God, I loved how she’d text me random thoughts throughout the day. “Sheba the cat is judging me, and she’s right to do it,” or “Successfully explained ‘no, chocolate is actually poison’ to yet another well-meaning dog owner,” or just a photo of her with a puppy with no caption because none was needed.
I loved how she’d come home from work and immediately start telling me about her day while she changed. How she’d pad around the kitchen in her socks, stealing tastes of whatever I was cooking, asking about my day while absentmindedly petting any surface that vaguely resembled a cat. How she’d curl up on the couch with veterinary journals and make these little “hmm” sounds when she found something interesting, then read the interesting bits out loud to me, even though I only understood bits of it.
I loved that she’d get irrationally excited about medical equipment. That she’d tear up during animal rescue videos. That she had strong opinions about the correct way to load a dishwasher and would absolutely rearrange it if I did it wrong. That she’d leave sticky notes on the bathroom mirror with terrible puns just to make me laugh.
I loved every annoying, wonderful, specific thing about her. And I’d let her walk away thinking I didn’t want her in my life anymore.
I don’t know how long I sat there. The afternoon sun moved across the kitchen floor, shadows lengthening as the hours passed. My phone buzzed constantly – calls, texts, voicemails piling up. I could see Harper’s name. Jack’s name. Sarah from the clinic. I ignored them all.
The only person I wanted to hear from was Chloe, and she wasn’t calling.
The light in the kitchen had faded to dusk when my phone buzzed again with a new text message. For a wild, desperate moment, I thought it might be Chloe. But it was a number I didn’t recognize:
Hi Sam, this is Nigel Walsh. I understand Chloe needs emergency coverage for her practice. I can help, but I’ll need more details about the duration. Sarah was unable to provide any details, and I can’t get hold of Chloe.
Emergency coverage. Chloe had arranged for someone to cover her practice. She’d made contingency plans and executed them with the same efficiency she brought to everything else in her life.
Except this time, she was using that efficiency to run away from me.
The reality of it settled over me like a weight. She was really gone. She’d arranged coverage for her practice, turned off her phone, and disappeared. And I had no idea where she was or how to fix this.
I looked at my phone screen, at the missed calls and unread texts piling up. Harper had called six times. Jack four. Sarah three. They all knew something was wrong. They were all trying to help.
And I was sitting here alone in the dark, drowning.
I’d tried handling this crisis by myself, and look where it had gotten me. Jack had learned his lesson about secrets the hard way. Maybe it was time I learned from his mistakes instead of making my own.
I scrolled through my contacts with shaking hands and called Jack.
Jack answered on the first ring. “Sam! Jesus Christ, we’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Are you okay?”
“Is Chloe there?” The question came out raw, desperate.
“Chloe? No. Sam, what’s going on? Harper’s been losing her mind trying to reach both of you.”
“She’s gone.” My voice cracked. “Chloe’s gone. She left a note. She thinks,” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Slow down. Where are you right now?”
“At home. I came home, and she wasn’t here. Just a note saying she understands I need to choose Leo over her, that I should be moved out by the time she gets back.” The words were tumbling out faster now. “Her phone’s off. She arranged emergency coverage for the clinic. She’s just… gone.”
There was a pause, then muffled voices as Jack spoke to someone — Harper, probably. When he came back on the line, his voice was steady, calm. “Okay. Listen to me. We’re coming over right now.”
“You don’t have to–”
“Yes, we do. This is exactly the kind of crisis you don’t handle alone.” Jack’s voice was firm. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t do anything stupid before we get there.”
After he hung up, I turned on the kitchen lights, blinking against the sudden brightness. The clock on the wall read 6:15 PM. I’d been sitting here for nearly six hours.
Six hours of replaying every moment, every lie, every choice that had led to this. Six hours of staring at that note and trying to understand how I’d destroyed everything that mattered.
Jack arrived with Harper and a bottle of whiskey, which told me exactly how bad he thought the situation was.
“Where is she?” Harper asked immediately, looking around. “Is she upstairs?”
I stared at her. “What? No, she’s gone. I told Jack—”
“But she promised me she’d stay and talk to you.” Harper’s face went pale. “She said she was home waiting for you.”
