Chapter 58
Collins
Zelda wasn’t home when I entered the house. She was probably at Anna’s. The thought lingered longer than it should have.
I headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash the day off me—courtrooms, patients, questions I couldn’t answer.
When I stepped out, I dressed as if I were going somewhere: clean shirt, dark jeans, shoes I hadn’t worn in a while.
Out of habit, I reached for the aftershave, then the cologne.
The scent felt unnecessary…almost ironic.
I ended up sprawled across my bed instead.
The TV flickered on, noise filling the room while my mind stayed elsewhere. I stared without really watching, replaying the same question over and over—should I go, or should I just let this birthday pass like every other day?
My phone buzzed.
Marlon: Hey, where are you?
I sighed, thumb hovering before I replied.
Me: You guys can enjoy yourselves. I’m not in the mood.
The response came almost instantly.
Marlon: If you’re not on your way right now, I’m coming to drag your ass down here.
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. Trust Marlon to ignore emotional turmoil entirely.
Me: Fine. I’ll come.
I sat up, staring at the screen for a moment longer, then pushed myself off the bed. Maybe I didn’t feel like celebrating—but staying alone with my thoughts felt worse.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the car, muscle memory guiding me as I pulled out of the driveway. Without really thinking about it, I found myself driving toward my old place.
The building came into view, tall and familiar, and something tightened in my chest. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it—the height, the silence, the sense of control my life had once had here.
My phone buzzed.
Marlon: Tell me when you’re here.
Me: I’m in the elevator.
Marlon: Already?
Me: See you in a bit.
The elevator ride felt longer than usual, each floor chiming softly as memories surfaced uninvited. When the doors finally opened, I stepped out and walked down the corridor, my footsteps echoing.
I stopped in front of Marlon’s door and frowned.
It was…quiet. Too quiet.
I hesitated, hand hovering near the bell. He’d said people were coming over—drinks, noise, distractions. Instead, the hallway felt still, almost expectant.
For a moment, I wondered if I’d misunderstood.
Then I knocked.
Marlon opened the door, his silhouette swallowed by darkness behind him.
“Sorry,” he said casually. “The lights just went out.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What happened? Tripped?”
He stepped aside. “Come in.”
The moment I crossed the threshold; the lights exploded on.
“Surprise!”
The room filled with familiar faces—colleagues from the hospital, a few old friends, laughter already mid-motion. For a second, I just stood there, stunned. Then it hit me.
I laughed, shaking my head as I punched Marlon lightly in the arm. “You planned this.”
“Happy birthday, man,” someone called.
Soft music hummed through the penthouse. Marlon handed me a drink. I took it automatically, still adjusting to the warmth of being seen, remembered.
I walked into the kitchen to grab more glasses, moving through the space like it was still mine—like I hadn’t ever left. Muscle memory is cruel like that.
The doorbell rang.
Great. More people. At least my mind would stay busy tonight. Away from her.
“How many glasses?” I called out.
“Only two people need glasses,” Marlon answered. Then paused. “Actually—make it six.”
Perfect. Four more guests.
I picked up the glasses, pasted on a smile, and turned—
And froze.
She was there.
Anna.
Sitting in her wheelchair, a gift resting on her lap. Her friends stood beside her, smiling gently, like they knew exactly what kind of earthquake they’d just delivered into the room.
My hands started shaking. The glasses rattled softly against each other.
I couldn’t breathe.
I turned around and walked straight back into the kitchen before anyone noticed. Before she noticed.
Marlon followed immediately. “Hey…”
“Who invited her?” I asked, my voice tight.
“Relax,” he said softly. “Just breathe.”
“I can’t let her see me like this,” I said, pressing my palms against the counter. “I can’t let her see me break.”
“Then go say hi,” he urged. “Just…say hi.”
“I can’t. Not yet.” My chest felt too full, too close to cracking open. “I’m jittery. I won’t be able to control myself.”
“But you can’t leave her hanging out there.”
