Inside the apartment, Michael dropped his keys on the counter and sank onto the couch. The silence was oppressive. He hadn’t changed much since she left—no new furniture, no redecorating. It was as if keeping things the same might somehow bring her back. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old photos. There she was, laughing at a street festival, her face lit by the glow of fairy lights. Another of them at Lake Michigan, her arms wrapped around him as the wind whipped her hair. He lingered on each image, searching for clues he’d missed, some sign of the secret she’d kept.
Emily had been skittish when they first met, flinching at loud noises, avoiding crowded places. She’d rarely leave the apartment alone, and when she did, she’d stick to familiar routes. Michael had chalked it up to anxiety, maybe a bad breakup or a rough past. Once, he’d heard her crying in her sleep, murmuring about an ex-husband, words like “please, no” and “I’m sorry.” He’d held her until she calmed, but when he asked about it the next morning, she brushed it off. “Just a bad dream,” she’d said, her smile too quick, too forced. He hadn’t pressed her, believing she’d share when she was ready. Now, he cursed himself for not asking more, for not digging deeper.
The truth was, Emily’s silence about her past hadn’t bothered him much at the time. He’d been so caught up in their life together—movie nights, lazy mornings, her teasing him about his terrible cooking—that the gaps in her story felt unimportant. But now, those gaps were all he could think about. Who was she before him? Why had she run? And why, after three years of love, had she left without a goodbye?
Michael couldn’t stay in the apartment. The walls felt like they were closing in, each memory a fresh wound. He grabbed his coat and headed to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where he worked. The hospital was his refuge, a place where he could lose himself in the rhythm of saving lives, where the chaos left no room for personal pain. The night shift wasn’t his, but he didn’t care. Anything was better than sitting alone with his thoughts.
The hospital was a hive of activity—nurses rushing past, monitors beeping, the sharp smell of antiseptic in the air. Michael slipped into the break room, where Sarah, a nurse who’d worked with him for years, looked up from her coffee. “Dr. Carter, what are you doing here? It’s not your shift.” Sarah was in her late 20s, with a no-nonsense attitude and a knack for reading people. She knew about Emily, had seen the toll her disappearance had taken.
Michael shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d make myself useful.” Sarah set down her mug, hands on her hips. “You’re killing yourself, you know that? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. You can’t keep doing this—running yourself into the ground won’t bring her back.” Her voice softened. “Think about your patients, Mike. They need you sharp, not half-dead with that look on your face. You’re scaring the moms-to-be.”
He sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. “I know, Sarah. I get it. But what am I supposed to do? Sit at home and stare at the walls?” She sighed, sitting across from him. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But you’re not alone in this. Talk to someone—a therapist, maybe. I know a good one, Dr. Rachel Bennett. She’s helped a lot of people I know. Just… think about it, okay?”
Michael nodded, though the idea of spilling his guts to a stranger made his skin crawl. He’d always been private, the kind of guy who fixed his own problems. But lately, he wasn’t sure he could fix this. “I’ll think about it,” he said, more to end the conversation than anything else.
Before Sarah could reply, the door burst open, and another nurse, Jessica, stormed in. She was new, barely three months on the job, and already had a reputation for her sharp tongue and superiority complex. “This is ridiculous!” she fumed, tossing her clipboard onto the table. “Why are we stuck dealing with some criminal? They brought a prisoner here to give birth, like we’re running a charity for lowlifes!”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Jess, what’s the problem?” Jessica crossed her arms, her face flushed. “They transferred some woman from county lockup to deliver here. A prisoner! In our hospital! Why can’t they handle this at the jail? We shouldn’t have to deal with her kind.”
Michael’s patience snapped. “Hold on, Jessica. When you signed up to be a nurse, didn’t you know you’d be helping all kinds of people, not just the ones you approve of?” She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the lecture, Dr. Carter. If she’s in jail, she belongs there, not here taking up space and resources for decent people.” Michael’s voice hardened. “You’re out of line. Your job is to care for patients, not judge them. Do your work and keep your opinions to yourself.”
Jessica glared at him, then stormed out, slamming the door. Sarah shook her head. “She’s got a lot to learn. Come on, shift’s starting. They need you out there.”