"Thank you," I said to Patricia. "We appreciate your help."
"Of course. I'm sorry it came to this." She stood and shook both our hands. "Take care of yourselves. Both of you."
The sun was bright when we walked out of the law office. I'd expected rain or at least clouds, something to match the occasion. But the sky was aggressively blue, perfect for an autumn day that felt like a personal insult.
My car was parked two blocks east. Calla's was in the opposite direction. We stood on the sidewalk between them as two people stranded in the space between goodbyes.
"Well," she said.
"Yeah."
Silence filled the air. It used to be comfortable between us. Now, it became filled with all the things we couldn't say.
"Are you going to take the fellowship?" I asked.
"I think so." She pulled her coat tighter around herself. "You?"
"The program starts in three months. So yeah."
She nodded. Her light brown eyes were dry, but I could see the effort it was costing her to keep them that way. Calla didn't cry in front of people. She saved her grief for moments when noone could witness it, locking them away like everything else she felt too deeply to share.
I wanted to hug her and tell her we were making a mistake. That we should go back inside and tear up the papers and figure out a different way forward. I wanted to promise her that we could try harder, be better, and learn how to want each other and our careers without one ruining the other.
But I was so tired.
I was exhausted from compromising and still falling short, drained by the feeling that I was failing at both my career and my marriage. I was weary of watching her shrink herself to fit into my life while I did the same for hers, both of us becoming smaller versions of ourselves in the name of making our relationship work.
Maybe that was the real tragedy. We didn’t stop loving each other, but that we loved each other so much we started disappearing into it.
"I hope it's everything you want it to be," Calla said. "The program, I mean. You're going to do incredible things, Cassian. You always have."
"So are you."
"We will." Her voice cracked, the first break in her composure since she'd arrived. She paused, swallowed, and tried again. "Maybe we'll see each other at conferences or something. Run into each other at medical events."
"Yeah. Maybe."
Neither of us moved. The pedestrians passed us by, people with places to be, lives to live, futures that were not ending on a sunny sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon.
Finally, Calla stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
I pulled her close, memorizing the way she fit against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin. The smell of hershampoo, citrus and rosemary—the same scent I'd associate with her for the rest of my life. The way her hands fisted in the back of my jacket, holding on like she was afraid to let go.
"I love you," she whispered against my shoulder. "I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. I need you to know that."
My eyes burned. I blinked against the sting, refusing to let the tears fall where she could see them.
"I love you too," I said. "That was never the problem."
"I know."
We stayed like that for a long time. Seconds, minutes, I couldn't tell. The world continued around us, indifferent to our grief, and we held each other in the wreckage of everything we'd tried to build.
When we finally pulled apart, Calla's cheeks were wet. She wiped them quickly, her hand shaking, and forced a smile that looked like it cost her everything she had.
"Goodbye, Cassian."
"Bye, Calla."
