Dear Ex-wife; You'll Regret It

Chapter Seven

Kaelen

The world felt like it had stopped breathing.

Only the faint hum of the medical pod broke the silence.

Inside, my daughter lay still—so small, so pale, her chest rising in fragile, uneven beats. Her little hand was curled loosely beside her cheek, her lashes resting against skin that looked almost translucent under the sterile lights.

I pressed my palm to the glass. It was cold.

She looked like she was just sleeping.

I wanted to believe she was only sleeping, that at any moment her eyes would flutter open and she’d call me “Daddy.”

But the truth was there in the quiet rhythm of the machines, in the lifeless stillness of her tiny body.

A hollow ache spread through my chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Daddy’s sorry…”

The door slammed open.

Dr. Havel stormed in, his face thunderous. His white coat flared as he crossed the room, his voice sharp and shaking.

“What kind of parent are you?” he snapped. “Your child is already this sick, and you still had the nerve to divert her medicine to someone else? In your eyes, what is this child to you?!”

I froze. The words hit like a slap. “What?” I blinked at him, unable to process. “No! I didn’t! I swear I didn’t give that medicine to anyone!”

His glare didn’t soften. “Don’t lie to me, Kaelen. I watched them take it.”

“I—what are you talking about?” My heart pounded, dread twisting in my gut. “The moment I got the vial, I handed it to the nurse. I told her to bring it straight to you. That drug, it’s her lifeline. I’d never give it to anyone else. Never!”

Dr. Havel gave a bitter laugh. “Easy to say now. I had just stored it away when your wife barged in with her and a crowd of men. Bodyguards filled the hallway like debt collectors. They shoved past everyone and took it. Right out of my hands!”

My stomach turned to ice.

“In twenty years of practice,” he continued, his voice trembling with anger, “I’ve never been humiliated like that. And it’s not me I’m furious for—it’s her!” He pointed to the pod, his hand shaking. “That little girl has been fighting for her life! Every time she’s in pain, she bites her lip and stays quiet. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t complain, because she doesn’t want to trouble anyone. And you—you let this happen? You let her mother take her last chance?”

I felt like the floor was falling out beneath me.

Riley.

No. No, she couldn’t have.

“Dr. Havel,” I croaked, “please… tell me there’s still time. Can you synthesize another dose? I’ll pay—whatever it costs—just tell me what to do.”

He sighed heavily, his anger fading into exhaustion. “I'm sorry but it's too late. Her condition’s deteriorated too far. Seventy percent of her brain tissue is necrotic. Even if I give her another dose now, it won’t change anything. She’s… she’s no different from a vegetable.”

The words didn’t make sense to me. They couldn’t.

I stood there, frozen, staring through the glass as if maybe, if I looked hard enough, she’d move—just a little.

“She can still…” I couldn’t finish. My throat closed. “You can’t mean that.”

Dr. Havel’s eyes softened with pity. “I’m sorry, Kaelen. If only you’d thought of this sooner.” He patted my shoulder once, then walked out, leaving me in a silence that crushed me from all sides.

My knees gave out.

I sank to the floor beside the pod, my hand still pressed to the cold surface.

She looked so peaceful.

My mind flashed with memories of her.

Her tiny fingers clinging to mine when she was born, her first smile, the way she’d run to the door every evening shouting, Daddy’s home!

Now she’d never say it again.

I'd never hear the sound of her voice again.

My breath came out in ragged gasps. My chest hurt, my eyes burned, but I didn’t care.

I’d failed her. I’d failed everything.

All those years, all the promises I’d made to protect her—and I hadn’t even been able to keep her alive.

My sobs were quiet at first, then harsher, breaking through the suffocating silence.

I didn’t know how long I sat there before my phone started ringing.

The shrill sound felt like it was splitting my skull.

I looked at the screen.

Riley.

My hand trembled.

I declined the call.

It rang again.

And again.

Four times.

Finally, I answered, my voice barely audible. “What do you want?”

Her voice exploded through the speaker, sharp and furious. “You need to come downstairs right now! Aiden needs blood. And I remembered that you’re a match. You have the same blood type. Get down here and donate!”

For a second, I thought I’d misheard her. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me!” she snapped. “Stop standing around! His condition could worsen any minute.”

My vision blurred.

A dry laugh escaped my throat, cold and broken. “The drug you stole wasn’t enough?” I asked hoarsely. “For that tiny scratch on his hand... and now you need my blood too?”

“Kaelen,” she hissed, “don’t start being petty. It’s just one dose! What’s the harm if Aiden needs it? You and that girl of yours—why are you both so fragile? Skipping one dose and suddenly it’s life or death?”

I gripped the phone tighter, the tremor in my hands worsening.

“She’s not ‘that girl,’"I said quietly. “She’s YOUR daughter.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Riley groaned, her impatience cutting through me like glass. “She has a whole team of doctors and nurses looking after her. What could possibly happen? You’ve spoiled her into being this much trouble! Quit fussing and get down here. Aiden is waiting!”

Something inside me cracked.

For hours I’d tried to understand her—to reason with the woman who once shared my life.

But this… this was beyond reason.

My daughter was dying upstairs, and all she could think about was another man’s child.

My voice was no longer steady when I spoke. “Riley,” I said slowly, “shut up.”

There was a pause on the line. Then she let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “What did you just say?”

“I said shut up,” I repeated, each word clear, controlled, final. “You’ve said enough. I’m done listening.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” she spat. “You think you can talk to me like that?”

“I want a divorce.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even through the phone, I could hear the disbelief, the fury, the tremor in her breath.

“Say that again,” she whispered. “Say it if you dare.”

“I. WANT. A. DIVORCE.”