I waited and waited—until noon when the staff went on break—and Ricky never showed up.
That left me no choice but to call him.
"Where the hell are you? Didn't we agree to meet at nine to get divorced?"
That jerk sounded more annoyed than I was.
"Can you stop with the drama, Christina? Miley's been feeling guilty about our fight last night—so guilty she got a fever and ended up in the hospital. Even while burning up, she's telling me not to be mad at you! Can't you have a little decency?"
"If you've got any sense left, come see her."
Then he hung up and sent me his location.
I wasn't going there for Miley. I was going to drag him to sign the damn divorce papers.
The maid opened the door.
Ricky had set Miley up in a luxury downtown apartment, complete with a maid to wait on her. And there he was, personally taking care of her.
Meanwhile, I'd been left at home to rot like a washed-up housewife. Even on my birthday, he brought his friends over and humiliated me on my day.
Inside the apartment, I saw Miley lying on the bed, pale and delicate while Ricky spoon-fed her soup.
"Drink a little more. You'll feel better."