Page 33 of After Everything
Or:I miss you.
My thumb hovered over her name.
Then I remembered Dr. Reeves's voice.If you actually care about her wellbeing, you'll respect her boundaries.
I put my phone away.
Inside the restaurant, Emma's date said something that made her laugh again. She looked so light. So free. Like she'd been carrying something heavy for years and had finally put it down.
She looked the way she'd looked in college, before I'd asked her to give up med school. Before I'd slowly, steadily taken pieces of her and convinced her it was for us, for our future, for something that mattered.
Before I'd destroyed everything.
A couple walking past bumped into me. "Sorry, man," the guy said.
I stepped back, out of their way, and when I looked at the restaurant again, Emma was laughing again. Her hand was on top of his.
I turned and walked away quickly, shoving my hands in my pockets, head down.
I didn't want her to see me. Didn't want to ruin her night. Didn't want to be theghost that showed up and reminded her of everything she'd escaped.
I walked three blocks before I stopped, leaning against a building, breathing hard like I'd been running.
She was gone. Really, truly gone. Not just divorced-on-paper gone, but moved-on, dating-someone-else, laughing-at-another-man's-jokes gone.
And I had no one to blame but myself.
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages. Scrolled to Dr. Reeves's number.
Can we schedule an extra session this week? I need to talk.
Her response came five minutes later:
Tuesday at 4 PM work? See you then.
I walked home in the dark.
When I got there, I went straight to the kitchen and pulled out the whiskey bottle from the cabinet. Half full. I'd beenrationing it, telling myself I was cutting back, that having one drink at night didn't count as a problem.
I unscrewed the cap, poured it down the sink, and watched it swirl down the drain until the bottle was empty.
Then I sat on my couch in the quiet apartment and pulled out my phone. Opened my notes app. Started writing down what I needed to do.
Call the potential client on Monday. Finish the consultation agreement for the solo practice. Schedule the follow-up with Dr. Reeves. Look into that co-working space downtown for an office.
Small steps. That's all I could do.
One day at a time. One decision at a time.
Without her.
CHAPTER 12: EMMA
THREE YEARS LATER
"Mrs. Schultz, I need you to take a deep breath for me."
The woman in the exam room was hyperventilating, hands gripping the edges of the table. Panic attack, probably triggered by the abnormal mammogram results her doctor had sent her to discuss. I'd seen it four times this week alone.
