42.After math
Not the season but outside the appartment,
Rain wasn’t falling.
It was attacking.
Sheets of water slammed against the windows of their apartment in Seattle, heavy and relentless, as if the sky had split open and decided to empty everything at once. The glass trembled under the force. The gutters outside overflowed, spilling like something unable to hold itself together.
The world beyond the balcony had disappeared into a blur of grey.
Not a storm of thunder.
Just rain.
Loud. Violent. Unforgiving.
Inside, the apartment felt larger than it ever had before.
Quieter.
The kind of quiet that presses against your ears until the only thing you can hear is your own breathing.
The rain didn’t just fall outside.
It echoed inside the walls.
It filled the silence between them.
It screamed where they could not.
Eva stood near the center of the living room, the divorce papers still clutched in her hand. The white sheets looked fragile compared to the storm outside — yet they had done more damage than the weather ever could.
Her fingers were cold.
Her chest tighter than the air allowed.
Neil stood a few feet away, near the dining table, jacket still on as if he hadn’t truly arrived.
As if this wasn’t home anymore — just a stop before leaving again.
Water traced down the window behind him, distorting his reflection. He looked almost like a stranger through the glass.
The rain hit harder.
The sound grew heavier.
It filled the space where words should have been.
“You’re not even going to explain?” Eva’s voice came out smaller than she intended.
It was swallowed immediately by the sound of rain.
Neil didn’t answer.
His silence was steady. Practiced.
Outside, the downpour be
at against the building without mercy.
Inside, something far more fragile was breaking without noise.
The lights flickered briefly — just once — then steadied again.
Eva let out a shaky breath.
The apartment used to feel warm.
Late-night study sessions. Shared dinners. Soft mornings tangled in sheets. His laugh in the kitchen. Her voice echoing down the hallway.
Now it felt like a courtroom.
Cold.
Separated.
She looked at him.
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at the floor.
At nothing.
At everything he wasn’t saying.
The rain roared louder.
And in that suffocating silence, the storm outside felt honest.
Because at least it wasn’t pretending to be calm.
He had said one word since walking in.
"DIVORCE."
And it had split the room open.
She had been the only one speaking since. Questioning. Demanding. Breaking.
“You don’t get to decide this alone!” she snapped, her voice shaking despite her effort to sound strong. “You don’t get to just come back and drop this on me like I’m some inconvenience in your schedule!”
Neil stood still. Too still.
Water streaked down the glass behind him, distorting his outline. He looked carved from stone — controlled, unmoved.
Her hands trembled around the papers.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” she demanded.
He did.
And that almost made it worse.
Because his eyes weren’t angry.
They were closed off.
That hurt more than rage ever could.
For a long second, neither spoke.
The rain filled the gap.
Then he finally said it.
“Sign it, Eva.”
His voice was low. Calm.
Like he was asking her to approve a routine document.
The words hit her harder than if he had shouted.
Her laugh came out sharp and broken. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
He didn’t respond.
She stepped closer. “You disappear. You barely call. You come back with papers and the only thing you can say is sign it?”
Silence.
Her anger ignited.
“Were you even going to tell me why? Or was I supposed to just cooperate like a good wife?”
His jaw tightened.
Still nothing.
“Say something!” she shouted, the sound cracking in the middle.
The storm outside raged, wind howling through the narrow gaps of the balcony door. The apartment felt like it was shrinking around them.
She was the only one fighting.
The only one bleeding words.
Minutes felt like hours.
Then—
He spoke again.
This time without hesitation.
“Sign them and leave, Eva.”
The air froze.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
His voice didn’t rise.
It didn’t shake.
Neil:“We’re done.”
The words landed slowly.
Cruelly.
Like a blade pushed in with precision.
Eva stared at him as if she didn’t recognize the man in front of her.
“We’re done?” she repeated, her voice barely audible.
He held her gaze.
No softness.
No apology.
No visible crack.
She stepped back as if physically shoved.
“Since when?” she asked, tears finally spilling freely now. “Since when are we done, Neil?”
Something flickered in his eyes at that.
But it vanished just as quickly.
“This isn’t working,” he said.
“That’s not an answer!”
“It’s enough.”
The rain slammed harder against the windows.
She shook her head slowly. “You don’t mean this.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
The repetition felt mechanical.
Forced.
She moved closer again, searching his face desperately.
“Look at me and tell me do you mean it?.”
That did it.
A crack.
Small.
