Oops! I Ruined His Life Back

On what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life—the day Charles and I were finally getting married—I ended up in the back of an ambulance instead of at the Town Hall.

The taxi I'd taken had been T-boned at an intersection. Pain shot through my stomach as I fumbled for my phone, desperate to call Charles. His best friend from college was the hospital director—if anyone could fast-track my care, it was him.

But Charles didn't pick up. Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the third.

Then his voice message came through, sharp with irritation: "What now? I told you Jenna's upset. Can't you just give me a minute?"

My hands shook as I pressed record, my voice barely steady. "Charles, I was in an accident. My stomach—it hurts so bad. I'm scared something's wrong with the baby."

The message never delivered.

A red exclamation mark glared back at me.

He'd blocked me.

Charles and I had been together for six years. When we found out I was pregnant, he finally agreed to make it official. Today was supposed to be our wedding day.

But just as we were about to leave, she called—Jenna Shepard, his so-called "sister."

"Take a taxi," he'd said, already halfway out the door. "I'll meet you at the Town Hall after I deal with Jenna."

Deal with Jenna. Like she was some crisis he had to manage.

And then the accident happened.

Four hours later, I woke up in a hospital bed, my body hollow, my stomach empty. The doctor's words hit like a sledgehammer: "I'm sorry. We couldn't save the baby."

I didn't cry. I just stared at the ceiling, numb, until the smell of food from the next bed reminded me I hadn't eaten all day.

When I picked up my phone, TikTok was still open. The first video that played was Jenna's.

There they were—Charles and her, laughing over candlelight. He leaned in, kissing her forehead like she was something precious. The caption read:

"As long as he's here, I'll always be brave enough to start over."

My fingers moved before I could stop them.

"You scumbags deserve each other."

The next day, I checked myself out of the hospital. The doctor warned me to take it easy, but I didn't care. Walking back into our apartment felt like stepping into a stranger's life.

Because that's what it was now—his life. Not mine.

I was done.

At 10 p.m., Charles finally strolled in, grinning like he'd just won the lottery—until he saw me.