I Was Taken To The Hospital And Couldn’t Respond. The Doctors Called My Son, But He Said, “I’m Busy, I’m Taking My Wife To Dinner—She Needs Me Tonight.” Even After Being Told My Condition Was Serious. One Week Later, I Walked Out Of The Hospital And Made A Call To The Accounts Office. Two Hours Later, He Showed Up At My HOUSE IN A RUSH.

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Trust me, you won’t want to miss what Anna does next. 7 days later, I walked out of St. Mary’s hospital under my own power, and I had never felt more alive.

The cardiac episode, as it turned out, had been caused by stress and exhaustion, years of working myself to the bone, and never taking care of my own needs. The doctors said I was lucky. With some lifestyle changes and medication, I could live another 30 years.

30 years. More than enough time for what I had planned. Michael hadn’t visited once during my week-long stay.

Not once. The nurses tried to hide their disgust, but I could see it in their eyes every time visiting hours ended, and my room remained empty. Other patients had flowers, balloons, family members who camped out in uncomfortable chairs.

I had medical charts and the growing fury that burned brighter each day. On day three, he had sent a generic get well soon card from the hospital gift shop. Not even a personal message, just his signature.

Michael. Not love Michael or your son Michael. Just his name, like he was signing a business contract.

Victoria hadn’t even bothered with that. But their neglect was a gift, really. It gave me time to think, to plan, to remember exactly who I was dealing with.

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