Chapter 2

The first day in the Medical Records, I did nothing.

I stared at a room full of dust-covered brown paper bags.

My phone was silent, and no one came looking for me. I became a ghost in the hospital.

The next day, someone knocked on the door. It was soft, and I didn't move.

The door opened a crack, and a head peeked in. It was Melissa.

She was wearing a brand-new lab coat. Her name tag said: [Associate Chief of Cardiac Surgery]

That used to be my position.

She walked in, trailing a cloud of perfume, mixing with the mildew smell of the Medical Record room. It was awful.

"Claire," she called out, and her voice was sweet and soft. "I came to check on you. This place is kind of shabby."

She looked around, her brow slightly furrowed, as if she actually felt sorry for me.

I ignored her and kept staring at my brown paper bags.

She didn't seem bothered and kept talking. "Michael told me everything. Thanks for everything. Sorry you had to go through all this.

"If it weren't for you, I never would've gotten the promotion."

She set a basket of fresh cherries on my desk. They were imported, plump, and bright red.

"Here, have some. It'll help you feel better," she said. "Michael said these are your favorite."

I finally looked up and stared right at her. Her eyes were shining with the condescending grace of someone who won.

"Don't call me that," I said. My voice came out scratchy, as if it was rusted shut. "We're not friends."

Her smile faltered for a moment, then bounced right back. "Claire, how can you say that? We're colleagues, after all. We'll be working together from now on.

"There's a lot about the project I'm running now that I'll need your help with."

The project she was talking about was my project. Three years of my life. It was about to pay off. Now, she was the boss.

I stood up and grabbed the bag of cherries. I walked to the door and opened it. Dumped the cherries straight into the hallway trash.

Red cherries rolled everywhere like little drops of blood.

Melissa's face went pale. "You..."

"Take your crap and get out," I said. "Don't ever come back here. You disgust me."

Melissa's eyes turned red, and her tears welled up. "Claire, how could you do this? I know you're upset. But you can't insult me like this. I was trying to be nice and check on you."

She looked absolutely pitiful. If Michael saw her now, he'd probably feel so sorry for her. He'd think I was picking on her again, same old story.

Too bad for her that Michael wasn't here, and I was not that pushover anymore.

I stared at her, and each word was like a blade. "Can't you understand human language? Do you need me to throw you out myself?"

Melissa flinched under my gaze.

There was nothing in my eyes. No anger, no jealousy, but a cold, empty silence.

She took a step back. Her lips trembled. "You're impossible."

Then she turned and ran out.

I closed the door, shutting out the world. Then I sat back down.

The Medical Records were quiet again. I picked up a medical record. And started sorting.

[Year of hire: 1985.

[Surgeon: James Lee.

[Patient: Heart valve replacement.

[Procedure: Successful.]

I flipped through the pages, sorting them by year, by procedure.

This was my only job now, sorting through piles of old paper and sorting through forgotten pasts.

I didn't mind.

All afternoon, I sorted through three cabinets.

When it was time to leave, I didn't go home.

That place belonged to Michael.

I found a budget hotel near the hospital and got a room.

After a shower, I lay down on the bed.

The sheets smelled like disinfectant, but I slept like a baby.

It was the best sleep I'd had in ten years.

*****

A week went by. I clocked in at the Medical Records on time, every single day. I punched out right on time, too.

All I did was sort files and didn't say a word to anyone.

I quit the department group chat and hung up on every work call.

Michael came looking for me once. He showed up outside the Medical Records, and I blocked him at the door.

"Claire, don't be like this. Let's talk," he said.

"There's nothing to talk about," I replied.

"At least come home. Hotels aren't safe."

"My safety is none of your business."

Then I closed the door.

He never came back. Maybe Melissa said something to him. Or maybe he thought I was throwing a tantrum, and I'd get over it in a few days.

He was always like that, so full of himself, and so sure I couldn't live without him.

Maybe I couldn't, once. But now? Now, all I wanted was to stay as far away from him as possible.

In one week, I organized thirty years' worth of cardiac surgery files and had everything perfectly sorted.

My efficiency was borderline freakish, and even the veteran archivist was impressed.

Once the work was done, I was left with nothing to do.

I started binge-reading novels on my phone.

I could plow through hundreds of thousands of words a day.

My brain felt fried, but my mind was empty. And I didn't have to think about anything.

That afternoon, right as I was deep into a critical scene, right in the middle of the drama, the door was knocked on again. This time, the knock was loud and forceful.

The sound was full of anger.

I frowned and didn't budge.

Whoever was outside was clearly losing their patience. They started twisting the doorknob. But I'd locked the door from the inside.

"Claire. Open up," someone called out.

I realized it was Michael.