Mom, Dad’s Getting Married Today. My Anniversary Call From The Future Chapter 07

Mom, Dad’s Getting Married Today. My Anniversary Call From The Future Chapter 07

The slap echoed through the small supply closet, sharp and clean.

I was shaking with rage.

“Rory, you’re the one who’s been degrading yourself all along!”

“You disgust me!”

His head snapped to the side.

Five red finger marks rose on his cheek.

He paused for half a second-then turned back.

That same infuriating certainty was still in his eyes.

“I know you’re hurting. But I also know you love me.”

“Why else would you remember our past so clearly?”

“You got your hit in. Are you done being angry now?”

I looked at him-the obsession in his eyes, the conviction.

I closed my eyes, drained.

“Rory Delaney.”

I said his full name, my voice calmer than I expected.

“From this moment on, we’re done. Completely. There’s nothing left between us.”

His pupils contracted.

I watched that certainty in his eyes crack, piece by piece.

And I found it almost funny.

He still thought this was a tantrum. A fit of anger. A cry for attention.

Even with my parents lying in surgery, fighting for their lives, he could still write it all off as a mood swing.

“Were you ever real?” His voice shook as he stood up.

I smiled. My face was pale.

“You were the one acting. Acting like the devoted husband. Acting like you had no choice.”

He grabbed me-crushed me against his chest like he could force me back into believing.

“I was wrong.”

His voice was muffled against my shoulder, trembling.

“Maren, you remember our first meeting. The necklace I gave you. Every anniversary. You love me. You-”

I shoved him off, my voice cutting like glass.

“I remember because I hate you!”

“I hate your arrogance! I hate your lies! I hate that all of you kept me in the dark!”

And I hated everything that was still coming.

Rory froze.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Two officers appeared at the door.

“Mr. Delaney? We’re from the police department.”

“Your company is under investigation for tax evasion. Please come with us.”

The officers stood in the doorway, uniforms crisp, faces serious.

Rory turned to them-then snapped his head back to me.

“You did this?”

My face was blank.

I’d gathered the evidence myself.

Rory’s books-I knew them inside out.

I’d sent everything in.

He was already vulnerable. Others were circling.

But if he’d been clean, he’d have nothing to fear.

Rory searched my face for something-hesitation, concern, regret.

He found none.

I stood still, hands at my sides, watching from two steps away.

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

An officer stepped forward and held up his badge.

Rory gave me one last look.

I’d never seen that expression before-desperate, shattered, like a drowning man realizing the last plank was a lie.

Then they led him away.

The supply closet fell quiet.

Light from the hallway spilled back in, catching the dust floating in the air.

I slid down the wall, knees pulled to my chest, face buried in my arms.

One of the officers-a woman-stayed.

She crouched beside me, her voice gentle.

“Ms. Hale, we’ll make sure your parents get the attention they need. Please stay strong.”

I looked up. There was real concern in her eyes.

I smiled, reaching for her hand as I stood.

When I did, I realized my face was wet with tears.

They hit the back of my hand-hot.

But I was glad.

From now on, my tears would never be for a man who didn’t deserve them.

I lifted my head.

The light from the doorway fell at my feet like a path.

Stay strong. Move forward. Never look back.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

I waited outside the operating rooms for six more hours.

I hadn’t slept all night.

My hair was a mess, dark circles under my eyes.

The waiting was unbearable.

Then, as daylight broke, the red lights above the doors finally went out.

I was on my feet before I knew it. My knees almost gave out.

Two doors opened. Two beds rolled out, one after the other.

The wheels squeaked against the floor.

My mother came first.

An oxygen mask covered her face, fogging with each shallow breath.

Her hair spread across the pillow-white at the roots.

I remembered dyeing it for her last New Year.

She said the brown shade looked fake and insisted on something redder.

Now the color was mostly gone.

The doctor said: “She’s stable. There’s some bruising in her brain, but nothing major. She’ll need time to heal.”

My father came out an hour later.

His face was pale, like old newspaper left out in the rain.

His left hand was still clenched-a habit from when he was nervous.

Even unconscious, he couldn’t let go.

The doctor pulled off his mask, forehead beaded with sweat.

“He’s out of danger. He needs at least a week in the hospital. He was severely agitated-he needs rest and quiet.”

My voice was hoarse.

“Thank you, doctor. I understand.”

He gave me a few more instructions.

Follow-ups. Medication. Light diet.

Then the nurses took over.

They moved my parents into a room and left with a few final words.

The door clicked shut.

Only the beeping of the monitors filled the silence.

I pulled up a chair and sat between the two beds.

My mother on the left. My father on the right.