He Dreamed of Another Woman's Name

I opened my mouth to explain, but he had already turned and strode away.

Watching his hurried back, I murmured under my breath,

"It's already over between us."

Back in the room, I looked around at the soft, pink little nest we'd built, and my eyes burned.

The truth was, the signs had always been there. I should have seen them long ago.

I love everything pink. Ray prefers cold, minimalist gray.

He'd lived here for the better part of a year, and though he always said I could decorate however I liked, in practice he resisted every bit of it.

The pink sheets I bought, he wouldn't sleep on. The throw pillow I'd stitched by hand, he wouldn't lean against. Even the bright red lucky underwear I'd bought him for his zodiac year, he refused to wear.

"I'm a grown man. Using girly stuff like that is humiliating."

"You like it, you use it. I'd rather die first."

Then Phyllis Pruitt came over, pointed at the pink-and-charcoal mix of furnishings, and laughed so hard she could barely stand up straight.

"This combination is so bizarre. If my boyfriend were ever this clueless, I'd dump him on the spot."

Then, still laughing, she reached over and tugged at her own boyfriend's waistband, ordering him,

"Come on, show Faith and the others your pink underwear!"

Her boyfriend didn't get annoyed at all. He just played along, indulging her teasing.

I looked at Ray, envy all over my face.

The next second, he threw out everything in gray and charcoal, and that night he ordered a whole pile of the pink couple's things I liked.

Back then, I was moved by what I thought was Ray's favoritism toward me.

Now, the pink filling every corner of the room only mocked me for being childish and stupid.

If Phyllis had never walked in, everything here would still be divided cleanly into his gray and my pink.

I picked up my phone and texted the director.

*Director Jennings, does the Overseas Medical Aid Team still need people? I'd like to go too.*

*Are you sure? Once you go, it's three years at the very least.*

*I'm sure.*

The director told me to get my things together and come to the hospital that afternoon to hand over my work.

Departure in seven days.

I put the phone away and cleared out every pink thing in the apartment, hauling all of it to the trash station.

By the time I left, dragging my suitcase behind me, everything had turned back into the gray and charcoal Ray liked.

I dropped my luggage at the staff dorm, and the moment I reached the lobby I ran into a patient dispute.

I was in a hurry to hand over my work and had no interest in the commotion.

Halfway across, someone called out to me.

"Faith, please, talk Dr. Delgado down! If he keeps hitting him, someone's going to die!"

I turned my head, and only then saw that the man at the center of the crowd was Ray, locked in a fight with a patient's family member.

He was straddling the man, driving his fists in, each blow landing on flesh.

"Why did you hide his medical history?"

"He has hepatitis B and syphilis—why didn't you say anything?"

"Do you have any idea this could get someone killed? This is attempted murder. You could go to prison for this!"

…

The relative kept insisting he hadn't known either, but Ray didn't believe a word of it.

He beat the man until his face was swollen and bloody.

Then I saw the blood spattered across Ray's surgical scrubs, and my chest seized.

He'd been exposed to the patient's blood.

Fear surged up in me, and on instinct I rushed over and grabbed his arm.

"Ray, stop, you need to go clean up right now and get the prophylactic shots—"

Before I could finish, he wrenched his arm free and shoved me away.

"None of your damn business!"

He didn't even glance at me, just grabbed the relative by the collar and started in again.

I went down hard, and pain tore through my abdomen and my tailbone at the same time.

Head Nurse Coleman hurried to help me up.

"Faith, are you all right?"

I shook my head, swallowing the pain.

Seeing that even I couldn't stop him, the head nurse was beside herself.

"If even you can't talk Dr. Delgado down, what are we supposed to do? The patient was unconscious when they brought him in, the family didn't know he had an infectious disease either—blaming them now won't help anything! Who could have guessed Dr. Pruitt's protective mask would slip off mid-surgery, ugh…"