52
Amanda had always been observant.
It came with the job—anticipating needs, reading between the lines of body language and tone, preparing for the things her boss didn't say just as much as the ones she did.
That's what made her good at what she did.
That's why Ericka had trusted her with more than just her schedule, more than just her time.
But lately?
Lately Amanda felt like she was constantly two steps behind.
She sat in Ericka's office, organizing the upcoming week's agenda on her tablet, but her eyes kept flicking to the large leather chair across from her—the one Ericka hadn't occupied in almost fifteen minutes.
She was supposed to be back from lunch. Only there hadn't been any lunch. Amanda had seen the calendar block labeled APPOINTMENT in all caps. Again. It was the third one this week. The eighth in the last three.
And Ericka never came back from them looking the same.
Amanda had noticed it in pieces: how Ericka had started to wear longer sleeves again, even when the weather was warm.
The faint bruises on the inside of her elbow she kept covered with makeup.
The paleness in her face. The way she had started taking deeper, slower breaths after walking just a short distance.
It wasn't just stress.
It wasn't burnout. Amanda had seen burnout. Lived it.
This was something else.
Something Ericka wasn't saying.
Amanda closed the calendar app and stood, glancing at the door. Ericka's office phone hadn't rung once. Her personal phone had been oddly silent. Amanda crossed the room and picked it up, scrolling through the missed notifications. One stood out.
A reminder from an unfamiliar health clinic. Bloodwork results available.
Amanda's breath caught.
She set the phone down gently, mind racing.
It wasn't proof. Not yet.
But it was the closest thing to a crack in the polished, guarded exterior Ericka had been hiding behind.
Amanda sat down again, more slowly this time.
Her thoughts spun: What would Ericka not tell her? What would make someone like Ericka—composed, invincible Ericka—keep secrets?
Only one thing made sense.
Something personal. Something painful. Something... medical.
Amanda's hands trembled slightly as she reached for her tablet and opened Ericka's schedule again. She tapped through her own notes—every appointment Ericka had asked her to exclude from the shared calendar. She remembered every vague explanation, every white lie:
"I'm stepping out for a client."
"Just a quick meeting."
"Nothing major, just something I need to take care of."
The same phrases. The same deflections.
The pieces weren't just stacking up. They were screaming at her.
Amanda stared at the screen, her chest tight.
Ericka was hiding something. Not just from the office. From her.
And that hurt more than she wanted to admit.
That night, Amanda sat on the edge of her bed, holding her phone in her hand. Her thumb hovered over a name she hadn't thought she'd use.
Dr. L. Roman — Internal Medicine
The name had come from one of Ericka's calendar invites she hadn't hidden carefully enough.
Amanda had Googled it. Checked the office. The address.
Then closed the tab.
She knew it wasn't her place. She knew invading someone's privacy—even someone she loved—crossed a line.
But this wasn't about control. This was about care.
This was about love.
She stared at her phone again, willing it to ring. Willing Ericka to call and say something. Anything.
But the phone stayed silent.
The next morning, Amanda arrived at work earlier than usual. She beat the sun. Beat the barista downstairs. Beat even the security guard's second coffee.
She sat at her desk, staring at her reflection in the darkened computer screen.
Today, she had to make a choice.
She could keep pretending everything was fine. Keep smiling and nodding and letting Ericka lie through her teeth to protect them both from whatever reality she was facing...
Or she could risk the fallout.
The anger. The pushback. The possibility that Ericka would shut down completely.
But the silence was already eating them alive.
She had to know.
______________________________________
The next morning, Amanda arrived at the office early again—early enough that even the building felt like it hadn't fully woken up yet. She sat at her desk in silence, the city just beginning to stir beyond the windows. Something inside her was heavy. Restless.
She hadn't slept.
The quiet lie in Ericka's eyes the night before replayed over and over in her mind like a broken reel. She knew something was wrong. She knew it down to the bone. And it was getting harder and harder to pretend otherwise.
At 9:43 AM, Amanda saw it—another "Appointment" block appear on Ericka's calendar, marked for 10:15. No details. No location. Just like all the others.
But Amanda had already checked the past ones. She remembered the name that had shown up on an old auto-sync error.
Dr. L. Roman.
Internal Medicine.
Downtown.
Amanda hesitated for only a second.
Then she grabbed her coat.
She waited by the lobby, watching through the glass doors as Ericka stepped out a few minutes later, sleek as always in her tailored coat, sunglasses on despite the gray sky. She moved like she always did—composed, efficient, head high.
But Amanda noticed the difference now.
The slight stiffness in her walk. The hesitation when she reached for the car door. The way she leaned into the seat like her body needed a moment to catch up.
Amanda didn't think. She hailed a cab.
"Follow that car," she told the driver as she slid into the backseat.
The man gave her a curious look in the mirror but said nothing, pulling into traffic a car length behind Ericka's black sedan.
Amanda sat back, her fingers twisting in her lap, stomach coiled tight with nerves.
What if she was wrong?
What if this crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed?
But no—she knew. She felt it.
Ericka was hiding something from her. And if she wasn't willing to say it out loud... Amanda needed to find the truth herself.
The car turned down a narrow street downtown, pulling up to a medical complex with sleek mirrored glass and a quiet entrance.
Amanda watched as Ericka stepped out, thanked the driver, and disappeared through the doors without looking back.
The cab driver turned in his seat. "You want me to wait?"
Amanda hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Thanks."
She climbed out and approached the building carefully, like it might shatter beneath her.
Inside, the lobby was hushed, all muted tones and the soft scent of antiseptic. A wall directory listed departments—cardiology, diagnostics, internal medicine, oncology.
Amanda's chest tightened.
She followed the hallway, footsteps echoing faintly until she reached a corner marked "Patient Intake."
She turned.
And froze.
Through a small window in the waiting area, she saw her.
Ericka.
Sitting alone, her coat folded neatly beside her, hands resting in her lap. Her posture wasn't her usual proud and powerful self. It was guarded. Small.
And her eyes...
They looked tired.
Not the kind of tired that came from long meetings or too many deadlines. The kind of tired Amanda recognized now as fear.
Ericka didn't see her.
She sat still, quiet, staring down at a clipboard of paperwork in her hands, her expression unreadable even from here.
Amanda backed away.
She didn't need to hear the words. She didn't need to see the chart.
She knew.
Ericka was sick.
Amanda's throat tightened as she turned and walked quickly back down the hall, her mind racing.
She knew now.
She finally knew.