Farewell, Admiral
My husband was a senior military officer and a hardcore military fanatic. When I went into labor and my life was at risk, I begged him to sign the consent form for an emergency C-section.
Instead, he looked at me coldly and asked, “What’s the maximum cruising speed of a Boeing 747? Answer correctly, and I’ll sign.”
Later, my body tore from the prolonged labor, and our son suffocated to death.
He said calmly, as if reciting a fact, “One thousand one hundred and twenty-seven kilometers per hour. Remember that?”
At that moment, I looked at his indifferent expression and realized that I no longer loved him. With that, I left behind the divorce papers and disappeared from his life.
“Felix, the military-illiterate wife you were ashamed of will never come back.”