Chapter 3

Early the next morning, HR notified me that I needed a comprehensive physical before my transfer to Prague.

Julian was still asleep, so I called a ride and went to the hospital alone.

By the time I finished the series of tests, it was already noon.

The doctor studied my ECG and chest X-ray with a serious expression.

"Your cardiopulmonary readings are abnormal. Prolonged anxiety and stress have already caused physical damage. You'll need medication and regular monitoring. Ideally, you should have a family member or friend accompany you for the follow-up."

Cold air swept through the hospital corridor.

Clutching the diagnosis in my hand, I still called Julian.

The phone rang for a long time before he answered.

In the background, I heard pool balls colliding and Sasha laughing.

"What?" Julian asked impatiently.

"I'm at Mercy General."

I tried to keep my voice steady.

"The doctor said there's something wrong with my heart and lungs. I need more tests. Can you come?"

There was silence for two seconds.

Then Julian gave a quiet laugh.

"Evelyn, did you seriously make up an excuse just to get me to come see you?"

"I'm busy. Sasha's upset, so I'm playing a couple rounds of pool with her to cheer her up."

I tightened my grip on the follow-up paperwork as pain flared through my injured nails again.

"Julian, I really am at the hospital..."

"Enough."

He cut me off impatiently.

"Be good. Don't ruin the mood."

Then he hung up.

I leaned against the wall and remembered a rainy night three years ago.

I had been running a fever of 103 degrees.

Julian had gone out in the pouring rain and searched three different pharmacies for medicine. He stayed awake all night, wiping me down to bring my temperature down.

After my fever finally broke, he kissed my forehead and promised me,

"No matter where I am, if you're sick, I'll come back to you immediately."

That promise had become a complete joke.

I shoved the paperwork into my bag, completed every follow-up test alone, picked up my medication, and went home.

By the time I returned to the apartment, the last trace of attachment I still felt for him had died with that phone call.

I pulled an oversized trash bag from the cabinet.

Into it went the photo of us from our trip to Maui.

Then all the cheap stuffed animals he had given me, some of them still with their tags attached.

Finally, I slipped the promise ring I had worn for three years from my finger and dropped it deep into the bag without a trace of emotion.

After erasing every trace of myself from the apartment, I carried two bags toward the entryway.

Julian happened to come home to grab some documents for a meeting.

When he saw how different the apartment looked, he assumed I was throwing another tantrum to force him to give in.

He lit a cigarette.

"There's a limit to how far you should take this. If you really move out, don't come crying tomorrow and beg me to pick you up. I won't have time to comfort you."

I couldn't be bothered to argue.

When he reached the door with his documents, I spoke quietly.

"Don't worry. I'm never coming back."