Page 53 of I’m Already Gone

She stops at the elevator, then slowly turns my way.

“Please don’t leave,” I plead.

“It’s okay. I should’ve called first,” she says.

“I can stop by after work today, if that’s better for you,” I suggest, grasping for any way to see her again.

She nods. “That sounds good.”

I nod in return, my throat tight. The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and she steps inside. Our gazes lock for a brief, agonizing moment, a silent conversation of pain and a hunger we both recognize passing between us, before she lowers her head as the doors close.

I step out of the car, my feet landing firmly on the pavement. I make my way up to the front entrance of Lily’s house and press the doorbell.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Sam, who is munching on an apple. “Hey,” she says as she opens the screen door to let me in.

“Hey, is Lily home?”

“Yep. Come on in. She mentioned you would be stopping by. I’ll go get her,” Sam says, jogging up the stairs.

A few minutes later, with Sam beside her, Lily walks down the steps slowly and carefully, as if she’s having a hard time keeping her balance.

Sam has her arm wrapped around Lily’s waist as she guides her down the steps. She looks so frail and small, a shadow of herself. What the hell is going on? And why does Sam need to help her keep her balance? She didn’t seem to need help when she was at my office earlier today.

Lily finally reaches the bottom, her feet solid on the wooden floor. She pulls her oversized hoodie tighter around her. It swallows her, making her seem even more vulnerable.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yes. The virus doesn’t want to leave my body.” She tries a half-laugh, but it’s more of a cough, devoid of humor. Sam takes a subtle step behind her as if she needs to be ready to catch her if she falls.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in the guest room downstairs?” I ask, a slight edge of frustration in my voice.

She looks at me, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

I exhale slowly, the edge leaving my voice. “I mean, I noticed you’re a bit… unsteady. Maybe it would be easier, you know, until you’re feeling stronger.”

I remember the nights when she was sick, bundled up downstairs in her blanket. I would sit in the nearby chair and watch over her until morning, unwilling to leave her side.

She offers a warm, familiar smile, the one that has always had the power to melt away my worries. It’s the smile I looked forward to every day, the one that made everything feel right, and even now, I find myself loving it just as much as I did before.

Sam’s phone rings. “Oh, I have to take this. Are you going to be alright?” she asks Lily, who nods. Sam gives me a half-smile and walks away toward the living room.

“Is this still a good time to talk?” I ask Lily.

“Of course. Can we go to the patio?” she asks.

“Lead the way.” I smile and follow her toward the patio.

Each step seems to require immense effort, and my instinct is to reach out, to steady her, to take her hand, but I remind myself to respect her boundaries.

We settle into the cushioned rockers and stare out into the garden. The view is beautiful here. The lush greenery and vibrant flowers form an oasis. A wave of profound sadness washes over me, remembering the countless hours Lily spent tending to the garden at our old home.

“The reason why I stopped by today was⁠—”

Before she can say anything, a sharp, distressed cry cuts through the inside of the house. Lily’s head snaps up, her eyes wide, instantly alert.

“Ollie?” she murmurs as she scrambles out of the patio chair.