Marriage scoreboard

My husband, Mark, lost a point every time he ditched me for his childhood sweetheart, Sarah. By our second anniversary, our score was dangerously low, and then I miscarried our first child.

When they wheeled me out of the operating room, the hallway was empty. A raging thunderstorm outside – Sarah’s always been terrified of storms. Mark never showed up, not even when I was discharged. I pulled up my phone and deleted the remaining ten points. Zero. We were done.

It started with a mango pudding. Mark came home from a business trip, handed it to me like a peace offering. But I’m allergic to mangoes. Mark knew that. In the beginning, he’d be so careful, shielding me from anything mango-flavored. He doesn’t even like sweet stuff. Sarah’s the one with the mango obsession.

I glanced at the pudding, then tossed it aside, going back to my instant ramen. Mark frowned. "Why are you eating that junk again? I thought you loved dessert? This place is famous, I brought it back specially for you." It was from some trendy dessert place in Austin, all over Instagram. Mark hates those kinds of places. He would never go there himself.

“I’m allergic to mangoes,” I said, finally looking up after finishing my noodles. Mark flinched, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Sorry…It’s their signature dish. I forgot about your allergy…” He tried to recover. “Didn’t you mention that new steakhouse? We could go tonight?”

“No,” I said, wiping my mouth and standing up. “Our anniversary’s over. No point.” He’d forgotten. He was the one who insisted we celebrate every anniversary. Mr. Romance, always saying love needed to be celebrated. This was the first time we hadn't.

Mark’s loaded, good-looking, young and successful. Everyone thinks I’m lucky to have him. They don’t see the scorecard on my phone, the endless string of minus signs. Only my phone knew the truth about our marriage. I was about to deduct point number 491 when a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. Warm liquid trickled down my legs. I didn’t dare look at the stain spreading across the white sofa. I just stared at Mark, my face pale. "Hospital…take me…"

I hadn’t seen panic in his eyes in a long time. As they wheeled me into surgery, I heard the doctor lecturing him. “She’s pregnant! How could you let her overwork herself? She was just here a few days ago, collapsed from exhaustion! I told you she needed rest! Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

Mark’s “business trip” was actually a concert in Austin with Sarah. He’d dropped everything, leaving me to clean up his mess at the company, finishing his proposals, working late. I never thought it would cost me my baby. Before the operating room doors swung shut, I saw the dazed look on his face.

When I woke up, the room was empty. The nurse gave me a pitying look. “Your husband said he had something important to take care of. He left. I’ll help you back to your room…” The anesthesia was wearing off, leaving me in a haze.

Thunder cracked, illuminating the hospita...