I turned to him. “Why did you invite her?”
He met my gaze steadily. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Give me a minute,” I said. “Just—give me a minute.”
God, I missed her.
The kind of missing that lives under your skin. That steals your sleep. That turns time into something sharp.
I wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Pretend none of this had happened.
I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back, then walked toward her before I could lose my nerve.
I didn’t say a word.
Just nodded at her friends, then gently pushed her wheelchair away from the crowd, guiding her into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. Silence wrapped around us instantly.
I crouched down in front of her, my heart pounding so loudly. I was sure she could hear it.
“I missed you,” I whispered, my voice breaking despite my efforts.
I hugged her—carefully.
“I’m not supposed to touch you,” I murmured. “But I’m going to break at least this one rule. There’s no way I’m not holding you when you’re this close.”
I pulled back, cupped her face, hesitation lasting only a heartbeat before I leaned in and pressed my head against hers.
“This separation is killing me.”
She handed me the gift with a soft smile. “Happy birthday.”
I took it, placed it on the bed without opening it. “Thank you.”
I looked at her, and felt everything all over again.
“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” I admitted. “It was risky.”
Then, softer—honest. “But I’m glad you came. You’re the one person I would’ve done anything to see.”
“I wanted to see you,” she said simply.
A breath lodged in my chest. “Tomorrow would’ve been our wedding day.”
She frowned slightly. “But we haven’t set a date yet.”
“I had,” I said. “The summons arrived before I even had the chance to talk to you about it.”
Silence settled between us—not awkward, just heavy. Full of everything unsaid.
After a while, I pushed myself up from the floor, finding my balance. “I’ll be right back,” I said gently. “Let me get you something to drink. Juice?”
“Something strong, maybe?”
I huffed out a breath. “Nothing strong for you, love.”
“Fine,” she conceded. “Juice, please.”
I slipped out to the kitchen, my heart still beating.
“Collins,” Marlon said, leaning against the counter. “You haven’t touched your drink.”
“I can’t,” I replied immediately. “Not now that she’s here. I need to stay sober—for her.”
His smile was knowing. “You could crash here tonight. With her. No one has to know.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know if I’m willing to take that risk.”
He nodded, respecting it. “Fair.”
“Where’s Nancy?”
“Inside,” he said. “We were chatting earlier. I’ll get back to her.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Chat later.”
I returned with a tray—two glasses of juice and a few snacks—my steps slower than before, as if the short walk back required more restraint than I had expected.
She reached for a glass, our fingers brushing in passing. The contact was brief, innocent—and entirely devastating.
“So,” she said quietly after a sip, her gaze lifting to meet mine over the rim of the glass, “the sixty–forty probability… were you deliberate in letting Michael misunderstand?”
The question landed heavier than I expected. Not because it surprised me—but because it deserved honesty.
For a heartbeat, I considered lying. Choosing the answer that would protect me. Protect us. The easy one.
Instead, I exhaled.
“I didn’t know how to be a doctor,” I said quietly, “and a man who was falling in love at the same time.”
Her expression shifted—something tender breaking through—but pain lingered there too, like a bruise she hadn’t let herself touch yet.
“But it might’ve pushed him,” she whispered. “It might’ve made him do what he already wanted to do. Let go of me.”
I shook my head slowly, my voice steady even as everything inside me unravelled.
“If Michael truly loved you, he wouldn’t have walked away,” I said. “Not even if there was only a one percent chance.”
Her breath caught.
“The odds didn’t change his heart,” I continued, softer now. “They just fast-tracked his motive.”
She looked up at me then—unguarded, searching, heartbreakingly open.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” I said, the truth finally free of my chest. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever stolen from someone.”
My thumb brushed her cheeks, reverent. Unapologetic.
“And I’d do it again,” I added quietly, “if it meant keeping you.”
I looked down at her hands, took one in mine, and lifted it to my lips.
Knowing full well, love was the most dangerous thing I could give her now.
And the only honest one.