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I lean forward in my chair as I listen to Dr. Summers. Talia, as promised, sits next to me. I expected her to be here in silent support, but then I remember who I married.

Things between us are improving. I think. We haven’t gotten into any verbal altercations since the paparazzi stormed our front lawn. The local sheriff came out shortly after, but by then they’d all dispersed to the street or left, happy with the content they got. I doubt they’d be stupid enough to come onto our property again, but just in case, a security company is coming out tomorrow to install cameras and a new alarm system. I’m tempted to ask Howard to send over one of his bodyguards. Not for me, but for Talia.

It wasn’t my face plastered across the tabloids the following day; it was hers, and we still hadn’t spoken about it.

Mystery woman revealed.

Who is Talia Brooks?

Tate Brooks’s wife back on the scene.

I refused to read what they’re writing, knowing it’d be filled with lies. Hopefully, Talia hasn’t read them either.

“What about the absence seizure the other day?” Talia asks.

“It could be the body was taking some time to readjust and recover.” The doctor scans the screen in front of her and addresses us both. She’s been my neurologist ever since we moved out here, and is familiar with Talia’s line of questioning. “We could try alternative medications or change the dosage, but I think we sit tight and wait. What you’re on now worked until recently.” She catches the frown on my face. “I know. The thing with epilepsy is we don’t know if treatment is working unless you’re seizure-free for a prolonged period of time. You’re eating and sleeping and staying hydrated, which is important.” Her gaze cuts to Talia. “You’ve got a great support system at home.”

“What’s the drill if I want to change medication?”

“We don’t want to risk any breakthrough seizures, so I’d suggest we slowly adjust by taking doses of both medications at first, before weaning you off the old one.” Dr. Summers’s expression turns contemplative. “Last we spoke, you were thinking of starting a family. If that’s still the case, there are certain medications I’d avoid.”

The mood shifts. Tilting on its axis. Talia stills beside me.

Swallowing, I force a weak smile. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

I can’t look at Talia. Can’t bear to see the heartbreak and grief, already flooding the room, on her face. Regret rushes me.

“Excuse me,” she whispers and hightails it out of the office. My heart drops.

Dr. Summers frowns. “Oh. I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t, but not because of her comment. It’s information we would’ve wanted to know last year when we decided to start a family. “Sorry to cut this short, but is there anything else?”

“I’d like to see you back in a month. If you decide you want to change medications, contact my office.” We stand at the same time. “Take it easy, Tate. Your line of work isn’t for the weak, but we all have our limits. I’d hate for you to meet yours.”

“Noted.” I shake her hand. “See you next time.”

I sprint through the hospital, checking every corner and restroom on my way out. I find Talia outside, sitting behind the wheel of my truck, tears soaking her cheeks.

This is what dying feels like.

I approach the driver’s side, trying to keep my emotions in check. Her quiet sniffles escape through the open window, splitting me right down the middle. She jolts when she spots me, swiping at her face in a hurry to hide her heartbreak.

“I’m sorry for walking out.” Her voice is hoarse. “Did I miss anything?”

The window threatens to shatter under my grip. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at the situation. “What happened back there, it⁠—”

“Tate.” She says my name on a broken whisper. “Can we not talk about this today? I just want to go home.”

I nod reluctantly and climb into the truck. As much as I want to discuss what happened, she’s in no mood to tear open old wounds. These are the consequences of my actions. We had plans, dreams, and hopes for a beautiful future. And I robbed us of that because of my bitterness toward our past.

We’re halfway down Main Street when the cab becomes too small. “Could you pull over here?” I point to an empty spot outside Peaches Coffee Shop.

“Why?” Talia questions, but does as I ask.

We come to a stop, and I scoop up my cap and sunglasses before hopping out. I lean through the window. “I need some fresh air after being cooped up all week.”

“Right. Okay.” Red-rimmed eyes lower to her lap.