But real.
His breathing shifted.
His eyes darkened.
For a split second, the storm inside him surfaced.
Then he swallowed it.
A long pause.
Then—
“We had a contract,” he said, each word.
precise. Controlled. “And it ends tonight.”
The sentence felt colder than the rain outside.
Her lips parted slightly.
Eva stood there, tears streaking down her face, chest rising unevenly.
Her lips parted slightly.
A contract.
Not a marriage.
Not love.
A contract.
“You are free from me,” he added.
Free.
As if she had been trapped.
As if he was doing her a favor.
The cruelty of it burned.
“Free?” she whispered. “Is that what you think this was?”
He didn’t answer that.
Instead, he stepped back, creating distance — physical, emotional, final.
“Now leave,” he said, his voice flattening again. “I’m jet-lagged.”
Jet-lagged.
As if exhaustion was the biggest issue in the room.
As if her world hadn’t just been ripped apart.
She stared at him, waiting.
Waiting for something to crack.
For him to take it back.
For him to step forward and say this was a lie.
But he didn’t.
He turned.
Walked down the hallway.
Each step heavy, deliberate.
The bedroom door opened.
Closed.
And then—
The click of the lock.
That sound echoed louder than the storm.
Eva stood frozen in the living room, staring at the empty hallway.
The apartment felt hollow.
Cold.
Too big.
She swallowed hard, walking slowly toward the bedroom door.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
Locked.
She pressed her forehead against the wood instead.
On the other side of that door, Neil leaned back against it, eyes closed, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
His breathing was no longer steady.
But she couldn’t see that.
All she could see was the door.
And all she could hear was the rain drowning everything they had left unsaid.
___
An hour later, the rain still pouring.
It had settled into something steadier now — heavy, constant, like grief that refused to pass.
The bedroom door finally unlocked.
Neil stepped out.
His hair was damp, droplets still tracing down the side of his neck. He had taken a long, cold shower — the kind meant to numb skin, to quiet thoughts, to freeze regret before it could spread.
It hadn’t worked.
His face was firm again.
Controlled.
But the control looked carved on, not natural.
His eyes were darker. Tired. Resolute.
The living room lights were still on.
Neil realized the silence had changed.
It wasn’t tense anymore.
It was empty.
She was gone.
The papers were still on the table.
And SIGNED.
Her name at the bottom.
Clear.
Steady.
No smudges.
No hesitation visible in the ink.
For a second, he couldn’t breathe.
His fingers trembled as he picked up the papers. Water from his hand blurred the edge slightly, but her signature remained intact.
She had signed.
Regret didn’t just form on his face.
It cracked through it.
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening, something raw surfacing in a way he hadn’t allowed before.
His eyes blured from tears and he never let them fall.
His gaze scanned the apartment quickly.
Her bag was gone.
The hallway was empty.
The bedroom messy.
She had left.
Not just the house.
Him.
The papers slipped slightly in his grip as reality settled in.
He had pushed too far.
And she had walked.
He moved instantly.
No jacket.
No phone.
He didn’t even turn off the lights.
The apartment door remained open behind him as he rushed down the stairs.
The rain hit him again the moment he stepped outside.
Midnight.
The streets of Seattle were nearly deserted.
Heavy rain blurred visibility.
Streetlights flickered weakly through the downpour.
Very few vehicles passed, their headlights slicing through sheets of water before disappearing into the dark.
He got into his car with shaking hands.
The engine roared to life.
He drove.
Fast.
Then slower.
Scanning sidewalks.
Bus stops.
Corners.
Every shadow.
Every figure in the rain made his heart jump.
Nothing.
No one.
Just empty pavement and pouring water.
His wipers struggled to keep up.
His breathing turned uneven.
“Where did you go…” he muttered.
He drove past the café she liked.
Closed.
Past the hospital road.
Empty.
Past the small park she once dragged him to during a light drizzle.
Deserted.
The city felt bigger tonight.
Colder.
Indifferent.
He stopped at a red light even though no cars were coming.
Rain pounded against the windshield violently.
And for the first time since signing those papers—
Fear replaced control.
He accelerated.
Faster than he should have.
— headlights stretching into streaks, road lines blurring beneath the wipers’ desperate rhythm.
His jaw was locked.
His mind racing faster than the engine.
Then—
He saw her.
The car screeched to a stop a few houses down.
It was outside Walter’s house — a familiar quiet street lined with dark windows and soaked lawns in Seattle.
