Chapter 1
While I was burning up at 102.2°F, throwing up in the entryway, and seeing stars, Eric Carter was downstairs kneeling beside the woman next door, twisting open a bottle of water, and coaxing her into taking her fever medicine.
After seven calls, he finally picked up.
He didn't even ask how I was. The first thing out of his mouth was, "Laura, can you stop causing trouble? Sophia lives alone, she's burning up and she can barely stay on her feet."
I was leaning against the shoe cabinet with my back soaked in cold sweat, and through the half-open window I could hear Sophia downstairs, her voice all stuffed up. "Ricky, I hate bitter medicine. Can you check how many pills I'm supposed to take?"
I looked out the window and let out a laugh.
It turned out I wasn't the only one running a high fever, but he handed her the medicine first.
"Eric," I said, and my mouth was full of something bitter.
"I'm running a fever too. 102.6°F."
There was a two-second silence on the other end.
It was like he finally remembered I was his wife of three years.
But the next second, he still said, "Just look for the medicine cabinet yourself. I'll be up in ten minutes."
Sophia called out from downstairs right away. "Ricky, I'm cold."
I heard him leave, footsteps fading away.
He had probably taken off his jacket and put it around her shoulders.
I didn't say another word, and I hung up.
I couldn't stand anymore, so I slid down the wall with my hands pressed against the cold tile, and that was when it hit me that I didn't even have the energy left to be angry.
The digital clock by the door glowed red, blindingly bright. It was 1:17 AM.
The water in the kitchen hadn't boiled, and the medicine cabinet was empty.
And my husband of three years was downstairs, keeping another woman company while she took her fever meds.
I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911.
The dispatcher asked whether anyone in my family was with me.
I stared at the closed door with my throat full of cotton, and after a long pause, I finally got one word out. "No."
The ambulance arrived quickly.
As the paramedics helped me onto the stretcher, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a familiar figure by the flower bed downstairs.
Eric was standing at the entrance, holding a cup of hot water, murmuring something to Sophia.
Sophia was wrapped in his dark jacket, nearly collapsed against his shoulder.
He didn't look up.
He didn't even realize the person being wheeled right past him was me.
As the ambulance doors closed, I blocked his number.
It wasn't spite, and it wasn't a threat.
I had simply understood something.
The thing that hurt most in a marriage was never some earth-shattering betrayal.
It was the moment a woman burned up at 102.2°F, and the one person who should have been there told her to wait.
And what she lost in that wait wasn't the fever. It was her heart.
I was hooked up to an IV all night, and by the time the sun came up, I was still there.
The doctor said it was a nasty cold that had turned into a lung infection. If I'd waited another hour or two, I probably would've passed out from the fever right there at home.
When the nurse came to change my IV bag, she asked softly, "Ma'am, where's your husband?"
I watched the medicine drip down the line, and the smile on my face looked worse than crying.
"He's busy," I said, forcing a smile.
She thought I didn't want to talk about it, so she didn't ask again.
It wasn't that I couldn't.
I was just ashamed.
At 6:30 AM, Eric finally showed up.
His hair was messy, his shirt all wrinkled, and he still carried the cold from outside.
He pushed open the hospital room door, and the moment he saw me sitting on the bed, he frowned.
"Did you seriously block me?" he asked.
I looked at him, and suddenly he seemed like a complete stranger.
The night before, I had nearly passed out from a fever alone, and the first thing out of his mouth at the hospital was about getting blocked.
I didn't answer. I stared at the plastic bag in his hand.
Inside were chicken soup, some medicine, and a box of strawberries.
Strawberries weren't my thing.
They were Sophia's favorite brand, the one that was always sold out at the store downstairs. He had once bought it for me by mistake, and I remembered it clearly.
He had picked them up for her, and while he was at it, he had grabbed a box for me.
Eric seemed to notice it too. He paused, then set the bag down on the bedside table.
"Last night was different. Sophia lives by herself and there was nobody else to help her. I couldn't walk away from that," he said.
"And what about me?" I asked.
Eric opened his mouth, and nothing came out.
I asked again, "Eric, what about me?"
The hospital room was dead silent.
Even the old guy in the next bed glanced over at us.
Eric's face darkened, and he worked to keep his voice level. "You're not like her. You're a grown woman, and you know how to call 911 and get yourself to a hospital.
"She had no idea what to do, and she was crying so hard she couldn't breathe, so I stayed a little longer."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"So you decided I could tough it out and she needed to be handled? She cries and you run downstairs. I burn up at 102.2°F and you tell me to go find the medicine myself."
"Laura Linley, do you have to talk like that?" he said.
"Then how should I say it?" I shot back.