I stood there at the airport, holding Sophia in my arms as she cried. My arms ached, and I felt a headache creeping in. Where on earth was Ryan?
I gently rocked Sophia, trying to soothe her. “Shh, my little girl. It’s okay. Daddy will be back soon.”
But he still wasn’t there. I checked my phone and saw a new message. It was a selfie of Ryan, grinning like an idiot on the plane.
“I just couldn’t wait. I really need this vacation. I work so hard. Catch the next flight and join me,” the caption read.
I stared at the screen, speechless. He left us? Just like that?
“This has to be a joke,” I muttered, stunned.
Sophia’s cries grew louder, as if she sensed my distress. I held her closer, my mind racing.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re going home,” I said, more to myself than to her.
The taxi ride home was a blur. I replayed Ryan’s message in my head over and over, each time feeling a fresh wave of anger.
As soon as we got home, I put Sophia down for a nap and grabbed my phone. My fingers hovered over Ryan’s number, but I hesitated. No, I needed a plan first.
I paced the living room, my thoughts swirling. Then, an idea struck me—the perfect revenge.
With a sly smile, I dialed Ryan’s hotel.
“Hello, Sunset Resort. How may I assist you?” came a cheerful voice.
“Hi, I’m calling about my husband’s reservation. Ryan C?”
After explaining the situation, the receptionist was more than happy to help. “We understand, ma’am. What do you have in mind?”
I laid out my plan, feeling more satisfied with every detail.
“Wake-up calls at 3 AM, 5 AM, and 7 AM? Absolutely. Unexpected room service? No problem. And you want him signed up for every possible excursion? Consider it done.”
I hung up, feeling a mix of guilt and exhilaration. But I wasn’t done yet.
I went to our bedroom and started packing Ryan’s most prized possessions—his gaming console, vintage records, and designer suits.
“If he wants a solo vacation, he can have a solo life,” I muttered, hauling the boxes to my car.
At the storage facility, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. There I was, a new mom, stashing away my husband’s belongings like some scorned teenager.
Back home, I called a locksmith. “How soon can you get here? It’s urgent.”
While waiting, I checked my phone. Ryan had sent more photos—him on the beach, at a fancy restaurant, sightseeing. But with each picture, he looked more exhausted and annoyed.
“Good,” I thought. “Let him suffer a little.”
The locksmith arrived and quickly changed the locks. As he worked, I felt a pang of doubt. Had I gone too far?
But then, I remembered Ryan’s selfish grin in that airport selfie, and my resolve hardened.
The week passed in a blur of taking care of Sophia and ignoring Ryan’s increasingly frustrated messages.
“Natalie, what’s going on? The hotel keeps waking me up!”
“Babe, why am I signed up for a pottery class?”
I ignored them all, letting him stew in his own mess.
Finally, the day of his return arrived. I drove to pick him up from the airport, Sophia happily cooing in her car seat.
“Hey,” Ryan said sheepishly as he got into the car. “I missed you both.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Did you enjoy your vacation?”
He sighed. “It was… interesting. Look, babe, I’m sorry for—”
“We’ll talk at home,” I cut him off.
The ride was tense and silent. When we pulled into the driveway, Ryan frowned.
“Did you do something to the front door?”
I shrugged, unbuckling Sophia. “Why don’t you try your key and find out?”
Ryan walked up to the door, key in hand. I watched as he tried to unlock it, confusion spreading across his face.
“It’s not working,” he said, turning to me. “Natalie, what’s going on?”
I stood there, Sophia on my hip, and met his gaze coldly. “Oh, I guess your key doesn’t work anymore. That might be because you decided to take a solo vacation without us. Hope you enjoyed it—because now you’ll need a new place to stay.”
Ryan’s face paled. “What? Nat, come on, it was just a misunderstanding. I didn’t think you’d be this upset.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You abandoned your wife and baby at the airport!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid and selfish,” Ryan said, running a hand through his hair. “But can’t we talk inside?”
I shook my head. “No. Your stuff is in a storage unit. You can get it back when you learn to appreciate your family.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “My stuff? Nat, please. This isn’t fair. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Not my problem,” I said, unlocking the door. “You work so hard, remember? I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
As I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, Ryan called out, “Wait! Please, can we just talk?”
I hesitated for a moment. A part of me never wanted to see him again, but another part—the part that still loved him—wasn’t ready to let go completely.
I cracked the door open. “Fine. You have five minutes.”
We sat on the porch steps, Sophia babbling between us.
Ryan took a deep breath. “I messed up. Badly. I was stressed from work and the baby, and I just… I don’t know, I panicked. But that’s not an excuse. I’m really, really sorry.”
And for the first time, I saw the regret in his eyes.
An exhausted sigh escaped me as I listened to Ryan’s words. Part of me wanted to believe him—to believe that he had just panicked, made a mistake, and regretted it. But another part of me, the part that had spent nights rocking Sophia alone and wondering how a husband could so easily abandon his wife and child, wasn’t ready to forgive.
I shifted Sophia in my arms, watching her tiny fingers curl around mine. “Ryan,” I said finally, my voice steady, “saying you’re sorry doesn’t erase what you did. You left us. You made a choice.”
He ran a hand down his face, frustration clear. “I know. And I get it if you need time, but please, Nat, let me prove to you that I can be better. That I want to be better.”
I studied him for a moment. His face was lined with exhaustion—whether from his “vacation” or the weight of his mistakes, I wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear: trust wasn’t something he could rebuild with just words.
“You’re not moving back in,” I said firmly. “Not yet. You want to prove yourself? Then do it. Be consistent. Show up. Be a father to your daughter. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll see where that takes us.”
Relief flickered across his face, though uncertainty remained. “Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”
I wasn’t sure if he could. But for now, I’d let his actions speak louder than his promises.
