Chapter 5
In the photo, the wall clock in the background took up the whole screen. The hour hand rested at 3 am.
I backed out to the previous screen. The post was timestamped at 3:15 am.
I set my phone face down on the desk.
I pulled off the cap of my red pen and drew a red line across the planner in front of me.
3 am was the exact moment Caleb stood in the entryway, holding a cake that had turned into a mushy mess.
He walked in, still cold from outside, and with a deadpan look, said Alice screwed up a prescription, and the patient's family was causing trouble, so he couldn't get away.
But the truth was, he was sitting in the duty room, sharing some hot porridge he'd queued up for with a nervous young nurse.
Then he grabbed a cheap cake from a convenience store on his way back, handing it to me like he couldn't care less.
I set the red pen back down on the desk.
Honestly, I was amazed at how clear my mind was right now. No meltdown, no urge to grill him.
Once I stripped away all those shredded lies, all that remained was the icy logic of tallying up the damage.
Everything made sense.
I tapped into the search bar and typed in Caleb's name.
I kept scrolling up through our chat history.
Swiping past endless stretches of silent treatment and those lifeless, obligatory chats.
And then I stopped at a message from four winters ago.
It read: [Maeve, I got a ticket, but it's standing room only. Fifteen hours, and I'll finally see you tomorrow morning!]
Caleb: [Even if I have to stand the whole way, it's totally worth it to see you.]
That year, Caleb wore a puffer jacket that had faded from so many washes.
Standing at the exit in the freezing wind, his lips were almost blue from the cold.
He carefully unzipped his jacket and pulled out a small meat pie, still warm from being tucked close to his chest.
Now, he was a different man. He'd become the well-regarded Dr. Maxwell in his department.
He was always protective of Alice, careful not to bruise her fragile pride.
He showed real concern for her struggles during night shifts.
But when it came to me, he could throw indifference and coldness my way without a second thought.
The coffee in my cup had gone completely cold. A murky, oily film had formed on the surface.
I pressed the lock button of my phone.
As the screen went dark, the black glass reflected my own blank, emotionless face.
That screenshot of the midnight snack, with the wall clock and the red heart, was already sitting in my photo album.
The timestamp on the photo was exactly 3 am, the moment I was left alone in the entryway, with nothing but a mess of ruined whipped cream, holding back every question burning inside me.
The car suddenly jolted forward.
After the muffled thud of the collision, the seatbelt clamped down.
It pressed hard against my chest, and my breath caught halfway.
The car came to a stop in the middle of the overpass.
The driver from the car behind slammed his car door shut and came over, cursing loudly through my windshield.
My palms were slick with cold sweat on the steering wheel.
I fumbled for my phone.
My thumb hovered over the contacts list, but in the end, I still tapped the very first number.
The call rang for what felt like forever before he finally picked up.
"What is it? I'm swamped right now," Caleb said. His voice was tense, words tumbling out in a rush.
In the background, I could hear the steady beeping of machines and someone trying hard not to cry.
My gaze was fixed on the spiderweb cracks spreading across the windshield.
"I got into a car accident. I'm on—" I started.
"Maeve, can we talk about this later?" He cut me off right away.
His voice pitched up, with a sharp edge of impatience. "Alice got shoved by a patient's family, and now she's a total mess, crying nonstop. I can't leave right now. You'll have to handle it yourself."
The name of the street was right on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't get it out. My breath caught, too.
The ache from the seatbelt finally started to dullly spread through my body.
I closed my eyes.
"Fine. Sorry for bothering you," I said.
I pulled the phone away and hung up.
The busy tone cut off abruptly.
Someone pounded on my window.
The driver who caused the accident was shouting at me to get out of the car.
I pushed the door open, and the autumn wind rushed in, chilling me to the bone as it slipped down my collar.
A black SUV slowly pulled over and stopped behind me. The window rolled down.
It was Mike, the sales team's VIP client rep.
"Ms. Hartley, are you in trouble?" he asked.
He glanced at the mess from the crash, sounding totally unfazed.
Standing in the cold, that call I'd ended left me feeling even more miserable.
I pulled my fingers into my sleeves for warmth.
"Just a minor scrape, nothing serious," I said.
Mike didn't ask any more questions.
He got out of the car, pulled the warning triangle from the trunk, and set it up a good distance down the road.
Then he took pictures of the damage from all sides with his phone.
He didn't waste a single word the whole time.
"I've got all the evidence. It's not safe to stay here with all this traffic," he said.
Mike took a couple of steps closer, his voice quiet and reassuring. "Hop in my car. Let's head to the traffic police station first."
Watching him handle everything so calmly, I finally let my shoulders relax a little.
I slid into the front seat. The fluorescent lights in the traffic police office were harsh and glaring.
*****
The paperwork was done in no time.
Mike stood to the side, with his head lowered, carefully checking every detail on the accident report.
The door was suddenly pushed open.
A gust of wind rushed in, bringing with it a strong whiff of disinfectant.
Caleb strode in. He was still in his white coat, stethoscope dangling from his pocket.
His gaze swept the room and landed right on Mike and me.
He walked over.
His gaze lingered on Mike, his jaw flexing with a subtle tension.
"Maeve, are you alright? I came straight over as soon as I finished the rescue. Why didn't you answer when I called?" Caleb asked.
His words trembled at the end, betraying a flicker of guilt and panic.
But even more obvious was the guarded look in his eyes. He was clearly defensive after being checked out.
Mike turned his head slightly, meeting Caleb's eyes with a calm, steady gaze.
"Ms. Hartley, who's this?" he asked.