An Uber was parked in front.
Eva stood beside it.
Her hair plastered to her face, clothes clinging to her frame, one hand holding her bag while the other paid the driver.
The rain didn’t soften her.
It made her look smaller.
And heartbreakingly fragile.
The Uber’s taillights glowed red before disappearing down the street.
Silence returned — except for the rain.
Neil stepped out of his car.
He didn’t even shut the door properly.
It remained slightly open behind him.
Eva noticed him.
He stood there, soaked again, breathing unevenly, hair dripping, shirt clinging to his broad frame.
Drenched.
Barefoot.
Neither looked composed.
Neither looked strong.
They just looked Vulnerable.
Broken.
Eva’s fingers trembled as she pulled her phone from her soaked bag.
Her screen was half wet, touch barely responding.
She dialed.
It rang longer than usual.
Inside the quiet house, upstairs, Ria’s phone vibrated against the bedside table.
She frowned in her sleep.
Midnight calls were never normal.
She squinted at the screen.
“Eva?”
Her voice was thick with sleep.
“Come out,” Eva said.
Two words.
Flat.
Ria sat up immediately.
Ria slipped out of bed carefully, glancing toward her grandparents’ room down the hallway. The house was silent except for the distant hum of rain.
She walked quietly, careful not to let the wooden floor creak too much.
When she reached the front door, she hesitated.
The sound of rain hitting the porch roof was heavy.
She opened the door slightly—
Cold air rushed in.
And then she saw them.
The rain.
Eva.
Almost Drenched.
Standing under the streetlight like something fragile left out in a storm.
And then—
Neil.
A few feet away.
Completely soaked.
The sight froze her.
Her sleep vanished instantly.
“What the—” she whispered.
She stepped fully outside now, rain hitting her shoulders.
“Eva?” Her voice cracked.
Eva didn’t look at her immediately.
Ria’s gaze moved between them.
The tension was suffocating.
Not loud.
But devastating.
“What happened?” Ria asked softly.
Neither answered.
Neil’s jaw tightened slightly at the sight of Ria.
He hadn’t planned for witnesses.
He hadn’t planned for this to look as brutal as it did.
Eva finally turned toward Ria.
And the moment Ria saw her face clearly—
She felt anger rise in her chest.
Her sister looked shattered.
“What did you do?” Ria’s voice wasn’t soft anymore.
Neil didn’t respond.
He couldn’t defend himself.
Not without telling the truth.
Eva’s fingers tightened around her bag strap.
“It’s done,” she said quietly.
Ria frowned. “Done?”
A pause.
“Divorce.”
The word hung in the rain-heavy air.
Ria’s eyes snapped to Neil.
“You’re joking.”
He didn’t speak.
And that was answer enough.
The rain kept pouring.
Three people standing under one streetlight.
One broken.
One furious.
One sacrificing everything.
RIA stepped forward, grabbed Eva’s bag from her trembling hands.
“Go inside,” Ria said firmly.
Eva didn’t resist.
She just moved.
Ria wrapped an arm around her shoulders — steady, protective — and guided her toward the door.
Neil took a step forward instinctively.
“Eva—”
“Don’t,” Ria said.
Not loud.
She pulled Eva fully inside the house.
Warm air rushed around them, a stark contrast to the freezing rain outside.
Then—
The door shut.
Right in his face.
The sound was solid.
Deliberate.
The lock clicked.
And Neil stood there under the porch light, rain soaking through everything, staring at the closed door.
He was just a man left outside.
Alone.
Water dripped from his hair, from his sleeves, pooling at his feet.
The house lights inside flickered as Ria moved Eva down the hallway.
He could see their shadows for a second through the frosted glass.
Then nothing.
Just rain.
And silence.
Neil lowered his gaze slowly.
His chest felt heavier than the storm.
He had told her she was free.
And now—
She was inside.
Safe.
Away from him.
Exactly how he wanted.
So why did it feel like he had just locked himself out of his own life?
Back at the hospital, everything felt clean. Controlled. Sterile.
The complete opposite of the chaos from the night before.
In the staff parking lot of Seattle, Lexi stepped out of her car, adjusting her coat and checking her phone.
She dialed Eva first.
Straight to voicemail.
She frowned.
Then Trent.
Also unavailable.
“That’s weird,” she muttered.
Both on leave? Without telling her?
Suspicion flickered, but she didn’t have time to overthink. She grabbed her bag and walked toward the elevator lobby.
