“Well, I’m sorry you’re hurting, but honestly, you’re the one who hurt yourself.”
He stepped closer, his voice low and gentle, as if trying to soothe me. “Let’s not fight again. Just come with me. We’re going the same way, after all.”
I shook my head, firm and resolute. “From now on, I’m going by myself. We have nothing left between us, Cam. It’s time to let it go. Besides, what will your girlfriend think if you’re still driving yourwifeto work?”
He didn’t answer, and that silence twisted the knife still lodged inside me even deeper, though I couldn’t quite understand why.
“There’s my Uber,” I said as a car pulled up. I jogged toward it. “See you there.”
I felt his gaze searing into my back, but I didn’t turn around. I slid into the car, murmured a quick thank you to the driver, then asked him to please just drive.
Today was not a good day for me.
I was buried in patients all morning, barely catching my breath between rounds and consults. Two patients required immediate surgical intervention: one with suspected bowel perforation, the other with acute appendicitis complicated by rupture. There was no question about who I needed to call.
Cameron arrived quickly, calm and focused as always. We barely exchanged words beyond what was necessary—professional and detached. Exactly how it needed to be.
But even in those brief moments, I caught the look in his eyes. He wanted to say more—maybe ask if I was holding up, maybe offer something like comfort. But he didn’t. He kept it all behind that sterile surgeon mask. Just like I kept mine, after all, we’re in a hospital where hundreds of people rush around us at all times.
During lunch, I deliberately avoided him. I didn’t go to the cafeteria, as I usually do, and I also skipped the break room. Instead, I grabbed a sandwich from the vending machine and found an empty supply closet. It smelled faintly of antiseptic, but it was quiet. I sat on a stool in the corner and ate alone, grateful for the silence and the space to breathe without having to see his face.
But he was looking for me.
After finishing a consult, I turned the corner and found him standing in the hallway, waiting. The moment I tried to walk past him, he reached out and gently caught my arm.
I froze.
“What do you want?” I hissed, keeping my voice low and tight, barely above a whisper. The hallway was busy, and the last thing I needed was to fuel the already uncontrollable gossip that floated through every corner of the hospital.
He leaned in just slightly, like he was trying to shield the moment from prying eyes.
“Can we talk?”
I tried to pull my arm free, but he wouldn’t let go. His grip wasn’t rough, but it burned where he touched. It blistered. “We are talking right now.”
He looked frustrated, but I didn’t care. I was exhausted—emotionally and physically—and this wasn’t the place for another confrontation. Not here, not now, not ever, actually.
“Alone,” he added.
I hesitated, weighing the risk of dragging this out any longer. He wasn’t going to let it go. If I didn’t give him five minutes now, he’d find another time, another hallway.
“Okay,” I said, exhaling sharply. “But I only have five minutes. Make it quick.”
His hand was still gripping my arm as he steered me gently into an empty patient room and closed the door behind us. Then he just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know where to begin.
“What?” I snapped. My patience was long gone. He finally let go of my arm.
“You’ve been crying,” he said quietly. He reached to touch my cheek, but I dodged. “Your eyes are so swollen.”
I threw my hands in the air, my voice sharp with disbelief. “For God’s sake, Cam. You told me you cheated on me, that you cared about her deeply. That you’re going to be with her. Youleftme, Cam. And you’re surprised that I cried?”
He flinched, just barely, but enough for me to see. “Honestly... yeah. I never thought you’d care enough to let yourself cry.”
Now it was me who flinched. I stepped back. Then further back.
“Go to hell, Cameron.” I spun toward the door, but he grabbed my arm again.
“Sloane...”
