I Begged My Husband to Come Home While I Was Critically Ill—His Coworker Revealed Why He Never Showed Up

I Was Critically Ill and Begged My Husband to Come Home – He Kept Texting ‘Almost There,’ but Then His Coworker Told Me the Truth

I pleaded with my husband to come home and help me with our kid since I was too weak to stand and had a burning fever. He persisted in saying he was on his way, but I was shocked to learn the reality when I contacted his coworker.

I never imagined that I would become this way. I was lying in bed with a fever, hardly able to move my head. My body felt weak, unsteady, and useless—like it wasn’t mine anymore.

Lily, my one-year-old daughter, was playing with a plush rabbit on the floor next to the bed. Occasionally, she would gaze up at me with wide, inquisitive eyes while softly murmuring. She was unaware that something was amiss.

I tried to wish the sickness away by squeezing my eyes tight. It was more than a cold. It was terrible.

With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone and dialed my husband, Ryan. A few rings later, he picked up.

He said, “Hey, babe,” with a distracted tone. In the background, I heard voices. He was working.

“Ryan,” I muttered, my throat parched. “I feel terrible. You must return home for me.

He paused. “What’s going on?”

When I said, “I can’t take care of Lily,” “I am unable to even sit up. Please.

He let out a sigh. “Alright, I’ll finish up here and head out soon.”

“How soon?”

He remarked, “Give me, like, twenty minutes,” “I just need to wrap something up.”

I felt a wave of relief. “All right. Thank you.

I shut my eyes and hung up. Only twenty minutes. I could manage.

An hour went by.

I checked my phone repeatedly, but there were no fresh messages. My body was trembling with cold, and my temperature had increased. Lily had begun to fuss, both exhausted and hungry. My arms went away as I tried to sit up. I fell back onto the bed as my head whirled.

With numb fingers, I reached for my phone and sent Ryan a text.

Me: Are you near?

My phone buzzed a minute later.

Ryan: I’m just finishing things. I’m leaving soon.

I gazed at the text. Something didn’t feel right, but I wanted to believe him.

Half an hour more. I typed one again, my hands shaking.

Me: You’ve got to be here. Right now.

Ryan: Traffic jammed. Nearly home.

Traffic? The town where we resided was little. It took fifteen minutes to drive from his workplace to our home.

I made another attempt to sit up. My gut churned. I threw up on the floor after hardly rolling over. Lily burst into tears. I was unable to console her. My entire body hurt.

Heart racing, I scrambled for my phone. I required assistance.

Mike, Ryan’s coworker, was a close friend. Normally, I wouldn’t text him, but I was forced to.

Me: Is Ryan still working?

Mike’s response was practically immediate.

Mike: He is still here, yes. Why?

My fever had nothing to do with the chilling surge I experienced.

I looked at the message, my eyesight hazy. He was still there. He was never gone.

falsehoods.

I was unable to think clearly. It scorched my flesh. My head was hammering. I felt afraid, but I was too sick to be angry.

I gave Ryan a call. He didn’t respond. I gave another call. voicemail. I required assistance. Right now.

With shaky and clumsy fingers, I flipped through my contacts and paused at Mrs. Thompson. Our neighbor. I hit the call button.

On the second ring, she answered. “Hello?”

I croaked, “M-Mrs. Thompson,” “I need help.”

“What’s wrong, dear?” Her voice was worried and piercing.

The words “I’m really sick,” I muttered. Ryan isn’t at home. I must visit the hospital.

After saying, “I’m coming,” Without hesitation. “Hold tight.”

The phone slipped out of my grasp.

The room echoed with Lily’s sobs.

I waited with my eyes closed.

My next memory was that the lights in the hospital were too bright. As a nurse adjusted the IV in my arm, I squinted against them. My skin was damp with sweat, and my entire body hurt. Somewhere close, I could hear a monitor beeping steadily.

“You gave us a scare,” a doctor stated as he stood at my bed’s foot. His eyes were tired, and he was middle-aged. renal infection that is severe. When you got there, your heart rate was dangerously elevated.

I took a deep breath. “How bad was it?” I hardly raised my voice above a whisper.

