The Day I Stopped Waiting

I registered myself at the hospital and got an IV drip alone. When I staggered out, weak and leaning against the wall, I saw my boyfriend, Ethan West, who had been impossible to reach, sitting in the waiting area.

He was intimately linked arm-in-arm with his young secretary, Anna Lane.

Ethan squatted in front of Anna with his fingers resting on her lower abdomen.

Smiling gently, he leaned in the next moment as though he was listening for fetal movement.

I remembered the 16 calls I had made to him earlier, all of which he had rejected. He lazily texted back that he was busy with work.

My heart ached as I watched this scene. I saw Anna shyly stroking Ethan's head, saying in a cutesy voice, "Mr. West, now that there's a child... What about Ms. Thompson?"

The mere mention of me caused the tenderness on Ethan's face to twist into impatience and disdain. He frowned in disgust, stood up, and kissed Anna's forehead.

"There's still five years left in our contract," he said softly. "In these five years, I will love you and our child. After all, it's just five years. Claire Thompson has waited seven years for the wedding I promised her. Another five years won't make a difference."

His clear words struck me like a blow. My gaze moved slowly to Anna's slightly rounded belly.

What a joke. He had once called me disgusting for menstruating, claiming he hated children because of his broken childhood. He had said he was afraid he could not take proper care of any children we might have.

Ignoring my pain, he dragged me to get an implant to ensure I could never conceive.

How ironic of him, playing family with a 22-year-old girl.

The weakness in my body and the sting of his words made my eyes burn with unshed tears. My fingers trembled as I dialed Ethan's number once more.

This was my 17th call since my fever started. Perhaps if he hung up again, he would feel suspicious.

I watched him curse under his breath as he reluctantly answered.

"Where are you?" I asked, staring at him.

Ethan, stroking Anna's earlobe with one hand, impatiently replied, "I'm busy in a meeting. Let's talk later."

Before I could respond, the line went dead, the disconnect beeps cold and final.

At that moment, my tears flowed uncontrollably. I let out a bitter laugh, not bothering to wipe them away. Then I turned and picked up my mother's twentieth call this month urging me to marry.

"Hello, Mom," I said, my voice steady. "I'll come home next Wednesday. Set up the arranged marriage in the village for me. I'll marry him."