Avalanche of Betrayal
When I was eight months pregnant, my husband's foster sister invited me to hike a snow-covered mountain.
Midway up, an avalanche hit. We were both buried.
My husband rushed to the scene, but before I could utter a word, his sister accused me: "She planned this! She tricked me into coming today!"
I tried desperately to explain. He didn't listen.
Instead, he lashed out at me. "Sandra doesn't know any better, but you should! So what if she's blunt? Is this your petty revenge? Your pathetic life couldn't even begin to repay hers if she'd been hurt!"
Then he left. Took her hand. Walked away.
I screamed after him, begging him to save our baby. He didn't even glance back. Worse, he unhooked my safety harness and shoved me out of the rescue group.
"Since you're so clever, find your own way down."
Not long after, another avalanche hit. This time, I couldn't get back up.
Three hours later, Sandra was in a car accident. She needed a blood transfusion. That's when he finally thought of me.
But by then, he didn't know—I was already gone. Me, and the child I'd never hold, were still buried under the snow.