The Day I Signed Alone

Synopsis

When the surgical consent form was placed in front of me, the nurse asked for the third time, "Mrs. Tillman, isn't your husband here yet?" I lowered my head to sign. Just as the pen touched the paper, my phone screen lit up. A transfer notification popped up: [Stuart Tillman sent $2,000 to Isabel Heath.] There was only one line in the note: [This month's allowance. Just let me know if you need more.] I stared at those words for a full three seconds. The nurse thought I was trembling from the pain and urged me softly, "Mrs. Tillman, we can't delay any longer. The baby can't be saved." I snapped back to my senses and finished the final stroke of my signature, my voice so flat that it sounded foreign even to me. "There's no need to wait for him. I'll sign on my own." That day was my third wedding anniversary with my husband. It was also the first time I understood that some marriages were never meant to work out from the very beginning. It wasn't that the love had faded. It was that I had never been his first priority in his heart, not even for a moment.