chapter 2

The kitchen smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee. Steam rose from the pot of water I'd set to boil, fogging the window as I laid out the small row of prescription bottles on the counter. Painkillers. Antibiotics. Iron supplements. The sharp, medicinal scent filled the air—bitter and sterile, just like the days between me and Edward.

He burst in like a storm, the hem of his white coat sweeping across the counter and knocking over the glass of water where I'd just dissolved a tablet. Clear liquid splattered across the floor, staining the white tiles like a spill of something far darker.

"Maria," he gasped, running a hand through his hair, eyes wild. "Daisy's not doing well again—her heart rate dropped to forty this time. The attending says she's not responding to treatment." He grabbed my arm tightly, voice shaking. "I need to go to the hospital. Maybe if she sees me, she'll calm down…"

I stared at him—the red veins in his eyes, the smell of antiseptic and exhaustion clinging to his clothes, and the long, fine strand of hair on his collar that wasn't mine. My throat tightened, then—suddenly—I laughed.

"Edward," I said quietly, pulling my arm free and crouching to wipe up the mess on the floor. My nails scraped the grooves in the tiles. "Do you remember what day it is today?"

He blinked, completely lost.

"It's the day of my follow-up appointment," I said flatly, "The doctor said I'm not healing well after the surgery. My wound hasn't closed properly—I need the dressing changed today, or it could get infected."

He froze, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I know, but Daisy—"

"She's important, so I'm not, right?" I cut him off, looking up at him. My voice was calm but my hands were trembling. "In your eyes, am I just supposed to stand here forever, waiting for you? Waiting while you comfort your patient? Waiting for you to remember your fiancée? Waiting for you to toss me a little pity?"

"No!" He started to protest, but his phone vibrated violently on the counter. The screen flashed ER. He looked at the phone, then at me—then snatched up his car keys. "Maria, I'm begging you, please wait for me. I'll go with you to the hospital as soon as I'm back—no matter how long it takes—"

"Don't bother."

I stood and tossed the rag into the trash. "Go, Edward."

He froze, surprise flickering across his face, as if he couldn't understand how I could be so calm.

"Just one thing," I said, walking to the entryway and grabbing my coat. I zipped it up to my chin, half my face hidden in the collar. "At my checkup last week, the doctor said I might not be able to get pregnant anymore."

The car keys slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. "What did you say?" His voice cracked. He rushed toward me, trying to pull me into his arms. "How could this happen? Was it the surgery—"

"Yeah." I stepped back. "Or maybe it was when I fainted at the wedding and hit my stomach. Who knows." I tried to smile, but it never reached my lips. "But it's fine. You don't care anyway, do you?"

He stood frozen, pale as paper, his lips trembling as if words might form if he just tried hard enough. The phone in his hand kept ringing, the shrill tone slicing through the silence like a warning siren.

I slipped on my shoes and opened the door. Cold air rushed in, biting against my skin. "Go," I said, looking at the harsh fluorescent light in the hallway. "Don't keep your patient waiting."

He didn't move. His eyes followed me, hollow and desperate, as though he wanted to memorize every detail before I disappeared.

"Edward," I said, my voice soft but steady. "The moment you chose her, you should've known—some things, once broken, can never be fixed."

The door closed behind me, cutting off whatever he tried to say—and shutting out the six years he'd shattered with his own hands.

I walked down the stairwell, my footsteps echoing off the concrete. Somewhere outside, rain had started to fall. Cold drops stung my face, sharp and real.

I hadn't gone far when I heard footsteps behind me—Edward's hurried, uneven stride. He caught up, clutching my medical records, probably snatched them up in a panic.

"Maria! Let me take you to the hospital—please!" His voice cracked, raw with fear. "I'll have a colleague watch Daisy. I can't leave you alone like this."

"No need." I pulled the file from his grip, my tone quiet but cutting. "Dr. Jackson, go save your patient. After all, in your heart, her life matters far more than mine."