Chapter 4

By the end of the weekend, I'd moved out most of my stuff.

James didn't bring up Rivergate again.

On Monday morning, HarperTech submitted their risk assessment documents to Rivergate by the book for the first time.

David texted me that after four days of back and forth, they'd finally gotten it approved.

I replied: [Congrats.]

Ten minutes later, he messaged again: [How much heavy lifting were you actually doing for us back then?]

I never kept track. And now, I didn't need to.

I tucked that medicine bag inside the entryway drawer at my apartment.

*****

On Wednesday, as I reached for my car keys on my way out, I saw it again. The moment my fingertips touched the plastic edge, my phone rang. It was James.

I glanced at the time and picked up. "What's up?"

"Did you say something to Bluewave PR?"

Bluewave PR was the public relations firm HarperTech had used for five years.

"No."

"They sent over a new quote today that's 30% higher than last year's."

"Then negotiate with them."

"Susan." His voice was tight with anger. "All of our partners have been changing their terms these past few days. Are you seriously telling me this has nothing to do with you?"

I took out the medicine bag and stared at the admission date printed on it. "If you want answers, ask them yourself."

"You..."

"I have a meeting today." I hung up.

*****

As the elevator went down, that memory I'd been trying so hard to push away came flooding back alongside that medicine bag.

Two months ago, I was having lunch with a client at a restaurant near the office.

I'd barely sat down before a sharp pain hit my lower right abdomen.

At first, I thought it was only an upset stomach. By the time I toughed it out to the end of the meal, I couldn't even stand up straight.

The driver rushed me to the hospital, and after a quick examination in the ER, the doctor scheduled me for surgery.

A nurse wheeled me off to the ward and asked for my family's contact details.

I dialed James. But there was no answer.

Then I tried a second time, then a third. By the seventeenth try, all I got was the same automated voice over the line.

A little past nine that night, I was already hooked up to an IV drip. The anesthesiologist came by for the pre-op check.

The nurse asked me again, "Is your family still not here?"

I stared at my phone. James' last text was from that morning. [Got a new product launch tonight, probably staying late. Don't wait up for me.]

Back then, all I knew was that the business development team was putting the launch event together. Emily was one of the project coordinators.

Little did I know that his idea of "staying late" meant dropping off the grid entirely.

In the end, it was my college friend Olivia Stone who rushed to the hospital.

When she hurried into the room, she was still in high heels, her forehead dripping with sweat. "Are you out of your mind? Signing off on acute appendicitis surgery all by yourself?"

I handed her my phone. "I couldn't get ahold of him."

Olivia looked at my call log, and her face went pale. She stopped chewing me out. Instead, she grabbed my bag and went with the nurse to sort out the remaining paperwork.

The surgery wrapped up in the early hours of the morning.

By noon the next day, I was fully awake, but James still hadn't shown up.

I called his secretary. There was a pause on her end. "Mr. Harper isn't in the office today," she said.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He...went to the launch event with Emily last night, and the brand hosted an after-party once it wrapped up." The secretary didn't dare go any further.

It wasn't until late afternoon that James finally called back.

By then, I was holding onto my IV pole, slowly easing myself out of bed.

The background on his end was dead quiet. "I was pulled in all night yesterday. I just saw your missed calls."

I gripped the bedrail, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead from the pain. "I'm in the hospital."

He paused for a second. "What happened?"

"I had surgery."

"Was it bad?"

"It's done."

I still remember waiting for a few seconds back then. I thought he would at least ask which hospital I was at.

Instead, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Good that it's over. I've got an important review this afternoon. I'll come see you tonight."

At ten-forty that night, he still hadn't shown up.

Olivia handed me her phone. "See for yourself."

Emily had posted an update on her Instagram. The picture showed the backstage of the product launch. A dozen people were raising their glasses. Right in the center, James stood next to her, holding a cake box.

The caption read: [All wrapped up! Thanks, boss, for remembering my birthday today.]

I stared at it for a long time. I didn't shed a tear, nor did I call James.

When I was discharged the next day, I had Olivia drop me off at my vacant apartment.

She asked me, "Are you sure about this?"

I simply asked her to help me hire a cleaning service.

At the time, we hadn't divorced yet. Even so, I had already stashed a duplicate set of my daily essentials over there.

The elevator doors slid open. I snapped out of my memories.