Chapter 5 - The Emergency Doctor“Where are you?” David asked immediately. His voice sounded hoarse, infinitely older than it had that morning.
“Why are Rebecca’s shoes in our apartment?” I demanded, bypassing any greeting.
Silence stretched over the cellular waves. “I found them in the storage unit,” he finally said. “Two months ago.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for the old insurance records. They were in a box with some of her things.”
“So you decided to put them by our front door?”
“I repaired the loose heel years ago. She never collected them.”
“That does not explain why you displayed them, David.”
I heard him exhale a long, shaky breath. “I missed the sound of another person in the apartment.”
The answer was so deeply strange, so laden with unspoken sorrow, that I almost ended the call. “What does that mean?”
“It means the rooms became too quiet,” he confessed. “Noah stopped staying at the dorm. He barely spoke. Sometimes I would walk through the apartment and imagine I heard you coming home. Then I would remember you were in St. Louis. I put the shoes there because they reminded me of the night she wore them. You, Rebecca, and I stayed up until two in the morning arguing about old movies. Noah fell asleep on the couch.”
“You placed a dead woman’s shoes by the door because you were lonely?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Yes.”
I pressed my cold forehead against the steering wheel. “Why did you not tell me Noah was having nightmares?”
“He begged me not to. He said you would come home.”
“I would have!”
“That was exactly what he did not want. He believed your project was the one thing in your life that was finally yours.”
The accusation hidden inside that sentence felt like a physical blow. “My career has always been mine.”
“Has it?” David challenged gently. “You turned down promotions for my travel. You postponed your degree for Noah. You cared for everyone. This was the first major assignment you accepted without asking if we could survive your absence.”
“And apparently, you could not.”
“No,” he admitted.
“What was in the medication bottle?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Something the emergency doctor prescribed for Noah’s panic attacks.”
My grip tightened. “Emergency doctor? David, what happened?”
“Three weeks ago, Noah collapsed in the student union. He couldn't breathe. Campus security called an ambulance.”
I felt ice water flood my veins. “And no one told me? I spoke to both of you that night!”
“We were at the hospital,” he said quietly. “I kept my camera off. I claimed the internet was unstable. Come back, Elaine. Let us explain.”
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“I cannot listen while standing in that bedroom,” I replied, my voice hard. “I am staying at a hotel tonight.”
I ended the call, realizing for the first time that people don't always lie because they've stopped loving you. Sometimes, they lie to protect you. And sometimes, the result feels exactly the same.
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