My father-in-law, George, was the only one who showed a sliver of kindness. He didn’t visit, but he sent a short text telling me to save my strength and let him know if I needed anything at all.
The apartment we lived in had been a gift from my parents before the wedding, purchased for $280,000 and registered solely in my name. I never threw that fact in Jeremy’s face, but he was the one who insisted on installing the smart lock, keeping all the administrator codes on his own phone.
During my third trimester, Jeremy started acting strangely, hiding his screen and rushing to the balcony every time his phone buzzed. When I joked about his secret admirer, he snapped at me to mind my own business.
On the day I was discharged, I hailed a taxi alone. The driver looked at my hospital bags and asked where my husband was, so I just joked that he was busy at work.
When I reached our floor and entered the usual code, the keypad flashed a mocking red. I tried again, my hands shaking, but the lock remained barred against me.