Lost in Heat: A Mother's Desperation

On a scorching 40-degree day, my husband left our daughter locked alone in the car, keys in his possession.

His phone went unanswered. I immediately called the fire department to smash the window and rescue her.

He showed up at the hospital late, visibly annoyed.

"Have you made enough of a scene yet? I was helping Shirley pick out a wedding dress, and you had my car wrecked?"

Shirley, his so-called "best friend."

In the end, our daughter succumbed to heatstroke. She couldn't be saved.

1

That afternoon, Neal visited the hospital, lingering at the ICU door for just five minutes.

Then his best friend called, and he left again.

Her voice on the phone was bright but laced with a playful whine.

"Neal, are you coming or not? I've tried on three wedding dresses already. You promised to help me choose!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he replied. "Just stopped by to check on the kid."

Before he even finished speaking, he was already turning to leave.

"Is your daughter okay?" she asked.

"Not a big deal," he said, not even glancing at the baby behind the glass.

"She's asleep, probably fine. What's the harm in a kid sitting in the car for a bit?"

When Opal's body was moved to the morgue, I was in a daze.

The doctor said she'd been trapped in the blazing car too long, heatstroke setting in, her body overheating, organs failing one by one.

She looked like she was just sleeping, eyes closed as if she might wake up any moment.

Her cheeks were still soft and chubby, her lashes long and curled.

Her little mouth puckered high, almost like she was still upset.

I gently took her hand and pressed it to my face.

It was so cold... my tears had run dry.

I sat alone outside the morgue all night.

The only message Neal sent that evening read, "The bill for the car window came in. It's coming out of your household budget."

The next morning, I walked in, and Neal hurled an empty beer can at me.

It clattered against my back.

"Where the hell were you? Out there dead or something? Why are you back so late?"

That word, "dead," stabbed into my heart like a knife, twisting and tearing until it bled.

I didn't have an ounce of energy left to argue.

Seeing no reaction, he slurred, pointing at a mess on the floor.

"Clean that up quick, it stinks."

Normally, I'd have tidied the room in a flash, helped him change, and run his bath.

But today, I did nothing.

Neal was about to blow up when a sleepy mumble cut his temper short.

"Why's it so loud this early..."

The door to Opal's room opened, and a disheveled woman stumbled out.

Neal's best friend, Shirley.

She wore his old cotton T-shirt and shuffled in his slippers. In the morning light, it was clear she had nothing on underneath.

Spotting me, she flashed a sweet smile.

"Oh, you're back?

I drank too much last night and crashed here for a bit.

Your baby's bed is so cute, all pink!"

My hands trembled with rage. I stormed into Opal's room.

Her little bed reeked of booze.

Her beloved doll was stained with Shirley's drool.

She was poison, seeping into my life, tainting my marriage, and now defiling my daughter's space.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I shoved her hard. "Who gave you permission to sleep in her room?"

Neal jumped in first.

"I did. Got a problem with that?"

"Your daughter's still in the hospital, and you're here drinking all night?" I shouted.

"What's wrong with you?" He lurched up from the sofa, suddenly agile, stepping in front of Shirley as if shielding her from me.

"She's getting married soon, we were celebrating. We didn't go out messing around! Besides, you smashed my car yesterday. She even went with me to get it fixed after trying on dresses. You should be thanking her."

The implication was clear. if I hadn't called the firefighters to break the window, none of this would've happened.

I said nothing. Instead, I pulled the divorce papers I'd drafted countless times from a drawer and slapped them on the table.

"Neal, we're done."

2

When we first started dating, things were sweet.

He put real effort into wooing me. Flowers, love letters, the works.

He'd take care of me when I was sick, pick me up from work, always there when I needed him.

Once we settled into the relationship, Neal took the lead, introducing me to his friends and family.

That's when Shirley showed up.

She'd been his best friend since childhood, a fixture in every relationship he'd ever had.

At our first meeting, she gushed, "Wow, Neal, this one's the prettiest yet!"

He laughed, ruffling her hair. "Shut it, no one thinks you're mute."

A year into dating, he proposed.

Shirley sobbed harder than I did, exclaiming, "Neal, you're finally settling down! Mommy's big boy, I'm so relieved!"

At the wedding, she insisted on being the officiant, strutting in a gold mermaid gown with a plunging back, outshining even me, the bride.

Offstage, she kicked off her heels, whining and rubbing her feet.

Neal, at the head table, grinned at her with syrupy affection.

"Look at Shirley, she can't handle heels but insists on wearing them."

He noticed every bit of her effort, her sincerity.

But he never saw that I wasn't used to heels either, that my feet ached too, and I just gritted my teeth through it.

To him, his best friend was clumsy, fragile, spoiled, needing his full protection.

I, on the other hand, was independent, strong, perfect wife material.

After Opal was born, even she became a testament to their grand friendship.

He missed her kindergarten ceremony because Shirley was heartbroken over a breakup and needed cheering up.

