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. – Page 5

“What was her name?”

“Anna.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

His eyes were gentle, but not soft in a weak way. Gentle like hands that had learned how to hold something fragile without crushing it.

I tried to laugh and failed.

“This is insane.”

“Yes.”

“I can barely sit up.”

“I noticed.”

“My husband wants a divorce.”

“He sounds determined.”

“I have drains coming out of me.”

“Temporary problem.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“I didn’t bring a priest.”

For the first time since waking, I laughed.

It hurt so badly that I gasped, and Mark immediately rose, alarmed.

“Don’t make me laugh,” I wheezed.

“I’ll try to be less charming.”

“That will help.”

He sat back down, and for a few seconds, we were just two damaged people in a hospital room, smiling at the absurdity of still being alive.

Then my phone buzzed.

Both of us looked at it.

It sat on the nightstand like a venomous insect.

I stared until the screen lit again.

Evan.

Not a text this time.

A call.

Mark’s face hardened.