I inhaled sharply, and the pain punished me for it. Clara lifted a straw to my lips. “Small sip.” The water tasted like mercy. I swallowed and tried again. “Did they get it?” She glanced toward the door. “The surgeon will explain everything, but yes. The procedure went better than expected.” I closed my eyes. Better than expected. Not perfect. Not miraculous. But enough. Enough to keep breathing. Enough to remember. Evan. His text came back like a blade sliding between my ribs. We’re getting a divorce, Jessica. I don’t need the burden of a sick wife. The pain in my body suddenly seemed honest. The pain from Evan was dirty. Cowardly. It had no right to exist inside a hospital room where people fought so hard to stay alive. Then another memory surfaced. Mark. The chair by my bed. His calm voice. The trash in your life has finally taken itself out. My insane joke. If I survive this, maybe we should just get married and call it a day. His answer. Okay. My eyes opened. “Mark,” I whispered.

“You lived,” I whispered.

The woman in the mirror looked uncertain.

So I said it again.

“You lived.”

A knock sounded.

I pulled my robe closed. “Come in.”

Mark entered holding two paper cups.

Then he saw my face and stopped.

“I can come back.”

“No.”

He waited.

I hated how good he was at waiting.

“I looked at the scar,” I said.

His expression softened.

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“The first time is usually a war.”

“You sound experienced.”

“Anna had a port scar she called her second mouth because everyone kept trying to speak through it.”

A laugh broke through my tears.

“That’s horrible.”

“She was very funny.”

“She sounds like it.”

He handed me a cup.

“Tea. No vending machines were harmed.”

I took it.

We sat by the window while the fountain threw silver threads into the cold air outside.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Why were you really in that shared room?”

He looked out the window.

“I told you. Private rooms are too quiet.”

“That was true. Not complete.”

A long pause.

Then he nodded.

“I was there for a biopsy.”

My heart clenched.

“Mark.”

“It was benign.”

I exhaled.

“You could’ve led with that.”

“I didn’t want the dramatic gasp.”

“You absolutely deserve the dramatic gasp.”

His mouth curved.

“For a few weeks, I thought I might be following Anna.”

The room shifted around us.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It made me realize something humiliating.”

“What?”

“I have spent years building places for people to heal, but I have not built a life for myself.”

The tea warmed my palms.

“What kind of life do you want?”