“I don’t know yet.” Paul’s movements were mechanical as he untied his apron. “I might be gone for a few days. A week at most. Can you manage for that long?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call the rest of the staff and rearrange the roster.” Harry wiped his hands on his apron. “Is there anything I can do? Anyone I should call?”
“No. Just... keep things running. I’ll text you when I know what’s happening.” Paul grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. “And Harry? If Susan comes by or calls asking about me, tell her—” He stopped, not knowing what to say. Tell her what? That he was running toward his past just when he’d finally started building a future?
“Tell her I’ll explain everything when I get back,” Paul finished weakly.
Harry nodded, even though confusion flickered across his face. Paul couldn’t blame him. This was the sort of erratic behavior he’d tried to leave behind in California.
As he drove toward home to pack a suitcase, Paul’s mind spun through decades of memories. Michelle as she’d been when they met—vibrant, ambitious, and full of dreams about the future they’d build together. Michelle during their marriage as she’d become increasingly isolated, increasingly resentful of the hours he spent at his restaurants. Michelle on the day she’d left—standing in their apartment doorway with suitcases packed, her face exhausted rather than angry.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she’d said.
“Can’t do what?” he’d asked, genuinely confused. The restaurant had just received its second Michelin star. Everything was perfect.
“I can’t be married to someone who loves his restaurants more than he could ever love me.”
Paul had protested. He’d promised to change.
But they both knew it was a lie.
When he arrived home, Paul threw clothes into a duffel bag without really seeing what he was packing. It would take three hours to drive to Missoula. He could sit beside Michelle’s bed and hear what she wanted to say.
And face the proof of his failures one more time before she died.
Taking a deep breath, he fought the wave of grief rolling through him. Michelle didn’t deserve to have her life cut short by such a terrible disease. She was kind and generous, and she’d believed in him even when he'd given her every reason not to.
His phone buzzed. Susan had replied to his text: I hope everything’s okay. Let me know if you need anything.
Simple. Supportive. Exactly the response of someone who trusted him, who believed he was a person who kept his word.
Paul’s chest tightened with regret. Thanks. I’ll call when I can.
Another inadequate response. Another moment of choosing an easy response over the hard truth.
Throwing his bag in the truck, Paul started the drive to Missoula, leaving behind his restaurant, his carefully controlled life, and the woman who’d finally made him believe redemption was possible.
Chapter 14
Paul drove along the highway in numb silence. He arrived at Missoula Regional Medical Center at lunchtime, but he couldn’t of eaten anything if he’d tried.
The hospice wing was quiet, designed for peaceful endings. With its soft lighting and muted colors, it was an atmosphere that whispered about acceptance and letting go.
Paul found Michelle’s room at the end of a long hallway. He stood outside the door for several minutes, trying to gather his courage.
Finally, he knocked softly.
“Come in,” Karen’s voice called.
Paul pushed open the door and stepped into a reality he wasn’t prepared for.
Michelle lay in the hospital bed, skeletal thin, her skin the yellow-gray color of advanced cancer. An oxygen mask covered the lower half of her face, fogging with each shallow breath she took. The vibrant woman he’d married was replaced by a fragile shell that barely resembled her.
But when she opened her eyes, they were still filled with everything that made Michelle special.
“Paul,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the mask. “You came.”
Karen stood and gently removed the oxygen mask from her sister’s face. “He’s only here for a few minutes,” she said softly. “Then you need to rest.”
