CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SETH
The cabin is too quiet.
I sit on the couch where Jennifer left me and stare at the door she walked through.
I keep expecting her to come back. To peek her head in and say she forgot something, that she was just being dramatic, and that of course she'll stay. Like she stayed with me at the hospital. She’s stayed with me every day since I came to the cabin, as more than a housekeeper, as a friend and then a lover.
But she doesn't.
The sun lowers, painting the lake gold and pink through the windows, and I'm still sitting here. Alone.
My phone is on the coffee table, well within reach. I could call her. Or text her. Beg her to come back.
But her words echo in my head: “Take all the time you need to think about what really matters to you.”
So I sit. And I think.
***
Sleep doesn’t come easily to me that night.
I lie in bed. The bed where just three nights ago we made love and fell asleep tangled together, back when everything was perfect until I went and ruined it.
Every so often, my watch will buzz, reminding me my heart rate is elevated.
Stress, it helpfully informs me. Elevated stress levels detected.
No shit.
At 2 a.m., I get up and take my blood pressure. The monitor beeps its result: 142 over 89.
Not dangerous. Not crisis levels. But it’s higher than it's been in weeks. Already climbing back toward the numbers that nearly killed me.
Back before I knew Jennifer and the magic that I could have.
I’m a logical, analytical man. I don’t believe in magic, fairy tales, and other fluffy intangible nonsense. I’m not sure I even believed in love before Jennifer.
I take my evening meds even though it's the middle of the night and do the breathing exercises like I’ve been taught. In for four, hold for four, out for six.
I finally fall asleep around four and wake up at seven, reaching for her.
The next day starts badly and gets worse.
I make coffee and automatically pour two mugs. One for her and one for me. I stare at that steaming extra mug of coffee and quietly dump it down the sink.
It's just coffee. It shouldn't matter.
But it’s more than coffee, and I know it.
Knowing I should eat breakfast since I’ve barely eaten since yesterday, I open the refrigerator and stare at the ingredients for meals we were going to prepare together.
The feta cheese for Greek omelets. The spinach she insisted on adding to everything.
The meal plan we made is still hanging on the fridge door, her handwriting adorably sloppy and full of silly loops.
So different from my own sterile and slashing print.
I close the refrigerator without taking anything out. I’ll force myself to eat later.
I should take my morning walk. That's what the doctor ordered. Thirty minutes of movement.
But the thought of walking that trail alone, without her hand in mine, without being able to kiss her sweet pink lips, and see her beautiful grin as I bore her with my endless commentary about the wildlife... I can't do it.
I sit on the deck instead, telling myself that's close enough. The fresh air counts, right?
My watch doesn't think so. It buzzes with a reminder. Time to move. I ignore it.
At 9 a.m., my laptop calls to me. I resist for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then I'm opening it, checking email, and it's like falling off a cliff.
There are twenty-eight emails marked urgent. Thirty-four marked high priority. Seven missed calls from Allen. A text from my assistant: Board wants update on recovery timeline. When can you schedule a call?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I could reply. Schedule the call, dive back in and prove I can handle this, that I'm still valuable, and still necessary.
Instead, I close the laptop.
Jennifer's voice echoes in my head: “A company that will replace you before you're even in the ground.”
Is she right? Would they replace me? Could they?
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it's... freeing? No, that's not right. Terrifying AND freeing.
I've spent fifteen years making myself indispensable. What if I succeeded? What if the company really can't function without me? Then I'm trapped. Chained to it until it kills me.
But what if I didn't succeed? What if they CAN function without me? Then what was the point? All those hundred-hour weeks, all that sacrifice, all the years I have nothing to show for it except money in the bank and a heart that nearly gave out at thirty-six?
I take my midday blood pressure: 145 over 91.
Higher.
By afternoon, I'm pacing the cabin like a caged animal. Hey, there’s my exercise.
I should call Jennifer. Tell her I choose her, choose this, and definitely choose life, but only if she’s in it. She'd come back, and everything would be the same as it was before.
But that's the problem, isn't it? Before wasn’t ideal either. I was here to get healthy, and instead, I skated the rules as much as possible, thinking I could manage the business and my stress all while romancing her. I thought I was the king of multi-tasking, only to realize instead that I’ve been the fool all along.
I’m a man who can't let go of control.
Jennifer was right to leave. Right to make me sit with this alone.
And I hate that she was right.
I try to eat lunch and force down a few bites before giving up entirely. Everything feels trivial compared to the question sitting in front of me.
What do I actually want my life to look like?
Not what should I want. Not what makes logical sense. What do I WANT?
I close my eyes and think about the past three weeks. Really think about them.
The morning walks and making meals together.
The quiet moments where we just exist in the same space.
The way my chest doesn't hurt anymore. How I started sleeping better.
And mostly the way she looks at me like I'm a person, not a portfolio.
She was never about what I could do for her or what I could give her.
She was simply her kind, generous, and loving self.
I could never hope to find a purer person.
Then I think about my life before. The office at 7 a.m., the back-to-back meetings, working dinners, three hours of sleep if I was lucky, and the constant pressure, the endless demands, and the way I was always running but never arriving anywhere that mattered.
Yes, I have a huge, almost obscene amount of money, but what good is it really doing me? I wasn’t happy.
I think about lying in a hospital bed three days ago, unable to breathe, certain I was dying. And my first thought wasn't about the company or the deal or my legacy.
It was about Jennifer. About not getting to kiss her or to tell her how much I love her again. More than that, it was not getting the chance to show her how much I loved her.
That's my answer, isn't it?
The company is what I do. Jennifer is the one I want to be with. This life- the slow, healthy, present life- is what I want.
But wanting it isn't enough. Jennifer made that clear. I actually have to do it. Which means I have to figure out how, and she's not there.
I drove her away.
But not permanently, I hope.
I just need to show her that I can change, be the man she needs. I wince thinking about what she told me about her father. How could a man with a loving wife and a beautiful daughter throw it all away?
If I had…
Pausing, it hits me. I could have that.
I blink. Jennifer, children, I could have that type of happiness. It’s not too late for me. As long as blood pumps through my heart, it’s not too late.
I simply need to do what I do best, work towards a goal. And it’s the very best goal, showing the woman I love that she is my everything.