Sick and barely able to move, I was home alone with our one-year-old daughter, Lily. I begged my husband, Ryan, to come home. He promised he was on his way—but an hour passed, and still, nothing.

Growing desperate and weaker by the minute, I messaged his coworker, Mike, only to find out Ryan hadn’t even left work.

Barely able to hold Lily, I called out to our neighbor, Mrs. Thompson. She rushed over and took one look at me before driving us straight to the hospital. The doctor said I was on the brink of septic shock—had we waited any longer, I might not have made it.

Ryan showed up two hours later, full of weak excuses. But by then, the damage was done—not just to my body, but to my trust.