I woke in the middle of the night with a severe allergic reaction. My throat was swelling shut, so I grabbed my phone and called my husband, who was a doctor.

Bertram Delgado：“Hello?”

He never picked up during night shifts. The fact that the call connected instantly caught me off guard.

A wave of warmth spread through my chest.

“Honey, I'm having an allergic reaction. Can you……”

Before I could finish, a woman's voice cut in. Sybilla Dickerson, his intern：

“Ha ha, gotcha! The call hasn't actually gone through yet~ Dr. Delgado is busy, so please try again later~”

The line rang over a dozen times before he finally picked up.

“I'm on night shift. Whatever it is, we'll talk when I get home. Hanging up.”

My throat was too swollen to form words,

but he didn't give me the chance to try.

All that was left was the flat, steady beeping of the dial tone, each pulse hammering against my eardrums.

I called back. His phone was off.

The allergy medication I'd taken wasn't helping. If anything, the tightness in my chest was getting worse, each breath shallower than the last.

I forced my eyes open and dialed 911.

But I couldn't get the address out,

and as the dispatcher kept asking, frantic, the phone slipped from my hand.

In the last second before everything went dark,

I thought,

if I survive this,

Bertram and I

are done.

Strangers from here on out.

——

When my eyes opened again,

Maura Thomas's panicked face hovered above me.

“Jem, you're finally awake! I nearly had a heart attack when the hospital called me yesterday!”

“Do you have any idea? You went into full anaphylactic shock. They spent six hours bringing you back!”

“You've been out for two days!”

I wanted to reassure her,

but when I tried to smile, my lips and face were completely numb.

I looked around the room.

Four beds.

Only me and an older woman across the way.

No sign of Bertram.

“Don't bother looking. He never showed up.” Maura's voice was clipped.

I pushed myself upright and found my phone.

One message from him. Just one.

Not asking where I'd gone or why I hadn't been home.

Four cold words：“Business trip. One week.”

No discussion.

Just a notice.

I hesitated, then typed back：“I had an allergic reaction.”

“Take something.”

“What if I'm in the hospital?”

“Don't make a big deal out of it. There's medicine at home.”

The answer I expected. It still made my eyes sting.

I swallowed hard, pushing down the last scrap of hope along with the lump in my throat.

Three days in the hospital and I was well enough to sit up,

so I sent Maura back to work.

Around noon I went to pick up my delivery order, and the nurses at the station were whispering to each other.

“Hey, have you seen the couple in the private room across the hall, 502? They look like movie stars.”

“And they're not just good-looking, they're adorable together. It's just a regular allergic reaction, but her boyfriend pulled strings to get the deputy chief to run her allergy panel himself.”

A bleak feeling settled over me.

There was a time when Bertram had been just as protective of me.

The first time I had a serious reaction, he sat by my bed for an entire day and night.

However many hours I went without food or water, he went without them too.

He'd never been one to show emotion, but that night he broke down and held me, crying：

“Jem, you're the only family I have. Don't leave me.”

But this time, all I got was“take something.”

The fiercer the love once burned, the colder the ash it left behind.

I grabbed my food and turned to go,

but a careless glance stopped me dead in my tracks.

Through the half-open door, Bertram was tending to a woman.

Sybilla Dickerson.

Holding a cup of water to her lips. Peeling fruit for her.

Just a few nights ago, my throat had been raw. I'd asked him for a glass of water.

He'd said：“A sore throat doesn't stop your legs from working or your hands from pouring, does it?”

“I'm exhausted, okay?”

I'd felt so wronged. I wanted to explain that my head was spinning too,

But before I could say a word, he'd already rolled over and gone to sleep.

Took most of the blanket with him, too.

From that day on, I never asked him for help with anything again.

Sybilla's tone was coy, half-scolding, but the corners of her lips curled upward.

“Dr. Delgado, it's just a little itch. You're making way too big a deal out of this.”

Bertram kept his expression flat.

“Allergic reactions can be fatal. Stay in bed. Once the results come back clean, I'll take you out.”

Ha.

So he did know allergic reactions could kill.

It was just that my life didn't weigh as much as someone else's.

I typed quickly on my phone：“Where are you?”

Thirty seconds later：“Working overtime.”

He must have heard my phone chime,

because he looked up,

his gaze landing on me.

Less than half a second. Then it slid away.

I walked back toward my room, scrolling to my emergency contacts.

First contact：Bertram Delgado.

Second contact：Maura Thomas.

I deleted the first one without hesitating.

If he couldn't be reached when it actually mattered,

there was no point in him holding that spot.

The day I was discharged,

I ran into Bertram at the entrance to the apartment complex.

Sybilla was right behind him.

The moment he saw me, Bertram stepped forward, half-blocking Sybilla from view.

A posture of instinctive protection.

“Sybilla and I just got back from a work trip. She got a little carsick, so I brought her home to rest for a bit.”

“I didn't know you'd be back during the day. If it bothers you, I'll take her home right now.”

His mouth opened and closed.

I almost didn't recognize him.

Outside of arguments, this was a man who barely spared me a handful of words.

