My Husband Left Me And Our Newborn In The Rain Because He Didn’t Want To Dirty His Car Seats. He Threw $20 At Me And Told Me To Take The Bus. He Doesn’t Realize I Actually Own His Company. What Should I Do?

My stitches were still fresh from the C-section when my husband tossed a $20 bill at my feet. He told me to take the bus in the pouring rain, all to protect the leather seats of his luxury SUV.

The laughter they’re sharing in that fancy restaurant will soon be paid for with tears of blood. Before this story begins, please write in the comments what city you’re watching from.

. The late afternoon wind in lower Manhattan carried the scent of wet asphalt, a sign that a heavy downpour was about to soak the city that never sleeps.

But the chill in the air was nothing compared to the cold spreading through my entire body. I stood frozen in the hospital’s pickup area, clutching a thick bundle of blankets containing my tiny three-day-old baby.

A sharp pain still seared across my lower abdomen. The stitches from my C-section, not yet fully healed, seemed to scream in protest every time I shifted my weight even an inch.

It felt like a thousand needles were piercing my skin, pulling at the flesh that had just been sewn back together. This should have been the happiest moment of a woman’s life, going home with her newborn child, welcomed by her husband’s warm embrace and the smiling faces of family.

But my reality was the exact opposite. I stood alone, accompanied only by a large duffel bag full of dirty clothes at my feet.

The nurse who had wheeled me out had already gone back inside after I insisted my husband was just around the corner. I didn’t want them to see how pathetic my life was.

I didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes when they realized not a single family member had been with me during the life-threatening delivery. My eyes lit up for a moment when I saw a gleaming black Cadillac Escalade turn into the driveway.

It was my husband’s car, the one he’d bought six months ago, claiming it was necessary to uphold his image as the CEO of his tech startup. My heart eased a little; at least he came.

At least he remembered that our son and I were being discharged today. I tried to smile, bracing against the pain in my stomach, ready to greet him.

I pictured him getting out, jogging over to me, taking the heavy duffel bag, and guiding me into the cool, comfortable vehicle. The SUV stopped directly in front of me.

The front passenger window slowly rolled down, but it wasn’t a look of concern or a loving smile that I saw. It was my mother-in-law, Sharon, her face set in that arrogant expression I knew so well.

In the back, I could see my sister-in-law, Jessica, engrossed in her phone, not even glancing in my direction or at her newborn nephew. In the driver’s seat, my husband, Ethan, stared at me with a flat expression as if I were a stranger holding up traffic.

Ethan didn’t get out of the car. He didn’t even turn off the engine.

The quiet purr of the luxury vehicle was a stark contrast to my own heart, which was beginning to pound with a sense of dread.

“Ethan,”

I called out softly, trying to take a step closer.

“Thank goodness you’re here. My legs are trembling and my stitches really hurt.”

Ethan glanced at me from behind his designer sunglasses, then his eyes flickered to the pristine beige leather interior of his car. He clicked his tongue, a gesture he always made when he was annoyed.

“You expect to get in here wearing those shabby clothes?”

He asked curtly without unlocking the doors. I was stunned.

I looked down at my simple but clean cotton dress.

“Ethan, this is a clean dress. It’s all I brought. Please just open the door; the baby will get cold,”

I pleaded, my voice weak.

The baby in my arms began to squirm, perhaps sensing my tension. Suddenly, my mother-in-law’s sharp voice cut through the air from the front seat, making a few people in the lobby turn to look at us.

“Honestly, Olivia, do you have a brain in your head? Look at this car. Ethan just had it detailed; it cost hundreds of dollars to get it this pristine. You just gave birth; you probably smell like antiseptic and blood, not to mention if that baby spits up or has a diaper leak, it would ruin these expensive leather seats.”

I gaped at her.

“But Sharon, this is your grandson. This is Ethan’s son. Are you saying we can’t even ride in his own father’s car?”

“Oh, spare us the drama,”

My sister-in-law chimed in from the back, cracking her window open slightly.

“We’re on our way to a celebratory dinner. Ethan just closed a huge deal. We’re all dressed up and smell nice; if you get in, you’ll make the whole car smell musty. It’s just gross.”

Tears welled in my eyes, not from postpartum hormones but from a profound heartache that stabbed me in the chest. I looked at my husband, hoping he would defend us, hoping he would say something, anything a father and a husband should.

But my hope was shattered into a million pieces when Ethan reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a crumpled $20 bill and tossed it out the window.

It fluttered in the wind for a moment before landing in a puddle of dirty rainwater near my feet.

“There, take it,”

My husband said coldly.

“Just take the MTA bus home. The bus stop is just a short walk from here. That’s more than enough for the fare; you’ll even have change for a slice of pizza if you’re hungry.”

I stared at the money on the wet pavement, then back at the face of the man I had married two years ago.

“Ethan, how could you? I just had surgery. I can barely walk, and you want me to carry our baby onto a crowded city bus during rush hour?”

“Stop being so spoiled,”

My mother-in-law snapped.

“Women in the old days were back in the fields the day after giving birth. They didn’t whine and complain like you. You’re just a freeloader living off my son, constantly causing problems.”

“Be grateful he’s giving you transportation money. Don’t push your luck. Just get going before it starts pouring,”

My husband said impatiently.

“Besides, Mom and Jess are coming to dinner. The car’s full; there’s no room for you and all your junk.”

But I knew perfectly well that his Escalade had three rows of seats. There was plenty of empty space in the back, but it was clear there was no space for me in their hearts, let alone in that car.

They didn’t see me as a wife or a daughter-in-law, but as a parasite to be cast aside.

“Ethan, please,”

My voice trembled, tears now streaming down my cheeks.

“It hurts so much.”

“Roll up the window, Ethan. It’s getting humid. The AC is escaping,”

My mother-in-law commanded without a shred of compassion.

Without hesitation, my husband pressed the power window button. The tinted glass rose slowly, separating my gray, desolate world from their comfortable, luxurious one.

A moment later, the SUV pulled away, leaving me standing there motionless. Its tires drove through the puddle, splashing grimy water onto the hem of my dress.

All I could do was stare at the taillights as they disappeared into the distance, carrying away the father of the child I held in my arms. As if on cue, the sky began to weep for my fate.

Raindrops started to fall one by one, then turned into a torrential downpour within seconds. People in the lobby scurried for cover or ran to their waiting cars.

I was shaken from my stupor. I couldn’t just stand here; the hospital security guard would surely ask me to move along.

With what little strength I had left, I bent down painfully, stifling a scream as the stitches pulled, to pick up the soaked $20 bill. It wasn’t because I needed the money; this bill was worthless to me.

But I took it as a silent witness, as proof of how little I was worth in their eyes today. I clenched the wet bill tightly in my right hand.

With my left arm, I held my baby close, shielding him from the rain with the edge of my cardigan. Then, gasping for breath, I grabbed the handle of the large duffel bag beside me.

It was so heavy. Every step I took was torture.

My right foot moved, and a throb of pain shot through my abdomen. My left foot moved, and the agony spread to my back.

The distance to the bus stop was only about a quarter of a mile from the hospital gate, but to me on that afternoon, it felt like a thousand miles. The rain grew heavier, drenching my frail body.