His response was a dagger of predictability. “I’ll try to make it, but if Charlotte needs me…”
She would need him. She always did on Thursdays.
Six months ago, Tyler had brought Charlotte into my pharmacy at Riverside General for the first time. She’d needed anxiety medication, he said. I watched from behind the counter as she laughed, touching his arm in a way that was casual, int:imate, and deeply familiar.
“She’s going through a rough divorce,” he’d explained later. “She doesn’t have anyone else she can really talk to.”
It started as a casual lunch. Soon it was every Thursday, stretching into three hours while I worked the late shift.
Then, one night, I smelled something floral and expensive clinging to Tyler’s shirt. A scent that didn’t belong in our home. “Do you think Charlotte might be taking advantage of your kindness?” I asked, the words cutting my throat like glass.
Tyler looked genuinely sh0cked. “Taking advantage? Hannah, she’s being tormented by her ex.
She needs support.”
“She has a therapist. And parents nearby.”
“But she trusts me,” he said, as if that trust outweighed our vows. Rain poured the next Thursday as I left for a work dinner.
My phone sat in the cup holder, silent, while I rehearsed excuses for his inevitable absence. At Fifth and Madison, a truck damned through a red light. My last thought before impact was, He isn’t stopping.
The crash folded metal into bone. My wedding ring shimmered with bl00d I couldn’t comprehend as mine. I woke under the yellowed ceiling tiles of Riverside General.
Dr. Webb shoved my dislocated shoulder back into place with a jolt that split me open. Patricia, a nurse with tired, kind eyes, hovered near.
