Rob Sarah Ethan Novel The Silence After the Hundredth Plea

Every time my wife goes to stay with her ex-husband who has a terminal illness, she hints about whether we can get divorced.
Because his biggest wish before he dies is to make their relationship official.
Today, she hinted again.
I didn't cry or make a scene. I just calmly said, Okay.
Because this kind of conversation has happened ninety-nine times.
And today is the one hundredth time.
I've finally found a reason to convince myself to divorce.
Our child has passed away.
Now, all that remains between her and me are two thin marriage certificates.
Seven days after our child's death, I ran into Sarah at the mall.
She was carrying numerous shopping bags, and the tenderness in her eyes as she looked at Ethan was overwhelming.
But the moment she saw me, her face soured.
What are you doing here? Didn't we agree to get divorced first? Don't tell me you've changed your mind?
She looked at me defensively, her cold gaze piercing straight into my heart.
Ethan glanced at her sideways, then awkwardly looked at me,
Rob, don't misunderstand. Sarah just really wants to marry me.
Then, he subtly glanced behind me, a smug smile on his face.
Our wedding is set for next week. You're welcome to bring the baby to celebrate with us.
I instinctively clenched my fist but before I could speak, Sarah interrupted.
How could he come? He's just a stay-at-home dad with a newborn. What if something happens? It'd be bad luck.
My hand hung at my side and went stiff. Once again, I was stunned by Sarah's cruelty.
You don't think Ethan's terminal illness is bad luck.
You don't think going to the hospital every day is bad luck.
But you think me taking care of our own baby at home is bad luck.
How ironic.
But then again, I'm not Ethan. Why would I deserve your concern?
Otherwise, you wouldn't have known our child needed vaccinations but never showed up.
If only you had asked me just once, you would have known.
Our child is already gone.
When I didn't respond, Sarah didn't seem to care. She lowered her head and started discussing wedding details with Ethan.
I watched silently, countless scenes flashing through my mind.
Since Ethan was diagnosed with a terminal illness, Sarah became a different person.
She stopped caring about our child and didn't want to come home.
Her sudden disappearances became routine.
At first, she said, Robert, Ethan is seriously ill. I have to be there for him.
Don't worry, I just feel sorry for him. It doesn't mean anything.
Later, she said, Robert, Ethan's last wish is to marry me. I don't want him to die with regrets.
I knew what she was implying, but I didn't want to understand.
She hinted like this ninety-nine times.
I found ninety-nine reasons and refused ninety-nine times.
Until the one hundredth time, she stopped hinting.
That day, I had just taken our child for this year's third vaccine. Right after leaving the hospital, I received a text from Sarah.
No concern, no comfortjust a cold, blunt message.
[Meet me at the courthouse at 9 AM the day after tomorrow. We're getting divorced.]
Sixteen words that completely shattered me.
By the time I regained my senses, our child and I had been hit by an out-of-control vehicle.
That day, I held our child's gradually cooling body and called Sarah countless times.
But in the end, the only call that went through was to 911.
The doctor told me our child had passed away.
I lay in the hospital bed, waiting from night until morning, only to receive one message from her:
[Stop calling me so much. The ringing is annoying.]
I stared at the message, biting my lip until it bled.
Sarah, I'll give you what you want.
From now on, there will be nothing left between us.
I wish you happiness.

The memory abruptly ended there.
Sarah nudged me and reminded me flatly, Remember to come with me to finalize the divorce tomorrow. Don't pretend to be sick again.
I froze for a second, then remembered.
Three days after the accident, Sarah called me.
It was the only call she made. She was standing outside Courthouse.
At the time, I had just finished a night on an IV and was in terrible shape.
I accidentally pressed the speaker button when answering, and Sarah's impatient voice filled the entire room.
Robert, what's your game this time?
We agreed to finalize the divorce at 9 AM. It's already noon. What excuse are you using this time to say no?
Under the nurse's pitying gaze, I struggled to keep my voice from trembling and whispered, I'm in the hospital.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, but it quickly returned to normal.
I heard Sarah scoff lightly. Whatever. Stop making excuses. I'll give you one last chance.
Next Wednesday. Meet me at the Courthouse.
After the call ended, the nurse didn't say anything and quietly left.
The moment the door closed, all my dignity was completely destroyed.
That was when I realized the most painful thing isn't the hurt from someone you love.
It's the pity from bystanders when that person hurts you.
I closed my eyes, pulling myself out of the quagmire of memories.
Okay.
Sarah raised an eyebrow and continued, After the divorce, just focus on taking care of the child at home. Don't bother me unless it's important.
Okay.
Maybe because I agreed too readily, Sarah seemed taken aback.