into real connection.
But then Sierra Miller arrived, and all my wishful thinking shattered.
Shed been at the company for less than three monthsstill just an internyet shed already become his inseparable shadow.
He offered her genuine smiles. He checked if she was cold or tired. He remembered details about her life.
When she twisted an ankle, he canceled a five-thousand-person video conference, scooping her up and carrying her himself to get ice and a massage.
I had never seen this version of Alex Harding. Yet, even when riddled with pain from his neglect, I clung to the hope that the babys birth might salvage just a fraction of his attention and love.
Now, even that last, desperate hope was gone, destroyed entirely by his carelessness.
Listening to his rage now, all I felt was a dull, aching numbness, a complete absence of the frantic need to please him.
I picked up the phone. My fingers didn't tremble.
Alex Harding, were getting divorced.
I didn't wait for his inevitable explosion. I just powered the phone off.
2
Back at the penthouse, I didn't fall into my old routine, waiting on the sofa like a lost soul staring out to sea.
I took the prescribed painkillers, followed the doctors orders, and climbed into bed early.
The heavy, prescribed sleep quickly claimed me.
Id expected Alex to do what he always did when we fought: vanish for days, refusing to answer my callsa corporate-level ghosting.
But that night, he came home early.
Through the fog of my sleep, I felt his presencea cautious, hesitant weight standing at the foot of the bed.
Perhaps he saw the pharmacy haulthe stack of medication on my nightstand. In the end, he didn't wake me.
The next morning, when I finally woke up, Alex was surprisingly attentive, almost solicitous.
He walked over, holding a mug of warm milk, his voice laced with an unfamiliar guilt.
I thought your emergency was just some trivial work issueI got back to the office and only then learned youd been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance because of stress. You shouldnt push yourself so hard. The baby... is it okay?
I didn't reach for the mug. I just looked at him.
Im lactose intolerant, Alex. I cant drink milk.
He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, a look of genuine surprise on his face.
He genuinely didn't remember. I was hospitalized the second year of our marriage after drinking dairy, and since then, I hadn't seen a carton of whole milk in the house.
Yet here it was, in my hands, a silent testament to his blindness.
Oh. Right.
He lowered the mug, turning awkwardly toward the refrigerator.
Well I brought back some mango mousse from the office yesterday. Want to try that?
When he held the delicate pastry box out, I could smell the sickly sweet, tropical scent of mango even through the packaging. My stomach immediately twisted with a deep, physiological revulsion.
I turned my head away.
Im allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that too?
The forced pleasantness vanished from Alexs face. The guilt was replaced by an irritated impatience. He angrily tossed the mousse into the stainless-steel trash can.
Everyone else can manage. Why do you have to be so difficult about absolutely everything?
I stared at the discarded mango mousse. It looked painfully familiar.
I remembered Sia Millers post from two days ago.
She was holding an identical box, the caption reading: Boss got me this mango mousse. Sweeter than my first crush. My absolute favorite.
Alex hadn't spontaneously remembered to prepare me breakfast. He'd simply grabbed the leftovers of what he bought for Sia and offered it to me as a thoughtless pacifier.
For years, I'd chased him, meticulously memorizing his every preference. Yet, hed erased every detail about me, while engraving a complete strangers tastes into his memory.
I was profoundly, utterly tired.
I skipped the polite dance. Alex, whats your decision? About the divorce I asked for last night?
His face went instantly dark.
Amelia Rose. You know my Grandmothers eightieth birthday is tomorrow. Youre doing this now to spite me?
He looked at me with smug certainty. Besides, everyone knows youre obsessed with me. You were pregnant with my child. Youd never leave.
Watching his unshakeable confidence, I felt a detached, cold amusement.
Before I could reply, a gentle knock came at the door.
Mr. Harding? Its me. I came to apologize to Mrs. Harding.
Sia Millers voice, a delicate, practiced coo.
Alex, without asking, immediately opened the door.
Mrs. Harding, I am so sorry about my post yesterday. I truly only meant to show how supportive Mr. Harding is of his staff. I never intended for you to misunderstand.
She placed a gift box near me, smiling with the calculated innocence of a choir girl.
These gifts are a small token of my regret. Please accept them, Mrs. Harding.
I looked into the box: Unpasteurized Soft Cheeses, a bottle of high-end Merlot, a health supplement that promised to "boost circulation," and a container of raw oysters.
Every single item was a flashing red warning for a pregnant woman.
3
I stared at the lavish gift box, the nausea in my gut intensifyingnot from the morning, but from sheer disgust.
Alex stood next to Sia, his brow slightly furrowed, clearly sensing the tension, but I spoke before he could.
Ms. Miller, I said, my voice cutting through the manufactured sweetness. Are these a gift, or are they meant to be my final send-off?
Sias innocent smile instantly crumbled. She instinctively retreated, tucking herself close to Alexs side.
Mrs. Harding, Iwhat are you saying? I spent my entire three months of savings on these rare, expensive health supplements. How can you misinterpret my good intentions like this?
Misinterpret?
I gave a dry, humorless laugh, pushing the box back toward her.
Unpasteurized cheeses carry a high risk of Listeria. Merlot is an absolute no-go. Those oysters are an immediate food poisoning risk. And that circulation booster supplement? Saffron, Red Ginsengall are blood thinners, designed to stimulate the uterus. Every single item here is either dangerous or potentially abortifacient.
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. You graduated from a top-tier university. Are you really telling me you don't know basic prenatal common sense? Or were you operating with full intent, coming here under the guise of an apology to ensure I never carry a child to term again?
Sias eyes welled up instantly, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She grabbed Alexs sleeve and began to sob, a perfect performance.

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