Page 103 of Six Month Wife
This is what I wanted, what I've been working for.
And still, there’s this quiet, creeping fear I can’t shake that maybe I’ve built something too big, too fast.
And, in proving I didn’t need Parker to save me, I’ve made it impossible to keep him.
28
Parker
The open carry-onon my bed stares me down, half-packed like it knows I’m still figuring out what the hell I’m doing.
I toss in a couple of shirts, a change of pants, and my travel-sized toiletries. It’s one night—long enough to handle my father, then get the hell back.
The bag hangs open, waiting. Just like everything else in my life has been lately—unfinished and untied.
Until yesterday, when I finally closed one of those loops. At least now I’ve made one decision for my future. I’m staying in Palm Beach as the newest assistant general surgeon at Good Samaritan.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the suitcase like it might give me answers.
This is what I trained for. Two residencies. A surgical fellowship. Years of blood, no sleep, and enough bad coffee to rot my insides.
I’ve been chasing the next right thing for so long, I almost didn’t recognize it when it finally landed in my lap.
And now it has—here, in a town I never meant to stay,at a hospital I only stepped into to avoid freezing my ass off in Cleveland.
I should be celebrating a win. But I'm not. Not when the person I want to share it with keeps slipping further away every time I reach for her.
Adair says she’s busy. And she is—Citrine’s blowing up, and no one hustles harder than she does.
But there’s a wall now, a distance between us that wasn’t there before.
We stayed up late the night before last, and she toasted my offer with a crooked smile and cheap champagne from the bodega around the corner. She even let me trace lazy circles on her bare back until she fell asleep.
But it wasn’t the same as it was before everything changed with a goddamn article.
She laughs at my jokes, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She kisses me, but it’s always brief, like she's holding back enough to protect her heart.
The worst part is, I get it. I don't blame her. My father fucked everything up, like I worried he would.
From what I’ve seen, hell, from what I’ve learned in this whirlwind of a marriage, Adair doesn’t slow down. She doesn’t take her foot off the gas, not even for a second. When things get uncertain, she builds. When it hurts, she works harder.
I think it’s her way of staying in control.
I wish she’d let me in long enough to show her I’m not going anywhere.
So I’m going to prove it the only way I can.
I shift my call days, pull in a favor, and stack my next rotation so I can take the next two days without screwing anyone over.
No one questioned it. Kowalski even said it was smartto take a breath before the real work begins. But this isn’t a breather.
This is for her.
Because if there’s even a sliver of a chance that confronting my father shuts this shit down for good—if it makes her feel even one ounce safer being with me, beingseenwith me—then it’s worth it.
I stand, jaw tight, phone already in my hand. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it changes nothing.
But at least I’ll know I didn’t sit here and let her walk away thinking she was in this alone.