He let out a sigh. “You nearly suffered from septic shock. We might have a completely different discourse in a few more hours.

I looked out the window, attempting to take in what he had said. A couple more hours.

I was saved by Mrs. Thompson. Not Ryan.

Finally, two hours later, he arrived.

His voice in the hallway, casually conversing with a nurse, was what I heard before I saw him. The door then sprang open, revealing him.

“Hey,” he remarked as he entered. He held his phone in one hand and a coffee in the other. He appeared to be normal. Not like a man who nearly lost his wife, but as if he had just returned from a run of errands.

I lacked the strength to be upset.

He stood at the edge of my bed and asked, “You okay?”

I simply gazed at him. I had a constricted throat.

He let out a sigh. “I was unaware of how horrible it was. You ought to have informed me.

Something broke inside of me.

“I did,” I said in a whisper. My lips was dry and my voice sounded hoarse. “I begged you.”

The back of his neck was rubbed. “I believed you were being overly dramatic. At work, I was occupied with something. You are aware of the situation.

I shut my eyes.

I wasn’t in the mood for this discussion.

I was in the hospital for the following two days. Lily was picked up by my parents after a four-hour drive. With worried eyes, my mother grasped my hand. Ryan and my dad hardly ever spoke.

Ryan once paid a visit. He offered me a granola bar and a bottle of water as if I were recuperating from the flu rather than a serious illness.

When he remarked, “You’ll be home soon,” “You know, this was simply a fluke. “One of those things.”

I didn’t respond.

I had lost my anger by the time I was released. I wasn’t even depressed. All I felt was emptiness. Ryan talked endlessly about work, traffic, and an amusing video he saw on the way home. He didn’t inquire about my feelings.

I hardly paid attention. I couldn’t stop thinking about what the doctor had said.

A couple more hours.

Then, would he have cared? Had he known I was already unconscious, would he have hurried home? Or would I have simply been another annoyance?

He was scrolling through his phone next to me as I laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.

I considered all the minor details I had overlooked.

Could it have been Lily? What if it had been our daughter who needed him, was ill, and was crying? Was he also lying to her? Would he have sat at work doing nothing and assured her he was “on his way”?

I swiveled around and gave him a serious look. He was unaware. He was laughing to himself while watching films. I realized then that I no longer loved him.

I also had no intention of staying.

I took Ryan’s phone that night after he went to sleep. Something inside of me said, “Check,” even though I had never done this before or felt the need to.

I shook my hands and swiped up to unlock it. He never thought he needed to change his passcode, thus he had never done so.

His messages were the first thing I saw. He used winking emoticons, inside jokes, and praises he had never offered me in several conversations with ladies whose names I didn’t recognize.

I am eager to see you once more. It was a fantastic night. You looked fantastic today.

As I scrolled, a low ringing filled my ears. This was more than idle flirting. This was going on. Known. Individual.

I made myself keep searching. His applications.

Tinder.

I listened in on his chats with his pals. No one mentioned that I was ill, showed any concern, or acknowledged that I had come dangerously close to death. Rather, there were jokes, memes, and TikToks—evidence that he had been laughing with his friends while I was hooked up to an IV.

Then the last blow was delivered. His emails for work.

I looked for any documentation showing he had even informed his boss that I was ill, or that he had asked for time off. Nothing was present. Not a request. Don’t deny. The whole excuse had been a fabrication.

I lay down next to him and stared at the ceiling while I put his phone back on the nightstand. I scheduled a meeting with a divorce attorney for the following morning.

The choice was made with total clarity, not out of rage or impulsiveness. This could not be fixed. Don’t return.

I knew it would be difficult, so I started looking for apartments. I would find anything, but housing was scarce in our town. I was forced to.

Ryan pretended everything was fine, so I followed suit. I pretended everything was normal, nodded when he talked about his day, and smiled when he made jokes. However, I never felt anything when he touched me.

As I slept next to him at night, I reflected on all the warning signs I had disregarded, including his constant justifications, tiny lies, and broken promises.

He would be there when it mattered, I had told myself, and they didn’t matter. I had been mistaken.