Page 41 of Gone Before Goodbye
Maggie sighs but she also nods. “If that’s what you want, I will, yes.”
Then Nadia drops a truth bomb on her: “You don’t know me,” she says. “You don’t know my life.”
Which is fair. Maggie knows that. But she can’t just let it go either. “You’re right. I don’t. But know this: I’m here for you. I’m on your side.”
“I know,” Nadia says. “Tomorrow you will operate on me. You will keep me safe.”
“I will,” she says.
“That’s all I need.” Nadia walks to the door. Then she says, “I bet you’ve made sacrifices for the man you love, haven’t you, Doctor McCabe?”
Maggie feels the too-familiar pang.
“Doctor?”
“I have,” Maggie says. Then she adds, “But not something like this, no. He would never…” She stops and reminds herself of an obvious truth: They aren’t the same, Maggie and Nadia. As Nadia so aptly put it, “You don’t know my life.” It’s condescending to compare. Maggie gets that.
But then Nadia asks, “Are you married?”
Maggie feels the tears push into her eyes.
“I mean, you have someone special in your life, right?”
Maggie still doesn’t reply.
“Doctor?”
And then, because Nadia deserves the truth, Maggie gives her the honest, heartbreaking answer:
“No,” Maggie says, “I’m not married anymore. There is no one special in my life.”
Nadia leaves. Maggie stays in the office.
She checks the door for a lock. There is none. No matter. She turns off the light and moves over to the couch against the far wall. She sits on it, pulls her knees up to her chest, hugs herself. Tears run down her cheeks. She lets them. She isn’t crying, not by the medical definition. Crying involves facial muscles like the orbicularis oculi and mentalis. Crying involves the release of oxytocin and endorphins. Crying is usually accompanied by shortness of breath or increased heart rate.
But this is just tears sliding down her face.
For a few minutes Maggie doesn’t move. She can’t move. She just sits in the dark and hopes no one will knock on that door. This is her life now. The self-pity makes her sick. Still, she takes out her phone.
She hates this.
With a shaking hand, she clicks the blue icon.
Marc’s face appears.
“Why is it so dark?” he asks.
“I’m sitting in a dark room.”
“Why? I can barely see you.”
She moves her face closer to the screen.
“You’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine.”
“Where are you? What happened at your meeting with Barlow?”
