Page 32 of The Space He Left
"What kind of documents?"
I opened my mouth to answer and realized I couldn't remember specific details. Madison had shown me papers, test results, but I'd been so focused on comforting her that I'd never really examined them closely.
"I... the oncologist said..."
"What oncologist, Jack? What's his name? Where's his office?"
I felt my world crumbling as I realized I didn't have good answers to any of Sam's questions. Madison had always been vague about the medical details, always redirecting conversations away from specifics and toward her emotional needs. "Fuck," I whispered.
"Jesus Christ, Jack, I know you hate technology, but Google is your friend. If you'd just taken thirty seconds to Google anything - her supposed diagnosis, the standard treatment protocols, the name of that surgeon - you'd know exactly what you were dealing with. That bitch is a viper."
The word Google hit me with the force of a physical blow. The accusation wasn't just that I was a fool, but that my foolishness was a choice. And it was damningly true. The thought had never once crossed my mind. That was Harper's domain: the research, the details, the digital deep-dives for everything from vacation spots to washing machine reviews. Madison knew that. She had counted on my incompetence, on my blind trust.
A cold wave of nausea washed over me. If only I had asked Harper to come with me to the hospital when Madison interrupted our anniversary, if only I'd shown her the paperwork, shared the name of the hospital... she would have seen the cracks in the story in seconds. She would have protected me from myself. I had shut out the one person who could have saved me from being so thoroughly and completely played.
But Sam's tone, the venom in the word viper, wasn't just about a lie. It dripped with the implication of something more, something sordid. An affair. My stomach turned. He still thought I was sleeping with her.
"Sam, I would never cheat on Harper. You know me better than that."
"I thought I did. But the Jack I know would never miss his daughter's birth for another woman."
I finally realised what he'd said earlier. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Harper had the baby. Emma Rose was born an hour ago, and you missed it because you were sitting in a hotel room with a woman who is probably getting her nails done right now. Or maybe a boob job."
I felt the world tilt around me again. "Harper had the baby?"
"Yes, you worthless piece of shit. Your wife went through labor alone while you were playing house with Madison. I held your daughter in my arms, Jack. I cut her umbilical cord. I was there for her first breath because her father couldn't be bothered to answer his phone."
The fury in Sam's voice was like nothing I'd ever heard from him. Raw, personal, devastating.
"I'm on my way," I said, already grabbing my keys. "I'm leaving right now."
"Don't bother rushing for our sake. We managed just fine without you. Your parents are disappointed in you. Harper's parents are disgusted with you. The whole town is talking about what a failure you are as a husband and father."
"Sam, please—"
"I'm done with you, Jack. I've spent weeks watching Harper handle pregnancy alone, watching her make excuses for you, watching her heart break a little more every time you chose Madison over your own family. I'm done covering for you."
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't want to know. There's a difference."
I thought about the Instagram posts Harper had shown me, the ones I'd barely glanced at. Madison at a restaurant, Madison at the gym, Madison looking healthy and vibrant while supposedly undergoing chemotherapy. I'd convinced myself that social media didn't show the whole truth, that Madison was just trying to maintain appearances during her battle with cancer.
Why didn't I pay more attention? Why didn't I listen to my wife?
"Where's Harper now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"She's at Willowbrook General with your daughter. The daughter you missed being born because you were too busy being manipulated by the viper."
"I have to go. I have to get to Harper."
"Yeah, you do. But don't expect Harper to welcome you with open arms. You chose Madison over your wife and child, and now you have to live with that."
As I was gathering my stuff, I called the number Madison had given me for her oncologist. It rang once, then a recording:The number you have dialed is not in service.
My hands were shaking as I scrolled frantically back through the text chain with Madison, past weeks of her manufactured crises and my own blind reassurances. I needed to see it for myself.
