crying because he’s leaving.”
He wiped his cheek.
“He’s my best friend, Chelsea. I thought you knew.”
***
Ben and I had been married for eleven years.
I had spent every one of them sharing him with that hospital.
He was a gifted surgeon, and I was proud that the man I loved helped people through some of the worst days of their lives.
“You’re crying because he’s leaving.”
But over the past year, I had started wrapping up his dinner before I even sat down to eat mine.
He missed Thanksgiving, our anniversary, and our daughter Olive’s eighth birthday.
Sometimes he didn’t come home at all.
“We’re short-staffed, honey. Please don’t wait up.”
Whenever he finally crawled into bed, he looked so exhausted I swallowed every complaint.
Once, I woke to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress, his shoulders shaking.
“We’re short-staffed, honey.”
“Ben?”
He wiped his
face before turning around.
“Rough night, Chels. Go back to sleep.”
***
So that Tuesday, after watching him leave with his hospital badge clipped to his pocket, I decided to surprise him.
I packed his favorite lunch, added the apple pie, and tucked in the note.
“Go back to sleep.”
Then I drove to the hospital, imagining how happy he’d be to see me.
Instead, I found Arnold nearly crying.
“Where’s Ben?” I asked.
Arnold hesitated.
“Chelsea, you should talk to him.”
“I plan on doing that. Where is he? Not in surgery?”
“Chelsea, you should talk to him.”
He pointed down the hall.
I walked away before he could say anything else.
***
Ben’s office door was partly open.
