While on My Way to Divorce, I Suffered a Car Accident and Broke My Bones, but My Husband Accused Me of Deliberately Being Late
The day my husband and I were supposed to finalize our divorce was also the day his first love returned to the country.
On my way to the courthouse, I was in a car accident.
As the paramedics rushed me to the hospital, I clung to my phone, hoping–praying–that he would call.
When his name finally flashed on the screen, I answered with trembling hands.
His voice came through, sharp and cold, the first words out of his mouth a scathing accusation:
“Annie, what game are you playing now? You’re late.”
“Miss, are you heading to the courthouse to get married?”
The cab driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, grinning as he tried to make small talk.
I smiled faintly back at him. “No, I’m going there to get divorced.”
The smile froze on his face, and for a moment, he looked genuinely awkward.
“Oh… uh… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to assume, he stammered.
“It’s fine,” I said gently. “Most people wouldn’t think of divorce as their first guess. It’s not your fault.”
He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. The atmosphere in the car grew a little tense.
After a few beats of silence, he spoke again, his voice hesitant. “If you don’t mind me asking… what happened? Why are you getting divorced?”
His question caught me off guard.
Realizing how intrusive it might’ve sounded, he quickly added, “I just mean… you’re young, beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. Why would anyone let it get to this point?”
There was genuine curiosity in his tone, even a hint of pity.
I let out a soft “oh” and decided there was no harm in telling the truth.
“He’s still in love with someone else,” I said lightly. “His first love. She’s back in the country, and now that she’s here, there’s no room for me anymore.”
I tried to sound unaffected, brushing it off as something trivial. But the driver fell silent, clearly unsure how to respond.
He didn’t ask anything else after that, and I turned my attention to the window, letting the conversation die.
A few years ago, his first love, Summer, had left the country. She’d married a wealthy man overseas, and the news had devastated Ethan.
He had spiraled, a shell of himself, drowning in his heartbreak.
That was when I saw my chance.
I’d loved Ethan for as long as he’d loved Summer, and when she disappeared from his life, I swooped in. I was there for him when he was at his lowest, and eventually, I became the one he leaned on.
It worked.
Ethan and I started dating, and over time, we got engaged and then married.
For a few years, Summer’s name stopped haunting our lives. Things were never passionate between us, but we coexisted peacefully, and I thought that might be enough.
1:00 PM
<
It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was something.
2
I thought we’d continue living that way indefinitely–quietly, without excitement, but also without turmoil.
Then, a few weeks ago, everything changed.
Summer got divorced and announced she was moving back to the country.
The moment Ethan found out, it was like a switch flipped inside him. He became a man possessed. If it hadn’t been for his work commitments, I knew he would’ve been on the first flight out to see her.
I watched in stunned silence as he transformed before my eyes.
The man who had always been so composed and distant suddenly had the wide–eyed excitement of a teenager. He had no hesitation, no
shame. Right in front of me, he picked up his phone and called her.
I sat there as he asked her one question after another, his voice trembling with excitement.
They made plans to meet the moment she returned.
When he hung up, he turned to me, his eyes bright with an almost childlike glee.
“Annie,” he said, “Summer’s coming back. Let’s get divorced.”
He was so eager, so casual, as though I weren’t his wife, as though I were just some placeholder to keep him company while she was gone.
Now that the woman he truly loved had returned, I was nothing more than an obstacle.
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. For the first time in years, I lost my temper.
We fought.
In all our time together, we’d never raised our voices at each other. But that day, I screamed, cried, and begged.
By the end of it, Ethan was ice–cold. He didn’t look at me as he snapped, “Thursday. Courthouse. Don’t be late.”
Then he slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the pieces of my broken heart.
That night, I cried until I couldn’t breathe.
When the tears finally stopped, regret set in.
I called him over and over, desperate to take it all back, to apologize, to ask him to stay.
But he didn’t answer.
When I tried again the next day, I realized he had blocked me.
For days, I didn’t see him. Not at home. Not anywhere.
Finally, Thursday came.
I hesitated for hours, debating whether or not to go.
I didn’t want to divorce him. I wanted one more chance to talk to him, to convince him to stay.
But the courthouse was the only place I could be sure to find him.
I had no other choice.
1:00 PM
<
As I sat in the back of the cab, my thoughts started spiraling, unraveling the calm façade I’d tried so hard to maintain while chatting with the driver.
Why?
Why had I been the one standing by Ethan all these years, and yet he still couldn’t forget Summer?
My fists clenched involuntarily. The sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms was the only thing anchoring me to reality, holding together the fragile pieces of my composure.
And then it happened.
A truck, out of control and going the wrong way, barreled onto the road. It came out of nowhere, veering straight toward us.
The driver saw it too late. There was no time to react.
The collision was instant and deafening.
In that split second, it felt like the world dissolved into nothingness.
Tik
X
The noise around me faded into a distant hum, like static on a broken radio. My body felt weightless, as if it were floating in the air. Even pain seemed to disappear, leaving only an eerie, hollow silence.
I didn’t know how much time passed before sensation returned, but when it did, it came back all at once.
The pain hit me like a tidal wave, sharp and unrelenting, driving me to the brink of unconsciousness. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire.
I barely registered the people around me, their voices muffled as they worked to pull me from the wreckage. They lifted me carefully and placed me on the waiting stretcher.
The ambulance doors slammed shut, and as we sped toward the hospital, a faint vibration in my pocket broke through the haze of pain.
My phone.
It was still intact, somehow, miraculously surviving the crash. And now, it was ringing.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Ethan.
Even though I couldn’t move, I just knew.
“Please,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. I turned my head toward the nurse, desperation thick in my tone. “Please, answer it for me. Please.”
Something in my plea must have moved her, because after a moment of hesitation, she picked up the phone and held it to my ear.
I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to tell him I was hurt, that I needed him, that I missed him so much I could barely breathe.
But before I could say anything–before I could even whisper a single word his voice came through, cold and biting.
“Annie,” he snapped, his tone laced with irritation, “what stupid stunt are you pulling now? You’re late,”
