“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re giving this a real chance.”
The line disconnects.
I stare at the phone for a moment longer than necessary before answering Jack’s call—already missing my wife, already counting the hours until I can get back to her.
I answer before Jack goes to voicemail. “What now?”
There’s a beat on the other end. Just long enough to make my spine tighten.
“Boss,” Jack says carefully, “we have a problem.”
“What?” I huff, already done with this day, with this city, with everything that isn’t Sabrina. “What is it now?”
“Sabrina is at the hospital.”
The worldstops.
Not slows. Not tilts.
Stops.
The hallway disappears. The noise drains out of the air. All I can hear is the violent rush of blood in my ears, my heartbeat slamming so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free of my chest.
Hospital.
Sabrina.
My wife.
My vision tunnels, black creeping in from the edges. My hand tightens around the phone until my knuckles ache. My lungs lock like they’ve forgotten how to work.
No.
No, no, no—
I picture her on the floor of some sterile room, hair spread out, eyes closed. I picture blood.
All thetimeI wasted pretending I could keep distance, pretending I was protecting us by pulling away.
I wasn’t there.
Ilefther.
The room spins.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Jack’s voice explodes through the phone.
“Fuck—Boss, that’s not what I meant. Langston!” he shouts.
It barely registers.
This is it. This is what I get for being a coward. For telling myself one year was safer. For sleeping across the hall while she lay alone wondering if she mattered to me.
I should have been with her.
Every night. Every morning. I should have chosen her when it counted.
