He Missed Every Chemo For Her Chapter 03

He Missed Every Chemo For Her Chapter 03

Maeve didn’t speak for almost a minute.

“Nora. Explain.”

So I did.

In Massachusetts, you sign the license at the ceremony and the officiant files it. Ours came back to us instead—some clerical mix-up—and Grant said he’d handle it. Sixty days to file. He said it four times. I’ll do it Monday. I’ll do it after my shift. Baby, it’s paperwork, we’re already married in every way that counts.

Eleven months later I was cleaning out his glovebox and I found the envelope. Unopened. His signature line blank.

There was a coffee ring on it. And a sticky note in handwriting that wasn’t mine:

Bring me a latte tmrw?? — S ?

“He used our marriage license as a coaster,” I said.

Maeve made a sound like she’d been punched.

“So legally,” I said, “I’m nobody’s wife. Which, after eighteen rounds of chemo alone, is the only good news I’ve had all year.”

“…What are you going to do?”

I looked at the suitcase in the corner.

“I fly to Copenhagen tomorrow afternoon.”

“Does he know?”

“No.”

He wouldn’t care. That was the part I couldn’t say out loud yet.

After we hung up, I opened Sadie’s post one more time.

And I tapped like.

A parting gift. From one woman to another.

Grant came home at ten.

He reached to hang up his coat behind the door, and his hand stopped in midair.

“Where’s the picture?”

He didn’t even put the coat down. He walked straight into the bedroom, and there was real panic in his voice. “Nora. Where’s our wedding photo?”

I was propped against the headboard. “It fell. The glass broke.”

He looked at the trash can. At the shards. His whole body loosened.

Then he pulled a glossy shopping bag out of his briefcase and set it on the bed.

“I said I’d get you something yesterday and I didn’t make it. So—consider it made up.”

I looked at it. Designer. Expensive. And the receipt curling out of the tissue paper, time-stamped thirty-one minutes ago.

He’d seen me like Sadie’s post. He’d felt the guilt. He’d pulled over at a counter on the drive home and bought his way out of it, the way he had twice before.

I didn’t touch it.

He cleared his throat. “So. About the fellowship spot next quarter. The research slot with Dr. Yun—”

“You want me to give it to Sadie.”

He blinked. He hadn’t expected me to say it first. “She’s new. She needs the credential. You’ve had three of those, Nora, you’re already the youngest attending on the floor—”

So the gift had a price tag stapled to it after all.

“Okay,” I said.

He stared. “You’re… not angry?”

I shook my head.

There was nothing left to be angry about. Everything Sadie wanted—the fellowship, the mentor, the man—was something I had already stopped needing.

His shoulders dropped an inch, and then, because he could never leave well enough alone, he added: “She’s my intern. You’re her mentor’s wife. It’s a good look for you, being gracious.”

Her mentor’s wife.

“Oh—and tomorrow,” he said, brightening. “Ten a.m., the bell. I already booked the photographer, I put a deposit down. The whole department’s coming. Nora, I swear on my life, I will be standing right there.”

I opened my mouth to tell him there was no point.

His phone rang.

SADIE LANE.

I could hear her through the speaker. Sharp breathing. Chest pain. Can’t stop shaking. Can you come.

He hung up. For one second—one single second in a year—he actually looked torn.

“Go,” I said.

Relief rolled off him like heat.

He crossed the room, kissed the top of my bare head, and said, “Wear the blue dress tomorrow. I won’t break my promise this time.”

Then he was gone.

At 9:45 the next morning, I zipped my last suitcase.

His side of the closet was full. Mine was empty.

At 9:50, I got in a cab to Logan Airport.

At 10:00 exactly, my phone stayed silent. No call. No text.

At 2:40 p.m., standing at the gate with my boarding pass, it finally buzzed. Two messages, back to back.

[Baby, Sadie’s in the ER, she needs someone with her. I can’t make the bell today.]

[When you’re back from your conference I’ll pick you up at the airport and we’ll do it right. I swear I won’t let you down again.]

Eighteen rounds. Eighteen empty chairs. And the nineteenth promise, broken like all the rest.

My heart didn’t move at all.

I typed, word by word:

[Don’t bother, Grant. I resigned from St. Adrian’s. I’m boarding a plane to start a new job overseas.]

[After today, we are nothing to each other.]

I hit send and moved my thumb toward the power button.

The screen exploded with his name.