Chapter 2 - The Unspoken Diagnosis"What do you mean, you're running out of time?" I blurted out, my voice cracking as I dropped to my knees beside her chair, ignoring the way my trousers brushed the cold floor. I reached out to grab her hand, but my fingers hovered inches away, suddenly terrified that if I touched her, she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
Sophie didn't pull away, but she didn't offer her hand either. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked windowpane.
"How did you find me, Ethan?" she asked quietly, her voice entirely devoid of the warmth I used to take for granted. It sounded hollow, like wind blowing through an empty house.
"I... I was visiting Marcus," I stammered, my chest heaving as panic threatened to choke me. "I was walking down the hall and I saw you. Sophie, why are you wearing a patient gown? What is wrong with you? Where are your parents? Why isn't anyone with you?"
A bitter, humorless smile touched the corners of her pale lips. "My parents are three hours away in Peoria, managing their hardware store, believing I’m living happily in my new apartment. And as for why I'm alone..." She turned her head slowly, her exhausted eyes locking onto mine. "Because everyone else who ever pretended to love me walked out when things stopped being convenient."
The words struck me like a physical blow to the chest. I flinched, my hands curling into fists on my thighs.
"Sophie, please," I begged, the tears burning behind my eyelids. "Don't do this. Tell me what's happening. Are you sick? Is it... is it cancer? Is it something related to the miscarriages?"
At the mention of our lost babies, Sophie’s breath hitched. For a brief second, the stoic mask cracked, and a single tear traced a slow path down her hollow cheek before vanishing into the collar of her gown.
"You remember them, then," she whispered bitterly. "For a long time after you left, I thought you blamed me for them. You looked at me like every time I cried, I was reminding you of a failure you wanted to lock in a closet and forget."
"That's not true!" I protested, though my voice sounded weak even to my own ears. I had pulled away. I had buried myself in spreadsheets and late-night office work precisely because every time I looked at her grief, it mirrored my own unbearable inadequacy. I had punished her for being sad, and when the silence became too loud, I had divorced her to escape my own guilt.
Before I could confess any of this, a firm, crisp voice cut through the air behind us.
"Excuse me. Are you family?"
I spun around to see a tall, middle-aged woman in a pressed white lab coat and stethoscope stepping out of room 412. Her name tag read Dr. Evelyn Vance, Head of Cardiology. Her expression was a mix of clinical professionalism and thinly veiled skepticism as she looked down at me kneeling by the chair.
"I... I'm her ex-husband," I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "I just found her here. Can someone please tell me what’s going on? What stage is she at? What is her diagnosis?"
Dr. Vance’s eyes narrowed slightly as she shifted her gaze to Sophie. A quiet, unspoken conversation passed between the two women—one of shared understanding and private endurance.
May you like
Dr. Vance sighed softly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Mr. ... Ethan, is it? Step into my office for a moment. Leave Mrs. Cross—leave Sophie to rest for a few minutes. We need to have a very serious conversation about her medical history."
My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I looked back down at Sophie. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the vinyl headrest of the chair, dismissing me without a single word.