Now, whether out of guilt or something else,

he'd strung together four or five full sentences.

More than he usually said to me in an entire day.

Sybilla kept her head down, her voice small and timid.

“Dr. Delgado, maybe I should just go. I can tell your wife doesn't really like……”

“I don't mind.”

The words landed,

and a flicker of surprise crossed both their faces.

After all, I'd always been friendly to the other interns in his department.

Sybilla was the only exception.

It wasn't that I'd singled her out on purpose.

It was that I kept finding things Sybilla had “accidentally” left behind in Bertram's car.

Lipstick, a compact mirror, stickers……

Every time I showed them to Bertram, he'd frown and scoff：“Childish.”

I'd thought so too.

Only a kid who couldn't have the candy would taunt the one who did.

I just hadn't noticed the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Not until two months ago.

She sent me a photo of herself and Bertram lying on the same bed.

I lost it.

I hurled my phone at Bertram, screaming at him like a woman unhinged.

He said it was just a cot in the lab.

They were both fully clothed. What could they possibly have done?

And even if they could, there were other people running experiments in the same room.

Surely I didn't think they'd fool around with a third person right there?

Sybilla called at just the right moment：

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Delgado. I was just trying to joke around. There were actually four of us in that room.”

Bertram chimed in：“If it bothers you, I'll keep my distance from her.”

Looking back now, the fact that I'd swallowed that story was embarrassing enough on its own.

Once we got inside, Sybilla headed straight for the master bedroom.

Bertram caught her arm, then glanced at me carefully.

I smiled：“It's fine. Go rest.”

It wasn't like I'd be using that room again anyway.

Something complicated surfaced in Bertram's eyes.

Like he was searching my face for something else entirely.

But maybe my expression was too calm, because he let go.

“I'll make dinner.”

I nodded and sat down on the couch.

A few minutes later, Sybilla called out to Bertram.

“Dr. Delgado, do you still have that sanitary pad I left in your bag last time?”

She stuck her tongue out at me playfully.

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Delgado. I never carry a purse, so I just keep them in Dr. Delgado's bag. That's the only brand that doesn't give me a reaction.”

But her face was pure smugness.

Bertram pulled one out of the messenger bag I'd bought him and handed it to her.

Then he looked at me, like he wanted to say something.

I closed my eyes and pretended to doze off.

I could feel his gaze lingering on my face for a long time before he finally walked away.

Bertram made four dishes.

Spicy pepper pork, cold spinach salad, celery beef stir-fry, and mushroom soup.

Every single one topped with chopped scallions.

Sybilla, freshly awake and wearing my pajamas, let out a squeal.

“Wow, these are all my favorites! I'm going to stuff myself tonight!”

I didn't touch my chopsticks.

Bertram looked impatient.

“If you're not eating now, don't ask me to cook later when you're hungry.”

My voice carried no emotion at all, just a statement of fact：

“I can't eat scallions.”

The hand holding his chopsticks flinched.

For once, a crack appeared in that stone-cold face.

“Sorry. I forgot. Let me make you something else.”

“Don't bother.”

I picked up my bag.

“You two enjoy dinner. I'm going to stay at Maura's for a few days.”

On my way out I turned to Sybilla：

“Make yourself at home.”

As I went to close the door, Bertram braced his hand against it.

“Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this with a kid?”

“I'll take her home after dinner.”

I didn't answer. My eyes dropped to his hand.

“You're wearing a ring?”

Four years of marriage, and he had never once worn his wedding band.

Because he said his profession made it impractical.

His hand pulled back immediately.

“Sybilla kept insisting we wear matching ones.”

“But they're not couple rings, they're…….”

I cut him off：

“Just asking. You don't need to explain.”

He pressed his lips together and watched me for a moment, his voice going soft.

“Then go rest at Maura's for now. I'll pick you up after work tomorrow night.”

I didn't respond. I walked straight downstairs.

I was leaving anyway.

From now on, whoever he let sleep in the bedroom,

whoever he kept sanitary pads for,

whoever he wore a matching ring with,

none of it had anything to do with me.

The cab passed the jewelry counter where we'd bought our wedding rings years ago. I asked the driver to stop.

I ran my fingers over the ring on my hand,

and for a moment I could see us standing at that very counter seven years ago.

The boy said he didn't like wearing rings, and the girl stormed off in a huff.

Not long after, the boy showed up with the diamond ring she'd been eyeing, down on one knee.

“Will you be my only family? In sickness and in health, never apart.”

My vision blurred, then cleared.

I walked into the store.

“Do you buy back diamond rings?”

……

The next day, Maura went with me to my follow-up appointment.

But my primary doctor was away on a training fellowship,

so I had to book with a different specialist.

I didn't expect him to recognize me.

“Jemima?”

I blinked, then placed his face.

“Hello, Doctor.”

A flicker of warmth crossed his otherwise stern features.

“We met once, at your wedding to Bertram.”

He was Bertram's mentor, one of the top allergy specialists in the country.

Bertram had always said he'd find time to take me to his mentor for a thorough exam.

That "find time" stretched into years.