Page 20 of The Space He Left
My phone buzzed with a text from him:Madison had a rough night. Staying with her today. Love you.
I stared at the message, thinking about the photo that had appeared on my phone yesterday evening. Someone had tagged me in a post from Madison's Instagram – a picture of her at what looked like an upscale restaurant, dressed in a stunning black dress, her hair and makeup perfect, laughing with a group of well-dressed people. She looked radiant, healthy, nothing like the fragile woman Jack kept describing.
The timestamp showed it had been posted late the same night I'd been in the hospital, scared and alone, trying to reach my husband, who had his phone on silent because Madison "needed to rest."
I'd shown the photo to Jack when he'd finally come home last night, mentioning casually that someone had tagged me in a post from his ex-girlfriend's Instagram. He'd barely glanced at it, muttering something about how social media didn't show the whole story, how Madison was probably just trying to keep up appearances. He hadn't even reacted to me calling her his ex-girlfriend – something that now seemed significant in hindsight.
Madison had a rough night.
Looking at that photo, Madison looked like she was having the time of her life.
I texted back:Doctor appointment at 2. Final check before baby comes.
His reply came back almost instantly.Can you reschedule?
The casual dismissal hit me like a physical blow. Just a few days ago, I spent several hours in the hospital, thinking our daughter might be coming early, unable to reach my husband. Now, he was asking me to reschedule the most important prenatal appointment of my pregnancy because his ex-girlfriend needed him.
The anger, hot and sharp, finally boiled over.
Jack, two days ago, I was in the hospital with contractions for hours. You missed it because your phone was on silent for Madison. Now you want me to reschedule my final appointment before our baby is born so you can spend more time with her? No.
The dots indicating he was typing appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared. This time, his response was a torrent of panicked apology.
You're right. I'm so sorry. That was a completely asshole thing to ask. Of course, you can't reschedule. I'll be there. I promise. My head's all over the place.
A small measure of relief washed over me, quickly followed by suspicion. I'd heard these promises before. My phone buzzed with another message from Jack.
Harps, I'm sorry about the other night. I truly am. Madison's numbers were really bad this morning. The doctors are talking about a new treatment plan, and she's terrified. She doesn't have anyone else here.
The excuse was the same, but the apology felt different. Still, the fear and frustration were too close to the surface.
I'm scared about giving birth in two weeks without my husband.
You and the baby are my priority. I will be there for the birth, Harps. I swear to you. I'll be at the appointment today at 2.
His words were what I wanted to hear, but a part of me couldn't fully believe them. From where I was sitting, Madison's needs always seemed to come first.
She has cancer, Jack. I get it. But I'm having your baby. OUR baby. I need you here.
I know. I'll be there. I promise.
The conversation ended there. He had promised. But as the hours ticked by, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A promise was only as good as the man who made it, and lately, I didn't know that man at all.
In the end, I called Sam.
"Harper? Everything okay?"
"I need a ride to my doctor's appointment this afternoon. Jack's with Madison, and I..." I took a deep breath. "I can't keep doing this alone."
"Of course. What time?"
"Two o'clock. And Sam? The baby shower is tomorrow. Jack won't be there either."
There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, Harper."
"Me too."
The drive to Dr. Morris's office felt different this time. Instead of excitement about seeing our daughter on the ultrasound or hearing her heartbeat, I felt a hollowness in my chest. This should have been a celebration, a final check before meeting our baby. Instead, it felt like another milestone I'd have to navigate alone.