He skipped driving us home because Shirley was drunk, and he didn't trust her alone, so Opal and I took a cab while he picked up his bestie.

If I complained, he'd snap.

"There's nothing between us, why do you always pick on her?"

"She's just a little dummy, why bother with a dummy?"

"Stop nagging, it's annoying."

I used to think hearts could warm, that if I treated him well and poured my soul into it, he'd eventually see reason and love me like he once did.

But some natures never change.

He never should've married me.

He and his best friend should've been locked together forever.

3

Neal vanished for two full days.

When he returned, I was cradling Opal's ashes.

She'd grown past my waist this year after the New Year.

From a tiny arm-length baby to this, now reduced to a small urn by fire.

I chose her favorite pink, wrapping her gently as if I could still feel her warmth.

My arms were warm, but my heart was ice.

Neal walked in, sneering.

"Oh, you're back? Got some guts now, huh?"

Seeing no response, he rummaged around. "Hey, where's my suit?"

Then came a voice. "Forget the suit, help me find my ring!"

Shirley waltzed in like she owned the place, slipping into slippers with ease.

Seeing me, she froze, her face crumpling into a pitiful pout, her voice softening.

"Don't misunderstand, I swear there's nothing between me and Neal. I lost my engagement ring, it's so precious, and the wedding's in two days. I had no choice but to come look."

"An engagement ring, lost just like that?" I muttered.

"What's with the sarcasm?" Neal snapped, tearing through the wardrobe, growing more agitated.

"I need my suit too. Gotta wear it for her big day."

"Neal, when are you signing the divorce papers?"

I just wanted this over, free from this hollow marriage.

He wasn't pleased.

"Are you seriously messed up?

Smashing my car over nothing, costing some cash, and now you want a divorce? I never pegged you for this dramatic."

Shirley pouted, sensing tension, and tried sneaking into Opal's room for her ring.

I moved to stop her, but she shrieked, shoving me hard.

"Don't get mad, don't hit me!"

She was small but strong, pushing me with full force despite her pleas.

I stumbled, crashing down with the urn.

The porcelain shattered, shards slicing my hand, blood pooling.

It was vivid red, but I felt no pain.

Opal's ashes scattered, glinting in the morning sun like they were vanishing forever.

A hand seemed to clutch my heart, squeezing tight.

The pain was unbearable.

"Ahhhh!"

I didn't know I could howl like a wounded animal.

I broke.

4

I lunged up, grabbed her throat, and slammed her against the wall with all my strength.

"I'll kill you!"

Shirley let out a piercing scream.

Within seconds, a gust of force hit me, a slap knocking me back to the ground.

My vision sparkled, my mouth filled with the taste of blood.

It was Neal, of course.

Neal, who adored Shirley above all.

He pulled me off without hesitation, then turned to her, flustered and sweating.

"Are you okay? I'll apologize for her, she's lost it."

Inspecting her neck, he fretted. "You're about to get married, what if there's a mark? I'll find your ring, don't worry."

"It hurts..." Tears welled in her eyes, her voice hoarse and tender, a sight to pity.

Neal, fuming, kicked me again.

"Get some ice, apologize to Shirley, and help her ice it!"

His foot brushed the ashes on the floor, and he wiped it off in disgust.

"Stop playing dead! Clean up this mess, it's filthy."

Through the cloth, I gently gathered Opal's ashes back into my arms.

Tears fell, blooming into little flowers on the fabric.

"Cough... why'd you have to get so worked up..." Shirley whimpered.

"I just wanted to look for my ring. Even Opal wouldn't mind..."

"You dare mention Opal? You're the ones who killed her!"

I gritted my teeth, chest heaving, fighting to hold it together.

I wanted to grab a kitchen knife and end them both.

"Why can't I mention her? You're arguing fine, but cursing our daughter's death, are you sick?" Neal shot back.

"Yeah... don't say things in anger... don't fight over me..."

Shirley's tears only fueled his rage.

"You're really trying to burn every bridge, huh?"

He stopped searching for his suit or her ring, pacing with a smug sneer.

Finding the divorce papers, he snatched them up, signed with a flourish, and slammed the pen down. "Fine, you want a divorce? We're divorced! But the kid's mine, and you'll beg me on your knees later, won't change a thing!"

The door slammed shut as he half-carried his fragile best friend Shirley to the hospital for her "injuries,"

leaving me with a swollen cheek, bleeding arm, and a floor of broken pieces.

5

Calmly, I packed Opal's ashes and everything in the house.

I sorted her things one by one.

The lock of hair from her birth, her first Mother's Day gift, her tiny socks, her doll.

Downstairs, I lit a fire.

It burned everything clean.

The flames danced, painting my face red.

Gone were the memories, along with the last shred of feeling I had for Neal.

I listed the house online and handed over the keys.

Then I booked a train ticket for Shirley's wedding and left that night.

This wasn't over with just a divorce, not for me.