Chương 4
It was a nurse carrying a tray of medication who stopped halfway through the doorway and stared at me.
"You are awake again."
I looked at her.
"Again?"
She smiled awkwardly.
"I mean, awake and talking."
She placed the tray down.
"Yesterday you looked like you were trying to fight the entire hospital."
I almost smiled.
"Did I win?"
The nurse checked my monitor.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you consider annoying everyone a victory."
A quiet laugh escaped me.
It surprised me.
The sound felt unfamiliar.
For days, maybe weeks, my entire life had narrowed into betrayal, paperwork, and survival.
A small joke from a stranger felt strangely normal.
"I am sorry," I said.
The nurse shook her head.
"Don't be."
She adjusted the blanket near my feet.
"People who almost die are allowed to be difficult."
"I almost died."
"Yes."
She looked at me seriously.
"That is usually how it works."
For a moment, I just looked at her.
Then I laughed again.
It hurt my chest.
I immediately stopped.
The nurse smiled.
"See?"
"What?"
"Still human."
After she left, I stared at the ceiling.
Still human.
The phrase stayed with me longer than it should have.
Because yesterday, after watching Julian's video, I had felt like something had been removed from me.
Not my marriage.
That was already gone.
Something smaller.
Something quieter.
The belief that my life was still the one I recognized.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I reached for it slowly.
There were dozens of notifications.
Messages from friends.
Colleagues.
People I had not spoken to in years.
Some offered support.
Some asked if the rumors were true.
Some sent nothing but heart emojis, which somehow felt more uncomfortable than actual questions.
I opened none of them.
Then I saw one message from Julian.
My hand stopped.
For several seconds, I stared at his name.
A week ago, I would have answered immediately.
Even if I was angry.
Even if I was hurt.
Even if I needed time.
Julian had always been the person I turned toward.
That habit was difficult to kill.
I opened the message.
Genevieve, I know you are awake.
That was all.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just an announcement that he knew.
I waited.
Another message appeared.
We need to talk.
I locked the screen.
Eleanor arrived ten minutes later carrying coffee for herself and a small bag from the hospital gift shop.
"You bought something?"
She placed the bag beside me.
"Toothbrush."
"I own a toothbrush."
"Not here."
She pulled out a small tube of toothpaste.
"And because apparently you packed for a medical emergency by wearing the same clothes for three days."
I looked down at my hospital gown.
"I was unconscious."
"I noticed."
A small smile appeared between us.
It disappeared quickly.
The normal moment could not survive very long.
"Eleanor."
She looked up.
"Julian messaged me."
Her expression changed.
"What did he say?"
"That we need to talk."
She stared at the floor.
"Of course."
I studied her reaction.
"You expected that?"
"I expected something."
"Why?"
She folded her arms.
"Because people like Julian hate losing control."
The sentence bothered me.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was accurate.
Julian had never thought of himself as controlling.
He would have rejected the word.
He would have said he was organized.
Responsible.
A leader.
But there was a difference between wanting things handled properly and needing every situation to move according to your version of events.
"What do you think he wants?" I asked.
Eleanor looked at me carefully.
"I don't know."
That was the honest answer.
Then she added, "But I doubt he wants a conversation where he admits he was wrong."
I looked away.
A memory surfaced.
Julian at our anniversary dinner two years earlier.
He had forgotten the reservation.
I had been upset.
Not because of the restaurant.
Because it was the third important thing he had forgotten that month.
He had apologized.
Then he had spent twenty minutes explaining why his schedule was impossible.
By the end of the night, I had comforted him.
I had apologized for being stressed.
I had gone home believing we had solved something.
Maybe that was the pattern.
Maybe Julian never needed me to forgive him.
Maybe he needed me to help him feel forgiven.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time from Marcus.
He wanted to meet in person.
Not at the hospital.
At my office.
I knew immediately something had changed.
"What happened?" Eleanor asked.
"Marcus wants to meet."
"Today?"
"Yes."
She frowned.
"You just had major surgery."
"I know."
"Genevieve."
I looked at her.
"I also had a husband announce another marriage while I was unconscious."
She stopped.
I softened slightly.
"I am not trying to destroy myself."
"I know."
"I just need to know what I am walking into."
Eleanor nodded.
That was the thing about her.
She worried.
She argued.
But when she realized something mattered to me, she stood beside me.
Not in front.
Not behind.
Beside.
Three hours later, Marcus arrived at the hospital.
He carried no briefcase.
That worried me more than if he had.
Marcus was the kind of person who carried a briefcase to a casual dinner.
His hands were empty.
"That bad?" I asked.
He sat down.
"I don't know yet."
That was not an answer I was used to hearing from him.
"What did you find?"
He opened a folder.
Inside were printed documents.
"Before we get into Julian, we need to discuss the house."
I looked at the papers.
"What about it?"
"There was an attempted transfer."
My eyes narrowed.
"Attempted?"
"Two months ago, Julian started paperwork involving the property."
"Why?"
"He wanted to refinance."
I stared at him.
"Without telling me?"
Marcus nodded.
"He could not complete it without your signature."
"Did he try?"
"Yes."
The room became quiet.
"How?"
Marcus removed a copy of a document.
"Your signature was submitted."
I looked at the page.
May you like
My name was there.
My signature.
