Chapter 6
Roderick managed to track down my art studio.
It was a place I rented to paint, and the only person who knew where it was was June.
"Harvey told me," he said, standing at the door. "He saw you come into this building."
I continued packing my things and ignored him.
"Were you painting?" he asked, noticing the brushes scattered on the floor.
"I used to," I said quietly.
"Used to?" Roderick repeated.
I turned to face him. "You really think I can still paint?"
Roderick stared at my eye patch, speechless.
"Roderick, what are you doing here?" I asked.
"I miss you," he said.
"And then?" I shot back.
"Let's get back together," he said, taking a step closer. "Please, Leila."
"No way," I replied.
"Why? Is it just because I trusted Caitlin?" he demanded.
I sneered. "You still don't get it."
"Then tell me." Roderick was getting agitated. "Just tell me what I did wrong!"
"You really want to know?" I asked.
"Yeah!" he said.
I set down what I was holding and walked over to the window.
"Do you remember last Christmas? Caitlin asked you to have dinner with her alone to celebrate her scholarship," I said.
Roderick froze. "Yeah, so what?"
"That day was also our third anniversary of being together," I said.
His face fell.
"This Valentine's Day, she said she was feeling down after a breakup, and you spent the whole day with her," I went on.
"Leila..." Roderick began.
"Last month, I had a fever of 102 degrees Fahrenheit. You said you'd come take care of me. But the moment Caitlin called, saying she was scared to be alone, you just left," I said.
With each thing I said, Roderick's face turned paler.
"I put up with all that because I trusted you, because I believed in what we had for fifteen years," I said.
"I'm sorry," Roderick murmured.
"But this time is different," I said, turning to face him. "This time, I lost one of my eyes."
"I know," Roderick said.
"No, you don't!" I snapped. "Do you even understand what it means to lose your sight? Do you know that every morning when I wake up, my left side is nothing but darkness?
"Do you realize I'll never paint again? Do you get that all my dreams are shattered?
"And you? You were there for her, worrying about her tears."
Roderick stood frozen, like he had been nailed to the floor.
"So, Roderick," I said, my voice finally steady, "it's not about you trusting her. It's because, in your heart, she's always been more important than me."
After Roderick left, I shut the door to my art studio behind me.
I probably wouldn't come here again.
Back at my apartment, the landlady was waiting for me downstairs.
"Ms. Schmidt, there's a package for you," she said.
It was a large box with no return address.
I struggled to haul the box upstairs, and when I opened it, it was packed with books and resources all about eye health.
There was a note tucked inside: [Maybe these will help you. Kaylee.]
Kaylee was my attending doctor, a gentle middle-aged lady.
I opened up one of the books, "Adapting to Life with One Eye."
It turned out there were many people like me.
Some were born blind; others lost their vision in accidents later in life.
But they were all trying to live their lives.
The book said that the human brain has a strong ability to adapt.
Even after losing one eye, with training, one could recover most life skills.
There were even artists who painted with one eye, creating truly stunning works.
I closed the book, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time.