Chapter 2 - The Cold Shoulder at Urgent Care
Andrew didn’t call an ambulance. Instead, he forced me to wait twenty-two minutes while he showered, ironed his pastel Ralph Lauren polo, and carefully styled his thinning hair. Every second felt like jagged glass grinding between the fractured ends of my ulna.
"If we go to the main hospital, you’ll sit in the waiting room for six hours," he said, barely looking at me as he tossed a stained towel toward the laundry room. "I’ll drop you at the walk-in clinic on Route 5. It’s on my way to the country club."
"Drop me?" I choked out, cradling my swollen, purple wrist against my chest with my good hand. "Andrew, what about Leo and Toby? They’re five months old! They’re waking up right now—I can hear them over the monitor!"
"Then bring them," he replied flatly, checking his Rolex. "Or put them in their playpen. They’re fine for an hour. Don't be dramatic."
That was the moment the fog began to clear. In my nine years as an official stenographer in Onondaga County Family Court, I had watched hundreds of manipulative spouses stand before judges, weaponizing indifference. I had transcribed their testimonies verbatim, recording how neglect rarely starts with a blow; it starts with an excuse.
I didn't leave my babies. With searing agony coursing through my arm, I managed to secure both infant carriers into the back of Andrew's pristine Audi. Throughout the ten-minute drive, Andrew complained about the muddy gravel on his tires and reminded me three times that Robert Caldwell, the regional vice president, had a zero-tolerance policy for unpunctual tee times.
At the urgent care entrance, he didn't even shift the car into park. He kept his foot on the brake.
"Call your mother to pick you up," he commanded, staring straight through the windshield. "My game is at seven-thirty. Do not embarrass me by calling my cell during the back nine."
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I unlatched the door using my teeth and right hand. As the automatic clinic doors slid open, the cold November wind cut through my thin cardigan. Behind me, the Audi’s tires screeched against the asphalt as Andrew sped away toward the golf course, leaving a nursing mother with two infants and a displaced compound fracture on the pavement.
***
