Taylor was stopped outside the treatment area. Maya saw it happen only in fragments, his hand flattening on the half-closed door, a nurse saying something firm but professional, his jaw locking before he stepped back. Then she lost sight of him.
When she woke properly, the room was quieter. A heart monitor ticked steadily beside the bed. The wall paint was an anonymous beige. A television hung dark in the corner. Her mouth felt dry and sour. Her left arm ached where the IV sat. For a moment she had no idea what time it was or how long she had been gone from herself.
Then she turned her head.
Taylor sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, phone forgotten in one hand. His tie was gone. The top buttons of his shirt were open. His hair looked as if he had pushed both hands through it fifty times. He had probably never looked less like Taylor King in public and more like a man waiting for an answer he might not survive.
He noticed her almost instantly. “Hey.”
His voice broke a little on the single syllable.
Maya swallowed. “You look terrible.”
He gave a laugh that did not deserve the name. “You collapse for one evening and suddenly I’m not photogenic.”
There it was—that thin layer of wit he used when the truth was too close. Maya closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” The word came out too fast. He leaned back, then forward again, unable to settle. “Just… don’t do that.”
She turned her face toward the window. It showed only black glass and her own dim reflection. “You know now.”
He did not answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice had gone quiet in a way she had never heard before.
“A doctor came to talk to me.” He looked down at his hands. “She asked if I knew about your condition.”
Maya waited.
“I didn’t.”
The silence stretched.
Hospital air always seemed too thin for difficult conversations. Too dry. Too exposed. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rolled past, rattling softly. An intercom called for a doctor on another floor. Life continued, indifferent.
Maya said, “I didn’t owe you my medical history.”
“No.” He stared at the floor, then finally looked at her. “You didn’t.”
“You married me for six months because your friend dared you to.”
His face changed at that. She saw the hit land.
“I know what I did,” he said.
“Do you?”
