Sloane came to stand before me, her movements composed, almost solemn, a quiet strength in her. She stopped in front of me and slipped off her wedding ring. Then she reached for my left hand, noticing I still wore mine. She opened my palm, placed the ring there, and gently closed my fingers around it.
“This is the final chapter of our story, Cameron. Twelve years closing quietly.” Her eyes met mine, glistening but holding back tears. “I wish you nothing but a good life.”
Then she turned away and walked back to the vanity. Her head lowered, and she began removing the rest of her jewelry. I knew, without words, that it was her way of telling me to go.
I stepped out of our bedroom, the space we had shared throughout our marriage. We had bought this house together, scraping together every cent of our savings. It wasn’t luxurious—just simple and cozy—but it was ours. When I reached the living room, I paused and looked around, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. The house was silent, especially since Harper was staying with my mother tonight. The quiet felt heavier than usual, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I reached for my car keys and began to untangle the house keys. Then I placed them on the side table by the sofa, under the soft glow of the lamp.
With my head bowed between my shoulders, I walked out of the house.
And suddenly, all the emotions I had been holding back crashed over me. My chest tightened, and a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard, desperate to hold myself together, but the ache settled deep inside.
I took one last look back at the house—at everything we had built and lost— and stepped into the night, feeling like I’d left half my heart and soul inside those walls.
I drove slowly, barely noticing the road ahead. My mind was still with Sloane, replaying the last fight that pushed me to walk away.
It had been building for a while. Words that cut too deep. Silences that lasted too long. That night just made it clear. We had already lost each other.
“You said you can’t even remember when and how you fell in love with me?” Her voice trembled, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. “Well, I do remember, Cameron. I remember everything. The way you used to look at me. The way we used to laugh. I held on to all of it, even when things got hard.”
She paused, swallowing back whatever emotion rose in her throat.
“But now it’s all buried under how much I’ve come to despise you. Whatever I have left to give you, it’s gone. There’s nothing left in me for you. Nothing. Not love. Not even hope.”
But I had lied. I did remember how I fell in love with her, all of it.
I remember the first time I saw her, the first time she spoke to me. She was a new intern, barely a week into her rotation at the hospital, still trying to figure out where everything was and how to avoid getting in anyone’s way.
She stopped me in the hallway outside the nurses’ station and asked where the supply closet was, looking a little lost but trying to hide it. Her ID badge was slightly crooked, and she had a pen tucked behind her ear.
I stood there for a moment, stunned by how beautiful she was. So unassuming, so effortless, it caught me entirely off guard.
I pointed her in the right direction, and she looked at me with a grateful smile. “Thank you, you just saved me,” she said before walking away.
It didn’t seem like much at the time, just a passing interaction in a crowded corridor, one of a hundred forgettable moments during a long shift. But looking back now, I think it was love at first sight. I just didn’t recognize it for what it was.
Because the feelings for her didn’t crash in like a storm or strike with urgency, they crept in slowly, like rain soaking into dry earth, gentle and quiet. She seeped into me, inch by inch, until one day I looked at her and realized she was already everywhere. And once she was in, she didn’t just stay. She built a home inside me, planted roots deep in my chest, hung paintings along the walls of my ribs, and claimed every corner of my heart as her own.
It began with that first encounter. I remember everything about it.
And now, after ten years of marriage and two years of dating before that, here we were, standing among the ruins of everything we had built together.
Back to fucking zero.
Chapter Two
Sloane
Ididn’t know how I was going to focus at work today. As a doctor, concentration wasn’t just important. It was a matter of life and death. But I hadn’t slept a single wink.
Last night, I turned just in time to see him walk away from me again, just like the night before, and the night before that. But this time, it was different. This time, I really watched him leave. I watched his back as his feet dragged toward the door of our bedroom, and I felt everything all at once.
Guilt. Regret. Love. Desperation. It crashed over me in one brutal wave.
But still, I didn’t stop him. I just stood there, watching.
I cried. I didn’t think I’d stopped since.
