My Husband Made Me Host His Birthday Party with My Arm Broken – So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget

She hopped out when she saw my cast and the bag.

“You ready?” she asked quietly.

“No,” I said. “But I’m leaving anyway.”

She took my bag, helped me into the passenger seat, and we drove off.

My phone buzzed with calls and texts—Jason, his mom, unknown numbers.

I turned it off.

At Megan’s place, she helped me onto her couch, set my arm up on a pillow, and handed me some water.

“You can stay as long as you want,” she said.

“We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

My arm throbbed. My chest hurt.

I cried for the life I thought I had.

But under the crying, there was this quiet relief.

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