Betrayed by my Ex

Serena

"Mommy, when is Daddy going to come home? It's been a long time I’ve seen him last," Liam, my three-year-old son, asked as I wiped the glitter from the park off his face.

"Tonight. Daddy will be home tonight, it’s your birthday, remember?" I cooed, kissing his forehead—just as the sound of a car speeding toward us cut through the soft hush of the afternoon.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. Children’s laughter dulled into the background, the rustle of leaves held its breath, and all I could hear was that engine—guttural, fast, hungry. My head whipped toward the street that ran parallel to the park.

The car was coming too quickly, a dark blur against the gray drizzle. Something about the way it swerved made my stomach drop.

"Liam—"

I didn’t have time to finish. The squeal of tires tore through the air, and then the crunch, the violent shattering of glass, the world turning upside down in a blink. Metal shrieked against metal, my body slammed forward, then sideways, the seatbelt biting deep into my shoulder. Liam’s scream—sharp, terrified—was drowned by the thunder of the car flipping, rolling, throwing us into a pitiless spin.

And then silence.

Smoke hissed. The acrid sting of gasoline and burned rubber filled my nose, clawing down my throat. My head throbbed, vision hazy with streaks of red. I blinked, struggling to focus. My hands shook as I reached blindly, frantically.

"Liam?" My voice broke. "Baby, answer me—"

A small whimper. Faint. Fragile.

Relief rushed through me, jagged and short-lived. He was alive. But his little body was crumpled in the backseat, his head lolling unnaturally against the torn leather. Blood trickled down his temple, staining the soft curve of his cheek.

"No, no, no," I sobbed, fumbling with the twisted buckle that trapped me. The metal was warped, refusing to release. My hands slipped, slick with blood I hadn’t even realized was mine.

Finally, with a desperate yank, I tore free and clawed my way into the backseat. My body screamed with pain—sharp splinters in my ribs, fire down my arm—but nothing compared to the sight of him. My baby. My whole world.

"Stay with me, Liam. Please, just stay with me." I cradled his tiny hand in mine, cold and trembling. "Mommy’s here."

The road was empty. No headlights. No help. Only the slow drizzle painting the asphalt silver and the steady hiss of something leaking from the wreck.

My phone. God, where was my phone?

I found it wedged beneath the front seat, the screen fractured but alive. My fingers shook as I hit the contact I knew by heart.

Ethan.

It rang. Once. Twice. Ten times. He didn’t pick up. I tried again. And again. My chest heaved with each unanswered call.

"Come on, pick up," I pleaded into the void. "Please, Ethan, Liam needs you."

On the twelfth attempt, the line clicked alive.

"Ethan!" My voice cracked with relief. "It’s Liam—there was an accident—he’s bleeding, he can’t breathe right, please, we need you—"

A pause. A long, sharp exhale.

"Serena," he said, his tone edged with impatience. "What are you talking about?"

"I’m begging you—our son—he needs help. He’s dying—"

"You always exaggerate," he interrupted, voice low and cold. "I’m busy. Call me when it’s important."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, the glow of the screen burning through my tears. My stomach hollowed. My mind refused to believe what my ears had heard.

Not important.

Liam’s chest rose shallowly, then fell with a sickening hitch. His little lips quivered, blue at the edges.

I dialed again. Straight to voicemail. Fifty calls. Nothing.

"Help!" I screamed into the empty road, my voice ragged, tearing at my throat. "Somebody, please help us!"

The drizzle turned to rain. My tears blended with it, streaming down my face as I pressed my forehead to Liam’s.

Then—a light. Headlights cutting through the dark. A truck slowed, swerving to the side, brakes squealing. A man jumped out, his face stricken as he ran toward the wreck.

"Dear God—" he muttered. "Hold on, miss, I’ll get you out."

He wrenched the door open, pulled us both into the rain, and carried Liam’s limp body as if he were porcelain. My legs buckled, but I followed, my hands never letting go of my son’s tiny fingers.

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights, shouting voices, and the cold bite of a gurney wheeling him away.

"Blood loss," a doctor barked. "We need a transfusion now."

I stumbled after them, clutching at his tiny sneakers dangling from the edge of the stretcher. "Do whatever you have to! Please, save him!"

The doctor glanced back. "What’s his blood type?"

"O-negative," I rasped. "Same as his father’s—Ethan Warrick."

The doctor frowned. "Call him. We need the match immediately. There’s nothing in the bank."

"I—I did," I whispered, my throat raw. "He… he won’t come."

Their eyes softened with pity, but it was the kind of pity that already knew the ending.

"No," I choked. "No, he’ll come. He has to."

I dialed again, one last time, and thrust the phone toward the doctor as the line clicked open.

"Mr. Warrick?" the doctor said firmly, voice steady with urgency. "Your son’s critical. We need you here for a transfusion, or he won’t survive."

A pause. A faint swell of music in the background. Laughter. Glasses clinking, Mia, my sister's subtle giggle and her son's laughter filled the background.

"I’m at Mia's son birthday party," Ethan’s voice drawled. "Handle it or call me when they’re dead. I’ll plan the funeral."

The doctor’s hand froze. My heart split. And Liam—my sweet, beautiful boy—flatlined.

The sound pierced me, a high-pitched wail of machines, and then the absence of his breath, his warmth, his life.

"No!" My scream shattered in the sterile air. I collapsed to the floor, clawing at the linoleum as if I could tear time open and pull him back. Nurses tried to restrain me, but I fought, begging, pleading, praying. "Take me instead! Please, God, not him—"

The machines went still. The sheet was drawn.

And just like that, the world ended.

"You're losing blood, Mrs Warrick, you're dying..." I heard the doctor's screams behind me, but the flat lines of my Liam's monitor was all I saw.

I don’t remember hitting the ground. Only darkness. Cold, suffocating, merciful.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was dim. A steady beeping replaced the silence, wires tethering me to machines. My body ached, but the ache in my chest was worse—like something had been ripped out.

I turned my head. The chair beside my bed was empty. No Ethan. Not even Elena, or Mia. No one.

Only silence.

My hand reached instinctively for where Liam should have been, his small fingers curled into mine. But all I grasped was air.

The truth fell like a blade: I had lost him. And Ethan had let it happen.