Chapter 2
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, I dropped to my knees.
My knees were on the floor, the back of my head pressed against the wall.
A nurse rolled a medication cart past, the wheels squeaking against the floor.
I pulled out my phone.
I flipped straight to "Mr. Carter" in my contacts.
It was 2:43 AM.
I hesitated for three seconds.
Then I hit the call button.
"Hello? Simon Parker? Calling at this hour, " Carter began.
"Carter, I need a divorce agreement template," I said flatly.
There were two seconds of silence on the other end.
"Are you for real?" Carter asked.
"Send it to my email," I said.
"Hey, calm down."
"I've been calm for three years."
I hung up.
The screen went dark.
From inside the room, the steady beep of the heart monitor echoed down the hallway.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
*****
I've been married for three years.
That's 1,097 days.
Every day with Jane, I feel like I'm always the last in line.
I'm always behind her cases, tasks, overtime, business trips, and Henry.
By the time it's my turn, she's already passed out on the couch, exhausted.
Sometimes, I don't even get a turn.
The first year of our marriage.
We'd planned our honeymoon in Sunset Bay.
Everything was set, tickets, hotel, but the day before we were supposed to leave, Jane got a call.
"We're about to move in on the suspects. I can't leave," Jane said.
I ended up canceling both tickets on my own, and lost thirty percent of the money to cancellation fees.
Jane promised she'd make it up to me next time.
But there never was a next time.
The second year of our marriage.
I had a fever of 102.6°F, sweating so much it felt like I'd been pulled out of a pool.
I called Jane.
It was noisy on her end, with sirens blaring in the background.
"Take some ibuprofen. I can't leave right now," Jane said.
I hung up, struggled to the living room for some water, and as I passed the shoe rack, my leg buckled. I smacked my knee on the corner, and the bruise lasted for two weeks.
The next day, Jane came home and spotted the bruise on my knee.
"How'd you get that?" she asked, glancing at my knee.
"Banged it," I replied.
"Try to be more careful next time."
Try to be more careful next time.
A few words, tossed out without a care.
But the time I had appendicitis was even crazier.
I woke up at three in the morning, sweating bullets and curled into a ball from the pain.
Jane wasn't home.
She was out on a stakeout all night.
I called 911 myself. At the hospital, I was in too much pain to complete the surgical paperwork.
They needed someone to handle it on my behalf.
I called Jane six times.
She didn't answer the first call.
She didn't answer the second one either.
She picked up the third call, said, "I'm in a meeting," and hung up.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth calls, all I got was a busy tone.
In the end, my neighbor Wallace completed the paperwork for me.
He was sixty-three, and I had to wake him up in the middle of the night by knocking on his door.
He showed up outside the operating room in pajama bottoms and slippers, two hours before Jane even got there.
By the time Jane finally showed up at the hospital, I was already awake from the anesthesia.
She stood by my bed, frowning.
"Why didn't you tell me you were in pain sooner?" Jane asked.
I looked at her.
I wanted to say so much.
But in the end, all I said was, "I called you six times."
Jane was silent for a moment.
"I really couldn't get away at the time," she said.
She could never get away.
Never, not when it mattered.
She always had a million excuses, but the real reason, the one that mattered most, was always Henry.
There was nothing romantic between them.
I knew there was nothing more than friendship.
At least, Jane never saw it as anything more.
Henry was the protégé she personally mentored.
Jane was a year older than him, joined the Criminal Investigation Unit two years before he did, and she was the one who helped him crack his first case, survive his first stakeout, and catch his first fugitive.
To Jane, Henry was like family, a little brother, a partner, and a comrade-in-arms.
He was closer to her than her own husband.
Jane and Henry had fought side by side, taken hits together, and chased suspects through seven blocks.
And with me?
We'd only ever shopped at IKEA together.
I'd put together a bookshelf for her.
She complained that I'd driven the screws in at an angle.
It was 3:15 AM.
Mr. Carter's email came through.
I opened the attachment and scrolled through the document.
It was all there in black and white.
Party A. Party B.
Property division.
Child custody, this section was left blank.
We didn't have any kids.
Jane always said she was too busy with work for us to have kids.
I said okay.
She said we'd wait two years and see.
I said okay.
Two years turned into another two years.
I was thirty-one now.
I couldn't wait any longer.
And honestly, I didn't want to wait anymore.
I saved the agreement in my phone notes and locked the screen.
I stood up.
My legs were numb, and pins and needles prickled across the soles of my feet.
I pushed open the door to the hospital room.
Jane was asleep.
Her breathing was shallow, her nostrils barely moving.
The lines on the heart monitor rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
The IV fluid dripped down, one drop at a time.
Her face was turned to the side, a few stray hairs clinging to her forehead.
She had a small face.
Her chin was pointed.
Her features were actually quite striking: pale skin, prominent brow bones, a straight nose, and thin lips.
In her police uniform, she looked sharp and commanding; out of it, she was slender and almost fragile.
I first saw her on the training field at the police academy.
She was in a short-sleeved workout uniform, flipping a guy nearly six feet tall over her shoulder.
Her movements were smooth and effortless.
I stood there dumbstruck for three seconds.
Then she looked up at me, sweat dripping down her forehead, her eyes bright as stars.
"What are you staring at? Never seen a woman throw someone before?" Jane shot back.
I fell for her, hard.
Hook, line, and sinker.
But no one can live on a single memory forever.
I pulled over a visitor's chair and sat down.
I didn't lie down.
I just sat there.
Staring at the ceiling.
Waiting for dawn.