Three days used to feel like it passed in the blink of an eye. Now it seemed so long that I almost wished I could just disappear right now.
Ethan returned sooner than I expected. He stumbled through the door, dust-streaked and disheveled, droplets clinging to the tips of his hair.
Outside, the sky was calm, not a single cloud threatening rain. I knew exactly where he’d been.
He pulled me into his arms as always, murmuring sweet nothings while dragging me beneath the sheets. His familiar citrus scent wrapped around me.
It hit me then that every late night at the office and every rushed shower afterward were just his lies to scrub away the traces of her.
Bile rose in my throat. I gagged, clapping a hand over my mouth.
Ethan panicked, summoning the family doctor.
My tear-swollen face and flushed cheeks must’ve looked alarming. The doctor diagnosed a mild fever.
Ethan’s eyes reddened as if he were the one suffering. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his lips brushing the IV needle taped to my hand.
I drifted in a haze all night, never fully asleep.
Sometime past midnight, the mattress shifted. Ethan slipped onto the balcony, his voice dropping low.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait? Are you missing me so much? Okay, wait for me,” he whispered.
He never returned to my side. The front door clicked shut, and my tears slid cold down my temple.
By dawn, the fever broke.
Ethan had laid out a lavish breakfast on the table. He rambled on and on, but I sipped my oatmeal without responding.
He left with a takeout box, kissing me goodbye like a lovesick bird.
.
