His Automated Reply Cost Him His Wife Chapter 07

His Automated Reply Cost Him His Wife Chapter 07

The alcohol slowed his mind, like rusted gears being forced to turn.

He frowned, turning the paper over and over, trying to confirm he hadn’t misread it. *Ruptured ectopic pregnancy.* The baby… was gone.

He hadn’t even known there was a baby.

He grabbed his phone and started texting Nora.

The first message was still laced with impatient reproach.

*Nora, where are you? Is this disappearing act supposed to be funny? Stop making a scene.*

In the second, anger and a thread of panic he didn’t recognize began to seep through.

*A divorce?! You hid surgery from me? You got rid of the baby?! Are you fucking insane?!*

The third was the raw fury of a man whose control had been stripped away.

*Try walking out like this and see what happens! I’m telling you, without my consent, you’re not going anywhere!*

He sent more than a dozen messages in a row.

From accusation to interrogation, from interrogation to naked threats.

The cold glow of the phone screen illuminated his face, his expression shifting from a scornful sneer to a clenched jaw, then from grinding rage to utter bewilderment.

No reply.

Not a single word.

Ethan grabbed his car keys and bolted from the house. The Porsche roared through the predawn streets as he floored the accelerator on Highway 101, heading for San Francisco.

The windshield wipers swung wildly, but they couldn’t clear the blurred halos of light ahead.

His phone buzzed.

He snatched it up, thinking Nora had finally caved.

It wasn’t her. It was an email. A flight reminder from United Airlines, sent because our accounts were linked.

*Nora Ellis. SFO to Chicago O’Hare. One-way.*

Departure: in 45 minutes.

He yanked the wheel, trying to swerve onto the exit ramp for the airport shortcut. The tires screamed against the wet asphalt, and the rear of the car fishtailed.

Then—

*Bang.*

The airbag deployed with the sound of muffled thunder. His forehead slammed into the steering wheel, and his nose filled with the metallic smell of blood and the acrid scent of the airbag’s powder. Behind him, he heard the shriek of twisting metal and a chain reaction of collisions.

He didn’t stop.

He tore aside the still-smoking airbag. Warm blood ran from his brow into his left eye, turning the world into a blurred, crimson smear.

He roughly wiped his eye with the back of his hand and slammed his foot on the accelerator.