“Okay,” I replied.
Sloane came downstairs just as the spaghetti finished cooking. She headed to the kitchen and took a few minutes to toss together a salad, determined to ensure Harper ate her vegetables. Then the three of us sat down for lunch.
It felt like the old days—the happier ones.
Afterward, we settled in front of the TV and put on a Disney movie; Harper curled up between us. One movie turned into two, then three. None of us moved much. It felt natural, like slipping back into something we used to be.
For dinner, Harper asked for pizza—her usual favorite. I added a chocolate sundae to the order, and she rewarded me with a big, messy kiss on the cheek. It probably wasn’t the best idea to give a five-year-old that much sugar for dinner, but I couldn’t help myself. And Sloane didn’t object.
When it was time for bed, Sloane let me handle Harper’s bedtime routine. I tucked her in and lay beside her, readingThe Snail and the Whaleuntil her eyes fluttered shut.
When I finally made my way downstairs, my heart grew heavier with each step.
Sloane was at the dining table, a glass of wine in her hand. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and poured myself a drink. Then I sat across from her. Our eyes met, held, but neither of us spoke.
After finishing my wine, I stood, walked over to her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, my hand resting gently on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Today was beautiful for me.”
Then I left, my head hung low as I stepped outside. Sloane didn’t say a word. She just watched me go.
In the car, I pulled my phone from my coat pocket. I hadn’t touched it all day, trusting the hospital pager to alert me if anything urgent came up, even from home. Today demanded my full attention, and I couldn’t afford distractions.
Four missed calls from Evie.
Six messages.
I read only the last one:I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more understanding.
I didn’t reply. I powered off the phone, tossed it onto the passenger seat, and drove back to my apartment.
Tonight, I just needed to be alone.
Chapter Eight
Sloane
Iwas rushing through the hospital, darting from one room to the next. The influx of patients today was overwhelming, a nonstop tide that barely let me catch my breath. Every time I thought I had a moment to pause, another call came in, another emergency needed attention. It felt like the entire city had decided to fall apart all at once.
Work was supposed to help me forget the pain. But it didn’t. Not really.
It had been nearly a week since Cameron last came over and spent the day with Harper and me.
We hadn’t spoken since. When he came to the house, we didn’t talk. He hadn’t reached out, and I hadn’t either.
So we’d quietly slipped back into what we were before—strangers with shared history. Silent.
I hadn’t expected much, but it still stung.
I was still learning how to cope with everything.
The separation.
The impending divorce.
I was on a break, perched on a low stool tucked into the back corner of the tiny kiosk inside the hospital cafeteria. It was owned by my friend Lina, who was currently giving me a look.
“What?” I asked, frowning.
