My phone is on the coffee table, well within reach. I could call her. Or text her. Beg her to come back.
But her words echo in my head: “Take all the time you need to think about what really matters to you.”
So I sit. And I think.
***
Sleep doesn’t come easily to me that night. I lie in bed. The bed where just three nights ago we made love and fell asleep tangled together, back when everything was perfect until I went and ruined it. Every so often, my watch will buzz, remindingme my heart rate is elevated. Stress, it helpfully informs me. Elevated stress levels detected.
No shit.
At 2 a.m., I get up and take my blood pressure. The monitor beeps its result: 142 over 89.
Not dangerous. Not crisis levels. But it’s higher than it's been in weeks. Already climbing back toward the numbers that nearly killed me.
Back before I knew Jennifer and the magic that I could have.
I’m a logical, analytical man. I don’t believe in magic, fairy tales, and other fluffy intangible nonsense. I’m not sure I even believed in love before Jennifer.
I take my evening meds even though it's the middle of the night and do the breathing exercises like I’ve been taught. In for four, hold for four, out for six.
I finally fall asleep around four and wake up at seven, reaching for her.
The next day starts badly and gets worse.
I make coffee and automatically pour two mugs. One for her and one for me. I stare at that steaming extra mug of coffee and quietly dump it down the sink.
It's just coffee. It shouldn't matter.
But it’s more than coffee, and I know it.
Knowing I should eat breakfast since I’ve barely eaten since yesterday, I open the refrigerator and stare at the ingredients for meals we were going to prepare together. The feta cheese for Greek omelets. The spinach she insisted on adding to everything. The meal plan we made is still hanging on the fridge door, her handwriting adorably sloppy and full of silly loops. So different from my own sterile and slashing print.
I close the refrigerator without taking anything out. I’ll force myself to eat later.
I should take my morning walk. That's what the doctor ordered. Thirty minutes of movement.
But the thought of walking that trail alone, without her hand in mine, without being able to kiss her sweet pink lips, and see her beautiful grin as I bore her with my endless commentary about the wildlife... I can't do it.
I sit on the deck instead, telling myself that's close enough. The fresh air counts, right?
My watch doesn't think so. It buzzes with a reminder. Time to move. I ignore it.
At 9 a.m., my laptop calls to me. I resist for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then I'm opening it, checking email, and it's like falling off a cliff.
There are twenty-eight emails marked urgent. Thirty-four marked high priority. Seven missed calls from Allen. A text from my assistant:Board wants update on recovery timeline. When can you schedule a call?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I could reply. Schedule the call, dive back in and prove I can handle this, that I'm still valuable, and still necessary.
Instead, I close the laptop.
Jennifer's voice echoes in my head: “A company that will replace you before you're even in the ground.”
Is she right? Would they replace me? Could they?
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it's... freeing? No, that's not right. Terrifying AND freeing.
I've spent fifteen years making myself indispensable. What if I succeeded? What if the company really can't function without me? Then I'm trapped. Chained to it until it kills me.
