Chapter 3
Andrew never saw the note. The next morning, a nurse accidentally knocked Emily's phone off the nightstand, and the screen shattered when it hit the floor.
Andrew glanced at the broken phone and said, "I'll get her a new one later."
Then he left. He went to the office, attended a meeting, signed a contract, and grabbed dinner with some investors.
When he got home that night, he saw a cupcake covered in plastic wrap on the dining table, with a Post-it note next to it: [Honey, there are more in the fridge. If you're hungry, help yourself.]
He glanced at it and tossed the cupcake into the trash.
He didn't like sweets. She knew that, too.
For the next three days, Andrew didn't go to the hospital.
He figured there was no need. Emily had already been moved out of the ICU and into a regular room, so she wasn't in any danger anymore. He had his assistant hire a caregiver to check on her every day.
The caregiver texted him every day: [Mr. Bennett, Ms. Carter didn't eat much today.
[Mr. Bennett, Ms. Carter said she wanted to see you today.
[Mr. Bennett, Ms. Carter cried today.]
He read every message but didn't reply to a single one.
He saw it as a tactic. Emily had always been like this. Whenever she got sick, she'd turn clingy, wanting him to stay by her bedside, hold her hand, and whisper sweet nothings.
If he didn't play along, she'd cry. The more she cried, the more he would be irritated.
This time, he was less inclined to visit. Attempting suicide was a whole different matter.
If he showed up, it would be like telling her that threatening to hurt herself actually worked, and she'd only push things further next time.
This was his usual approach: give her the cold shoulder, stay silent, and let her cool off on her own.
On the fourth day, the caregiver called, sounding a bit anxious. "Mr. Bennett, Ms. Carter pulled out her IV today and said she wants to leave the hospital."
"Is she well enough to be discharged?" Andrew asked.
"The doctor doesn't recommend it. Her liver function isn't stable yet."
"Tell her to stop making a fuss."
The caregiver paused for a moment before saying, "Mr. Bennett, I think you should come by."
Andrew finally went.
*****
When he walked into the room, Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in her old clothes, a faded hoodie, her hair messily tied back.
She looked like she'd wasted away. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her wrists were as thin as brittle twigs.
When Emily saw Andrew walk in, her gaze was empty, not a flicker of emotion in her eyes.
"You want to leave the hospital?" Andrew asked, standing in the doorway.
"Yeah," Emily replied.
"The doctor says you're not well enough to leave yet."
"I don't want to stay in the hospital."
Andrew let out a sigh, the kind that said, "Here we go again."
He walked over, pulled up a chair, and sat down, talking to her as if she were a stubborn kid. "Emily, can't you be reasonable? You know your own health better than anyone. If you leave now and something happens..."
"This has nothing to do with you," Emily replied, her voice so flat it was like she was talking about the weather.
Andrew was stunned. He opened his mouth, but for a moment, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Emily had never talked to him like this before.
She used to be either careful, whiny, or totally lose it. But never like this, like she didn't care.
"What did you say?"
"I said, whether I leave the hospital or not is none of your business," Emily replied. She stood up, slowly but steadily placing a book from the nightstand into a canvas bag. "Andrew, let's get a divorce."
The room suddenly fell silent. The machines kept beeping, a nurse's cart rolled down the hallway, and someone in the next room had the TV on.
Andrew thought he might have misheard. "What did you say?"
"Divorce." Emily zipped up the canvas bag and looked up at him. "My lawyer will be in touch."
Andrew stared at her face for a long time, searching for any weakness, a trace of stubbornness, or some sign she wanted him to coax her.
There was nothing. Her eyes were calm, as still as dead water.
No, that wasn't right. Stagnant water would have a hint of decay. Her eyes were like a frozen lake. Under the ice, there was nothing, not a fish, not a single blade of grass, absolute emptiness.
"Emily." Andrew stood up, his voice rising. "Do you know what you're saying?"
"I do."
"You don't have a job. How are you supposed to get by after the divorce?"
Emily glanced at him. There was no anger, no pain, not a trace of sarcasm in her eyes, only a matter-of-fact calmness. "That's for me to deal with."