When James finally came home that night, I had just thrown away the empty syringe from my pregnancy-preserving shot.
It was our second pregnancy, and at only two months in, I was already displaying symptoms that indicated a potential miscarriage. That morning, I noticed some bleeding and rushed to the hospital. The doctor said if I wanted to keep the baby, I needed to take daily shots right on time.
But I hadn't planned on telling James about the pregnancy. I had planned a nice dinner to celebrate his birthday one last time. He promised he'd come home, but as day turned to night, all I saw was Lindsay's gloating post. After that call, during which he accused me of causing trouble, I numbly got up and threw away the meal I had spent hours preparing.
When James walked in and noticed the empty dining table, he frowned, clearly irritated.
"Did you forget what day it is?"
Of course, I remembered. It was James' birthday.
No matter how busy I was every year, I'd take the day off, make his favorite dishes, and bake a cake from scratch. I never missed it, from my days as a junior employee to now as a senior manager.