I grip the wheel tighter, force myself to focus on the road ahead. The seminar starts tomorrow. New faces, new challenges, the reminder that I belong in medicine, not with a man who can’t let himself be loved.
Still, my chest aches. Because for a split second, I thought Henry Simpson might be worth the risk.
It’s early afternoon when I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex in Boulder.
I kill the engine and sit in silence for a moment. Everything seems different somehow. I exit the car, grab my bag from the trunk, and step out into the warm Colorado sun.
My apartment is on the third floor. I trudge up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. In my apartment, the quiet is even more pronounced. It’s like stepping into a void.
I should feel at home here, surrounded by my medical textbooks, my ridiculously organized notes. This is where I’ve planned my future, where I’ve dreamed of the great surgeon I will become.
But the quiet wants to smother me. I feel empty.
Only days ago, this space felt like a haven, my sanctuary amid the commotion of medical school.
Now?
It feels foreign.
Except it’s not.
It’s the same as it’s always been.
I’m the one who’s changed.
My desires, my expectations, my needs have all been upended.
I drop my bag on the floor with a thud. It reverberates through the apartment, mirroring my own state of mind. Echoing and unsettled.
“Cut it out,” I tell myself out loud.
I take the bag into my bedroom and unpack, piece by piece. Each item reminds me of what I left behind on the Western Slope, especially when I get to the gifts for Angie. Something borrowed and something blue. I never got the chance to give them to her.
The periwinkle-blue lace panties.
Identical to the ones Henry ripped off me…
After the bag is empty, I wander into the kitchen. I open the refrigerator…
Nothing. No leftovers, no half-eaten containers of takeout. Only a jar of pickles and a carton of milk past its expiration date. I close the door with a sigh.
Henry.
What I wouldn’t give to hear his voice.
I grab my cell phone, pull up my list of contacts?—
I don’t have his number.
Why would I?
I didn’t ask for it. He didn’t offer it.
I could call Angie. Ask to speak to Henry?—
Uh…no.
Angie and Jason left this morning for their honeymoon in Switzerland.
