I Left You in the Past
Before I was wheeled into surgery, the nurse kept urging me to call a family member.
At last, a delivery runner rushed into my ward, out of breath.
"Hello, Ms. Wexler. Mr. Adrian Prescott placed an order for me to accompany you through surgery in Ward 907."
My phone buzzed twice with a new notification.
I lowered my head and saw Sophie Lane's latest post.
"Caught a cold and sounded a little stuffy, and Mr. Prescott noticed right away. He insisted on taking me to the doctor and even made ginger tea for me. So spicy, but so sweet."
The picture showed a tall, lean man with his shirt sleeves rolled up, pouring ginger tea from a saucepan into a thermos. His eyes were focused and gentle.
I stared at the photo in a daze.
I had been hospitalized for five days. My husband of five years, Adrian Prescott, had never visited once.
He said he was busy with work.
But once again, I saw him in Sophie Lane's social media post.
That careful, gentle Adrian Prescott, the man who knew exactly how to love someone.
Before I was pushed into the operating room, I submitted my resignation and made one phone call.
"Mr. Powell, please print the divorce agreement."