He Missed Every Chemo For Her Chapter 05

He Missed Every Chemo For Her Chapter 05

He made a sound I’d never heard a grown man make.

“Come home.” He was crying now, openly, unable to hide it. “Nora, please come home. Let’s talk about this‘

“Talk about what?”

“About us. About the license, I’ll file it tomorrow, I’ll drive it to City Hall myself, about the bell, we’ll do the bell, we’ll do

everything-”

“Grant,” I said quietly. “It was eighteen.”

He stopped.

“The first time, you said next time. I waited. The second time you said definitely. I waited. The third time you said don’t worry, baby.” My voice stayed perfectly level, which frightened me a little. “The nineteenth time you swore on your life. I didn’t believe you. So I didn’t wait.”

“I MEANT IT this time-”

“I know. And then Sadie’s chest hurt.”

Silence.

“Do you know why I liked her post?” I asked. “It wasn’t to be gracious.”

“Then why?”

“Because I finally understood something.” I watched a family reunite by the baggage carousel, a little girl launching

herself at her father’s legs. “You were never mine.”

“That is not true-”

“When you were chasing me, five years ago, you told me I was your exception. You said you weren’t the kind of man who chased anyone, but you’d break your own rules for me.” I laughed, softly. “I believed that. It took me five years to understand it wasn’t a compliment. You hadn’t broken your rules for me. You just hadn’t met the person who could

make you throw them away.”

“Nora-”

“She’s that person. For her, you missed eighteen infusions, three surgeries‘ worth of recovery days, and one bell. You

left me on the shoulder of Storrow Drive in a hospital gown. Grant, your exception was never me.”

She’s my INTERN!” It came out as a shout, then collapsed. “I don’t have feelings for her I never touched her, I swear

to God-

“That’s not the part that matters.”

“Then what’s the part that matters?!”

“That when it was her or me,” I said, “it was never once me.”

A dull thud came down the line. A fist against a wall.

“You can’t do this.” He was begging now. “We had a wedding. Two hundred people. Five years, Nora-‘

“We had a wedding. We never had a marriage,” I said. “Legally, I’m not your wife. I’m not even your emergency contact anymore. I took your name off the form in June and it took you five months to find out.”

“Nora-”

“Grant. Let me go.”

I hung up and powered the phone off.

The colleague sent to collect me came jogging across the arrivals hall, apologizing in accented English for being late -Lars Holm, mid–forties, silver at the temples, kind eyes, an armful of files he clearly hadn’t planned to be carrying.

“Dr. Quinn? Welcome to Denmark. I’m sorry, the traffic-”

“It’s fine,” I said, and picked up my own suitcase before he could.

Outside, the air was so cold it went straight to the bottom of my lungs. It smelled like the sea and like somewhere that

had never once heard the name Grant Marsh.

I stood on the curb and took the deepest breath I’d taken in a year, and I felt like I was exhaling five entire years of my

life.

Three days later, I started work.

The Institute gave me a badge with my maiden name on it–N. QUINN, MD–and a locker and a case list that made my

hands itch in the best way. Nobody there knew I’d been sick. Nobody looked at my short hair with that soft, awful pity I

was just the new American who could suture faster than anyone on the floor.

On my fourth night in the apartment, a message came through from a number I didn’t recognize.

[This is Sadie. You’ve completely destroyed him. He hasn’t eaten in four days. He won’t look at me, he won’t speak to me, he had me transferred to another hospital. Are you happy now?]

And then, thirty seconds later:

[You know he only stayed with you because you were sick, right?]

I read that twice.

Then I screenshotted both messages, saved them in a folder labeled insurance, and went to bed.

Because it turned out there was one thing left in this world that could still make me angry.

And she had just handed me the receipts.