My Husband Hung Up While I Was Dying

I called a car.

I didn't call Cassian again. I sat on the floor of our kitchen and waited for the headlights to sweep across the window. When the driver texted that he'd arrived, I pulled myself up. Walked down to the street. Slid into the back seat.

"Manhattan Presbyterian," I said.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror. "You okay, miss?"

"I'm fine."

I pressed my palm against my abdomen. The pain was a low, grinding ache now. Constant. I leaned my head against the window and watched the city blur past. Rain streaked the glass. The streets were empty. It was after midnight.

The hospital entrance glowed white under the awning. I paid the driver. Got out. Walked through the automatic doors into the fluorescent brightness of the ER.

A nurse took my information. Asked questions. How long had I been in pain? Was I nauseous? Did I have a history of ulcers?

I answered everything. Quietly. Politely.

She led me to a bay. Pulled a curtain around me. Told me to change into a gown. A doctor would be in soon.

I sat on the gurney. Pulled off my coat. My hands were steady. I changed. Folded my clothes. Set them on the chair.

Another nurse came in. Younger. She smiled and hooked me up to an IV. The needle pinched. I didn't flinch.

"This'll help with the pain," she said. "Just rest."

She dimmed the light. Left.

I lay back. Stared at the ceiling tiles. Counted them. Twelve across. Eight down. Ninety-six total.

The medication worked slowly. The pain softened. Dulled. I closed my eyes. Listened to the sounds of the ER. Beeping monitors. Low voices. Footsteps.

I didn't sleep.

I waited.

---

The doors burst open.

I heard it before I saw it. A man's voice. Urgent. Commanding.

"I need a gurney. Now."

I opened my eyes. Turned my head.

Through the gap in the curtain, I saw him.

Cassian.

He was carrying someone. Cradling her against his chest. Her arms were around his neck. Her face pressed to his shoulder.

Daisy.

Her leg dangled. There was a Band-Aid on her knee. A small spot of red soaked through.

A nurse rushed over. "What happened?"

"She fell," Cassian said. His voice was tight. Protective. "On the stairs outside her building. The storm—she was scared. I tried to get her inside and she slipped."

The nurse glanced at Daisy's knee. "It looks minor—"

"I want it examined," Cassian said. "Properly. She could have fractured something. She's in pain."

Daisy whimpered softly. "It hurts," she whispered.

"I know, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her head. "I've got you. You're okay. I'm right here."

I lay there. Three feet away. Behind a curtain.

Watching.

The nurse brought a wheelchair. Cassian set Daisy down gently. Like she was made of glass. He crouched beside her. Brushed her hair back from her face.

"You're so brave," he murmured.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wet. "I was so scared."

"I know. But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

He held her hand. Stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

The nurse wheeled her toward an exam room. Cassian walked beside her. His hand never left hers.

They passed my curtain.

He didn't look.

He didn't see me.

I reached for my phone. My hands were steady. I opened the camera. Turned it toward the hallway. Hit record.

I filmed him crouching beside her wheelchair. Whispering to her. His face soft. Tender.

I filmed the nurse cleaning the scrape on Daisy's knee. It was smaller than a quarter.

I filmed Cassian pulling her into his arms. Holding her. Rocking her gently.

"You're safe," he said. "I promise."

I filmed it all.

Then I stopped. Saved the file. And set the phone down on my chest.

I stared at the ceiling again. The medication made everything feel distant. Soft.

But I wasn't numb.

I felt everything.

The nurse came back to check on me. She adjusted the IV. Took my blood pressure.

"How's the pain?" she asked.

"Better," I said.

She smiled. "Good. The doctor will be in soon with your results. Try to rest."

She left.

I closed my eyes.

And I cried.

Quietly. Without sound.

Because I finally understood.

He hadn't hung up because he didn't care.

He'd hung up because he cared more about her.

And no amount of evidence would ever hurt as much as that.