Page 2 of The Space He Left
My heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "Oh, Jack. That's terrible."
"She's at the hospital in the city right now, and the doctors... they told her she may not have long to live." His hands were shaking slightly. "I know the timing is awful, but I can't just leave her to face this alone."
I felt a stab of disappointment that our anniversary was being cut short, but looking at Jack's anguished face, I couldn't be selfish. This was someone he cared about, someone who was scared and sick and reaching out for help. This was Jack all over. If someone had an emergency, he was always the first one there, no questions asked.
"Of course, you have to go," I said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "She needs you right now."
"Harps, I'm so sorry. I know this is our night, our last anniversary before our tiny roommate comes, and I hate that I'm ruining it."
"You're not ruining anything," I said, even though part of me wanted to cry. "You're being a good friend. Madison must be terrified. I can't imagine facing something like that alone."
Relief flooded his face, followed immediately by a fresh wave of guilt. "I don't deserve you. I really don't. Most wives would be furious."
"I'm disappointed," I admitted. "But I'm not furious. This is who you are, Jack. You help people when they need it. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with you."
He stood, already reaching for his jacket. "I'll make this up to you, I promise. We'll have another anniversary dinner. A better one. I'll take you to that place in the city you've been wanting to try."
"Just focus on helping Madison right now," I said. "We can celebrate later. How long will you be gone?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe overnight. Maybe longer. It depends on..." He gestured helplessly. "On how bad it is."
I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. Our last child-free anniversary, and he'd be spending it at a hospital with someone else. But Madison was sick and scared, and Jack was probably the only familiar face she had.
"I can get myself home," I said. "Don't worry about me."
"Are you sure? I could call Sam to come get you—"
"Jack, I'm seven months pregnant, not helpless. I can get myself home." I managed a small smile. "Just go. She needs you more than I do right now."
He was already leaving.
"Jack?" I called after him.
He paused, turning back with worry in his eyes.
"Drive carefully. Text me when you get there so I know you're safe."
He nodded, his expression softening with gratitude. "Stay and have dessert, okay? Don't let this ruin the whole evening. Order that chocolate torte you've been eyeing all night."
I managed a genuine smile. "Done."
He leaned down to kiss my forehead, his lips warm and familiar. "I love you, Harper Henderson. More than you know."
"I love you, too. Now go help Madison."
After he left, I did exactly what he'd suggested. I ordered the chocolate torte and savored every bite, thinking about how lucky Madison was to have a friend like Jack in her life. Someone who would drop everything to be there when she needed him most.
This was the man I’d married. The one whose love wasn't in grand, showy declarations, but in the quiet, steady rhythm of our life together. For our first anniversary, he’d surprised me by recreating our first date, right down to the awkward playlist from my car that he’d tracked down online. We’d eaten takeout pizza on a blanket by the lake, and he’d given me a small, leather-bound journal, its first page filled with a list titled,"One Hundred Reasons I'm Glad Your Car Broke Down That Day."
For our second, knowing how much I missed the art galleries of the city, he’d turned our entire living room into a private exhibit. He had printed and framed a dozen of my favorite, lesser-known landscape paintings he’d found online, hanging them with gallery lighting and little descriptive placards he'd written himself. He’d even served terrible, cubed cheese and cheap champagne on a tray, whispering,"Just like a real gallery opening, Harps?"The gesture was so thoughtful, so him, it had made me cry.
This third anniversary was quieter, but no less thoughtful. At seven months pregnant, my energy came in short, unpredictable bursts, usually dedicated to a few hours of freelance design work before I'd collapse on the couch for a nap. I knew he’d had some grand, adventurous plan in mind. He'd been dropping hints for weeks about our passports and "a place with cobblestone streets." But he’d taken one look at me last week, asleep with a sketchbook on my chest, and scrapped it all without a word. Instead, he’d chosen this. A quiet dinner, a return to the Rosewood Inn, the place where we’d had our first "real" date, the one where we’d dressed up and admitted this was more than just a fling. He had recognized that what I needed right now wasn't an adventure, but a moment of quiet connection before our world changed forever. It was just as romantic, just as perfect, as any gallery he could have built.
That was the Jack I knew. The man who paid attention to the little things, who remembered the quiet details of my heart and turned them into moments of magic. He wasn't just a good man; he was a good husband.
Mrs. Finlayson stopped by my table shortly after Jack left. "Everything alright, dear?"
"Jack had to help a friend with an emergency," I explained, patting my belly as the baby gave a gentle kick. "But everything's fine. He'll be back as soon as he can."
