I stood in the airport terminal, cradling Ava as her cries echoed over the crowd. My arms trembled, my head throbbed—and still no sign of Daniel. Then my phone buzzed. Relief flickered, but it vanished the moment I opened his message.
It was a selfie: Daniel grinning on the plane. The caption read, “I couldn’t wait. I needed this vacation. Just catch the next flight with Ava. Love you.”
My heart sank. He’d left us—abandoned his wife and newborn for a “stress-free” getaway.
Anger steadied me. I whispered to Ava, “We’re going home.” On the cab ride back, fury crystallized into resolve. Daniel wanted a solo vacation? Fine. I’d make sure he never forgot it.
I called his resort and arranged every wake-up call, every activity, every surprise delivery they offered. His “relaxing” trip would be anything but.
Back home, I began boxing up his prized possessions—his consoles, vinyls, and tailored suits. By the time Daniel returned, tan and smug, he wouldn’t be coming home to the family he’d deserted. He’d be walking into the consequences he had earned.
