The Sport Shooter Missed His Shot, Now a Skater Holds My Heart

Just then, the examination room door creaked open.

“Mr. Murdaugh, Miss Ashmore,” the nurse said gently, poking her head in. “The next doctor’s ready for shift change.”

The tension in the room shattered like glass.

Caleb blinked as if snapping out of a trance, then released Lilith. His voice was calm, flat. “Come on. Let’s get your scan done.”

Lilith didn’t answer. She kept her head low, eyes glossy, shoulders slumped like a kicked dog.

They walked out one after another, the silence between them thick enough to choke on. But just as Caleb stepped through the door, something crinkled beneath his shoe.

A stack of papers, scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.

He paused.

The top page was white, creased at the corners, I’d held it so long it had molded to my grip. But it wasn’t the paper that made him freeze—it was the red ink, the familiar curves of two signatures that punched the air out of his lungs.

Caleb stooped down, picked it up.

His gaze locked on the title.

Divorce Agreement.

Time stopped. The letters seemed to blur.

He scanned the page, breath caught somewhere between his ribs.

The date. Signed… seven days ago. 

His hand trembled. The document nearly slipped through his fingers.

That was the day I came back from hell. The day I walked out of the hospital with bruises still blooming and resolve already planted.

I’d made up my mind.

His pulse roared in his ears and before he could even think, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Caleb fumbled it out, answering without looking.

“Hello?”

“Caleb, it’s me,” his coach said, a weary edge in his voice. “I just got notified. Sabrina handed in her resignation this morning. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was firm. From now on, you’ll be sharing an agent with the other athletes.”

The floor dropped out from under him.

“I thought you two had talked,” the coach said, confused. “She said she wouldn’t be managing your sponsorships anymore—that someone from the agency would take over.”

“That’s not possible!” His voice rose, raw and furious. “She wouldn’t just quit—she wouldn’t do that without telling me!”

“Hey—Caleb, calm down,” the coach said quickly. “Look, I was surprised too, but she looked… resolute. Like she’d made that decision long ago.”

Caleb's vision blurred. His lungs struggled to keep pace with the wild hammering of his heart. He turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor, voice tight with panic as he barked at the front desk nurse.

“The woman who came in earlier—the one who had her ear bandaged. Where is she?”

The nurse blinked at his tone, startled. “Miss Hartley? She left already. About half an hour ago.”

He stared at the divorce papers in his hand, her signature clean and deliberate. It sliced straight through his chest.

Seven days ago.

I made up my mind seven days ago.

Why?

Because he hadn’t once said my name on that podium.

Because when cameras flashed, he held her.

Because when the world was watching, he let them believe she was the one.

He staggered back, heart threatening to claw out of his chest. His fingers moved on instinct, pulling up her contact. He pressed call.

One ring.

Then the cold voice of the operator punched him in the face.

“We’re sorry. The number you’ve dialed has blocked your call.”

Caleb stood there in stunned silence.

Blocked?

She’d blocked him?

His jaw clenched. Eyes reddening, he gripped the phone like he could crush it in his palm.

“Sabrina… you blocked me?” he whispered. “You actually blocked me…”