There had been no apology.
Still, for the first time in years, I had heard Leo question Eleanor’s version of an event instead of simply accepting it.
I wanted to believe that mattered.
I returned to the hospital the following morning.
The laboratory had always been a place where I felt capable and understood.
A sample met its specifications or it didn’t.
If something appeared wrong, we could test it again, examine the method, and verify the result.
Science had little patience for appearances.
I put on my laboratory coat, studied the reports from the overnight team, and devoted several hours to reviewing pharmaceutical assay results.
Shortly before lunch, my supervisor approached me.
Dr. Melissa Chen was an observant woman who rarely wasted words.
“You seem exhausted.”
“I moved yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“That would explain it.”
She studied me.
“Do you need some time off?”
I was surprised by the question.
For years, I’d been one of the first people to volunteer whenever the hospital needed additional coverage.
“Maybe sometime next week.”
“Sarah.”
I met her eyes.
“You have vacation days.”
“I know.”
“Then use them before somebody decides they belong in a museum.”
I laughed.
Her expression softened.
“Whatever you’re dealing with, you don’t need to tell me. But being someone everyone can rely on doesn’t mean you must be available every minute.”
I nodded.
Then I went into the staff break room and finally began to cry.
I hadn’t cried when Eleanor told me to leave.
I hadn’t cried watching our apartment being emptied.
Yet my supervisor’s simple offer of consideration undid me.
A woman who knew only a small part of my personal life had treated me with more care in half a minute than my husband had shown me in weeks.
Arthur was waiting outside the hospital when I finished work at six.
I saw him through the glass entrance.
He was dressed in a navy suit, but his tie hung loose and his hair was untidy, as though he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.
He stood near the curb, searching the faces of everyone leaving the building.
For a moment, I thought about going back inside.
Then I reminded myself that I had no reason to hide.
I walked toward him.
“Sarah.”
“Arthur.”
He approached.
“Could we talk?”
“We can talk right here.”
“Not out on the sidewalk.”
“Then we can communicate through our attorneys.”
His eyes moved toward the people passing us.
“Please don’t turn this into a public scene.”
I almost laughed.
“You came to my workplace.”
“Because you refuse to take my calls.”
“You’ve been calling about rent and furniture.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mother’s an elderly woman. You really upset her.”
“Did she tell you what she said to me?”
“She was emotional.”
“She told me I wasn’t part of a real family.”
“Sarah—”
“She said I should be grateful that she let me pretend to be Leo’s mother.”
Arthur glanced away.
“She shouldn’t have said it quite like that.”
I stared at him.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m not defending her.”
“You’re not saying she was wrong, either.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Can’t we concentrate on finding a solution?”
“A solution to what?”
“Everything. The apartment. Leo. My mother.”
“What about our marriage?”
His face shifted.
“Of course our marriage.”
“Then we can begin there.”
I folded my arms.
“Why does your mother think you’re exhausted from financially supporting me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why does she think you’ve found another woman?”
“Mother makes all kinds of statements when she’s upset.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Sarah, you can’t assume everything she says is true.”
“Then tell me which part is false.”
He glanced toward the hospital doors.
“Can we please go somewhere private?”
I looked directly at him.
“Are you seeing another woman?”
Something changed in his expression.
It was subtle.
His gaze moved away, and his grip tightened around his phone.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“That’s not the same as saying no, Arthur.”
He swallowed.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
I had imagined hearing some version of those words for months.
Now they sounded strangely ordinary.
“Is this about Valerie?”
He looked startled.
“What?”
“The way your mother talks about her. Your secrecy. This sudden plan to hand our apartment over to her and Leo.”
“Valerie is my son’s partner.”
“I know that.”
Arthur stared at me, then shook his head.
“No. Absolutely not, Sarah. Whatever you’re imagining involving Valerie is wrong.”
I watched him closely.
That was the first thing he’d denied without hesitation.
“Then who is it?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he seemed to have aged.
Finally, he spoke.
“There is someone else.”
The story isn’t over yet. Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.
