Pick A Number, He Said, I Picked Divorce Chapter 01

Pick A Number, He Said, I Picked Divorce Chapter 01

The doctor said my body was too weak. I’d need to be hospitalized to save the baby.

I texted Silas.

But he still sent back the same blind-box routine for living expenses.

“Pick a number between one and nine.”

“One.”

Three seconds later, he sent a transfer. $9.99.

“Can’t help it—you always pick one. Fiona noticed. Pick a different number next time.”

I always picked one because he’d told me it was the highest amount. He was just playing along with the girl’s little game. He wasn’t really being stingy with his wife.

But now, with his own child’s life on the line, he was suddenly serious.

“The doctor said it’s serious. I need to be admitted right away.”

I wanted to make it clear—this wasn’t a game.

But then Fiona posted on Instagram.

“Today’s blind-box salary came out to $800,000! Best boss ever! But I do want to remind someone: the whole point of blind boxes is fairness. No more cheating.”

Fiona was the company’s sponsored student. She’d just graduated this year. She loved blind boxes. She’d suggested the company adopt a blind-box culture—blind-box bonuses, blind-box salaries. Even my living expenses were now blind-boxed.

My stomach started cramping.

I couldn’t do anything about it.

Silas, if I lose this baby, we’re done.

***

“Ms. Lancaster, your body is already showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. I strongly recommend immediate hospitalization.”

My heart tightened. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Outside the exam room, I hesitated. Then I texted him.

“Honey, the doctor said I need to be hospitalized to save the baby. I don’t have enough money.”

I was about to call when my phone finally buzzed.

“Pick a number between one and nine.”

The blind box routine again.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. I replied: “One.”

Three seconds later, the transfer came through.

$9.99.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Hospital deposit. Tests. Prenatal injections.

None of it cost nine ninety-nine.

“Silas, this isn’t the time for blind boxes. The doctor said my condition is serious. I need to be admitted now.”

This time, he took more than ten seconds to reply.

“Fiona says you always pick one—it breaks the blind-box rules. She’s right. Pick a different number next time.”

I always picked one because he’d told me it was the highest amount. He was just playing along with the girl. He wasn’t really being stingy with his wife.

But now, with his child’s life on the line, he was suddenly all about the rules.

Another message came through.

“Figure it out yourself. The blind box is opened. We can’t break the rules.”

So in his eyes, me and this baby—combined—were worth less than a rule.

I opened my contacts. I scrolled. I didn’t know who to call.

Back when the company was just starting, every dollar went into the business. We could barely afford food. I woke up at five every morning to make him breakfast. Then I worked as a helper at the market. After work, I helped him reconcile the accounts. In six months, I lost fifteen pounds. I never complained. Not once.

Once, to close a deal for him, I drank with clients from noon until dawn. I drank until my stomach perforated. They gave me my last rites that night. When I woke up, the first thing I asked was whether we’d gotten the contract.

Later, the company stabilized. His mother got sick. He took my hand.

“Serena, step back. I need you at home.”

Over the years, people warned me.

I let it all go in one ear and out the other.

Now I regret not listening.

I called him. I needed to tell him this wasn’t a joke.

One ring. Then it hung up.

A second later, a voice message came through.

Fiona’s voice.

“Serena, stop pretending. You’re a housewife—Silas covers everything. $9.99 is more than enough. Stop trying to scam him.”

I was silent for a few seconds.

I started typing.

Then the pain hit. My stomach cramped so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Everything went black.