Too late, I am no longer your wife

“I am sorry, Mrs. Wesley, the child's symptoms seems to be getting worse; I will recommend you transfer him to another practitioner," the doctor announced

“You mean there is nothing that can be done?” I asked, holding my child close to me

“For now we can manage the symptoms, but there is no known cure at the moment." She continued, “But your son's sickness has progressed, and I will recommend we move his case to another expert for closer monitoring of his condition."

Her words broke me. ‘Okay, I will proceed with the transfer process. ' I replied.

I sat beside the narrow hospital bed and gently adjusted the blanket over my son’s fragile body. His breathing was uneven tonight.

“Mommy…” Sam whispered weakly.

“I’m here, baby,” I said immediately, smoothing the damp hair from his forehead. “Mommy’s right here.”

Her tiny fingers curled around mine. They were so thin now; it hadn’t always been like this.

Three years ago, Sam was a jovial child filled with life.

“Let us go home to meet Daddy. He is waiting for you; he has your favorite show ready for you.” I had messaged him that Sam was coming home and he should be there for him, though he has not replied yet.

‘Really? Cool, Dad would be home today,' he said as I watched as his face lit up.

When we got home, Sam pushed through the front door first. ‘Daddy?’

There was no reply, and the living room was empty. "Charles, we are home," I called out. He appeared at the top of the stairs; his expression was calm and distant.

Sam went to hug him. “Daddy, Mummy said you found Mr. Beanie," he said with a wide smile all over his face.

“Check by the door. " Sam spun by the door, and there it was. “Mom, I found them," she said with a bright smile and glee on her face. By the time I turned to look back at my husband, he was already gone.

I bent toward my son. “How about we go watch your favorite show? Dad seems to be busy.”

“Sure, Mummy, can Mr. Beanie watch the show with us?”

"Yes, of course” I replied to him

Later that evening, my phone vibrated by the bedside table. My phone vibrated quietly on the bedside table; for a moment I didn’t look. When I finally picked it up, a message notification glowed on the screen; it was from Natasha, his mistress. I opened the message, and photos of Natasha and Charles filled the screen. Natasha stood in front of a mirror smiling, one hand resting on her slightly rounded stomach. Behind her, the familiar interior of his private penthouse suite was reflected in the glass.

With the caption beneath the photo reading, "He says pregnancy cravings are exhausting; luckily he’s very good at taking care of me."

Another message followed: You should thank me, Elena. If he had to stay with you and that sick child all day, he would lose his mind.

The words on the screen were blurred for a moment; I closed my eyes. Charles Wesley has never truly been there for our son, but I have still stayed because Sam needs all the love he can get at this critical moment of his life, and I would not want to take any step that would cause him worry or stress. Right now his recovery is very important, and I hope we are able to come up with a cure as soon as possible.

Footsteps approached; it was the nanny. “Has my husband arrived home yet?” I asked.

“He just called home; he said he’s on the way.” she replied

I nodded to her response. I looked down on Sam, who was already sleeping. Please lay him to rest in his room," I said to the nanny.

“Yes, Mrs. Wesley," she said as she took his frail body to his room.

At 2:47 am, while lying beside Sam, who gave a deep low moan that cut through his sleep, his body was burning up, and he kept moving restlessly.

"Sam," I called out. Everything about his movement was wrong; he was on his side, his knees pulled to his chest, both hands pressed flat against her stomach, and her breath came in rapid, hh hh hhh, but shallow.

“Baby, talk to me. Mama is here.” I picked up my phone and tried to ring Charles, but he was not picking up. I carried him to the car while she supported me.

“She is burning up," the nanny said

“I know; please call the hospital ahead.” When we got to the hospital, for a while his body stabilized, and then he woke up the morning after what seemed like ages. “Mummy, where is Daddy?" he asked

“Daddy’s coming," I whispered softly; his tired eyes brightened just a little.

“Really?”

“Yes.” I replied, picking up the phone to call him again. I was going to call him a hundred times if that is what it would take for him to come see his son.

He finally answered the call. "Tina," he said impatiently. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sam’s condition is getting worse; we had to rush him back to the hospital,” I told him. “And he keeps asking for you. Can you come to the hospital?"

He was quiet for a moment. “I’ll try," he said with a sigh.

“Please,” I whispered. “If it is just for an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll stop by later," he said finally as the call ended from the other line. As the day went on, doctors and nurses kept going and coming in the room

After a while, my phone rang, but it was not from Charles; it was another message from Natasha. It was a short video this time around. I hesitated before playing the video. Charles and Natasha were laughing heartily in the video; she leaned against him on a couch, his arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders while she filmed.

“Charles, say hi,” she giggled. “Natasha…” Charles was about to say something, when Natasha cut in

“Your wife might see it,” she teased. Chares snorted quietly. “As if Tina has time to stalk my messages,” he said.

“She’s probably busy using that child to guilt-trip me again, and the video ended.

My heart felt heavy, and for a long moment, the hospital room was completely silent except for Sam’s fragile breathing.

I placed the phone down slowly, then I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my son’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Daddy will come next time.” I had learned how to endure, only for Sam.

Because a child deserved two parents, even if one of them had already abandoned us.

Suddenly, his body jerked violently. His hand tightened around mine.

“Mom…” the word came in a ragged breath.

The alarms exploded across the room. “Sam?” I called his name, panic rising instantly inside of me. “Sam!”

He was now breathing sharply and erratically, and his small chest was struggling desperately for air.

I grabbed my phone to call Charles; each call rang into empty silence.

“Pick up,” I begged under my breath. “Charles, please pick up.” But the calls were disconnecting.

Doctors rushed into the room as the machines beeped frantically. Someone gently pulled me away from the bed. “Ma’am, please step back.”

I stood frozen in the hallway while the door slammed shut; my phone fell from my hands.

Charles is somewhere far away with Natasha while his son is fighting for his life and needs him the most.

I spent the next couple of hours in a blurry silence.

After long stretches of hours, a doctor stepped out of the room; his face said everything before his words did.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Wesley.” The world stopped. I peeped through the door; Sam lay still, almost as if he was asleep

My son had waited for his father, and he never came.