One smooth motion. Without even glancing at me.
I stood in that hallway, staring at the closed door, fists clenched.
No woman had ever rejected me like this. In Manhattan, one frown from me had people scrambling to read my mood. But here, in this ordinary, aging public hospital, my own wife shut me out completely.
Only Ella—she left divorce papers, blocked my number, and brushed me off to my face.
Again and again.
The plastic chairs in the waiting area were uncomfortable as hell, but I sat down anyway. I reached for a cigarette without thinking and didn't even get to light it before a passing nurse stopped me. I crushed the cigarette in my palm and stared blankly at the people around me.
I didn't know why I was still sitting here. Maybe waiting for Ella. Maybe just trying to calm down.
A couple in the corner caught my eye. The man wore a loose hospital gown, didn't look good. The woman seemed about to leave, bag on her shoulder, but before she went, she stood on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.
The man's face broke into a dopey smile. The woman looked at him with love so thick it was almost visible.
I watched them, suddenly unable to breathe.
I'd seen that look in Ella's eyes once.
But I had no idea when it disappeared.
As a husband, I'd been completely oblivious to my wife's changing feelings. I'd taken her love for granted, like air. Thought air would always be there—until now, suffocating, realizing I couldn't breathe at all.
An unfamiliar regret pulsed through my chest, spreading through my blood to every limb. I regretted not realizing sooner what Ella meant to me.
My phone buzzed twice. I pulled it out and declined the call.
I glanced at the screen, dozens of unread messages piling up.
I was running out of time. Before coming to Rochester, I hadn't been sure I'd find Ella, so I'd only taken one day. In that time, the company had accumulated urgent documents needing my signature, plus new projects requiring my direction.
I had to go.
I took one last look at that closed door, burning every detail of this hospital into my brain.
Just as I stood up, a brown-haired man in a white coat and mask jogged up to Maya's room and knocked.
I stopped.
The door opened quickly. Ella stood in the doorway. When she saw the man, her face broke into a smile. Weak, but genuine. Then she stepped aside and let him in.
I couldn't move. The overhead fluorescents made me dizzy.
The man's face was covered, but something about him seemed familiar. If he took off that mask, maybe I'd recognize him. Or maybe I was overthinking it—staring too long creating false connections. That ordinary face was everywhere. He was probably just doing rounds. Even so, the fact that a random guy could be alone in a room with Ella made my blood boil.
I'd flown halfway across the state from Manhattan to find her. Got a slammed door and mockery in return.
Something vicious crashed through my chest, screaming at me to burst in there, drag Ella back, demand to know what the hell gave her the right to treat me like this.
But I held back. I knew our relationship was already fragile as thin ice, ready to tear. I didn't want to destroy what little remained over baseless jealousy.
I strode out of the ward.
Rochester's cold wind hit me hard, cooling my jealousy-scorched brain. I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"Find me the best private security company in Rochester." I reached my car, controlling my breathing. "I need twenty-four-hour surveillance and protection. Target is a female. I'll send you her photo and current address."