And then—
She saw him.
Dr. Lucas.
Leaning casually near the elevator doors, scrolling through his phone.
He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.
Their eyes met.
For a second, neither moved.
It had been almost a month.
No long conversations.
No accidental coffee breaks.
No shared late-night rounds.
Just distance.
Professional.
Polite.
Careful.
And now he was standing there looking… unfairly good.
Light blue scrubs. Slight stubble. Hair a little messy like he hadn’t bothered to fix it.
“Hi,” he said.
Simple.
Soft.
Lexi felt her heartbeat betray her immediately.
“Hi,” she replied, trying to sound normal.
Normal was not happening.
The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding.
They stepped in together.
Silence followed.
The doors slid shut.
The small metal box suddenly felt very small.
Lucas pressed the floor button.
He didn’t look at her right away.
She pretended to check her phone.
Neither actually reading anything.
The elevator hummed upward.
He had waited for her.
He always timed his arrival close to hers.
He just never admitted it.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
She looked thinner.
More tired.
Still beautiful.
Still distracting.
“So,” he began casually, “how’ve you been?”
“Good,” she answered too quickly.
“Busy?”
“Very.”
He nodded.
Another pause.
The air between them wasn’t hostile.
It was awkward.
Thick with unsaid things.
He cleared his throat slightly.
“You… look well.”
She blinked.
“Do I?”
He almost smiled. “Yeah.”
She looked down, trying to hide the tiny curve forming on her lips.
“Thanks.”
Another silence.
The elevator felt slower than usual.
Lucas wanted to say more.
That he’d missed her.
That the hospital felt different without their usual back-and-forth sarcasm.
That he had almost texted her multiple times and then decided not to.
Instead, he said nothing.
Because maybe she needed space.
Maybe he had imagined everything.
Maybe he was the only one who felt the shift.
The elevator jolted slightly before stopping.
The doors slid open.
Lexi stepped forward—
But before she could walk out, a hand shot past her.
Lucas hit the “close” button.
The doors shut again.
Her breath caught.
“Dr.Lucas—?”
Before she could process what was happening, he turned toward her.
Just done pretending.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
His hand gently but firmly caught her wrist.
She froze.
He guided her back until her shoulders touched the cool metal wall of the elevator.
Not rough.
Not hurting.
But decisive.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, breath uneven. “We need to do this.”
Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it.
The month of distance.
The avoided eye contact.
The polite conversations.
All of it cracked in that second.
He didn’t give himself time to think.
If he did, he’d lose the courage.
His hand slid from her wrist to her waist.
The other lifted slightly, brushing her cheek as if asking permission without words.
She didn’t push him away.
That was enough.
He closed the distance, leaned in.
The first contact of his lips against hers wasn’t soft.
It was fierce.
And she didn’t pull back — her fingers instinctively gripped the front of his scrubs — something in him snapped.
The kiss deepened.
Messy.
Wild.
Full.
His hand at her waist tightened slightly, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them. His thumb brushed along her jawline as his lips moved against hers with quiet urgency — weeks of restraint unraveling in seconds.
She gasped softly against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.
The elevator hummed upward.
Forgotten.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.
Her breath was still uneven. Her lips slightly swollen. Lucas’s hand was still hovering near her waist when—
Footsteps.
Lexi reacted instantly.
She pushed him back, not harsh — but fast. Her fingers trembled as she straightened her coat. Lucas ran a hand through his hair, trying to look composed.
The doors fully opened.
Dr. Amelia stepped in confidently, her intern Zoe right behind her, holding files.
Amelia’s eyes flicked from Lucas… to Lexi… to the tension in the air.
Amelia: “Dr. Lucas… this isn’t your floor.”
There was a beat.
Lucas cleared his throat casually, pressing a random button on the panel.
Lucas: “Forgot to press.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Eva stared straight ahead at the elevator doors, pretending the mirror reflection wasn’t exposing everything — her flushed cheeks, the way she was still breathing slightly fast.
Zoe glanced between them, sensing something but saying nothing.
Sound:- 5th floor...
They all stepped out together.
For a second, Lexi and lucus stood side by side in the hallway.
Neither moving first.
“Well,” Lucus said softly.
Another microsecond of eye contact.
Something warm.
Unfinished.
“See you around, Dr. lexi,” he said.
She nodded.
“yeah.”
She walked away.
But this time—
She didn’t feel distant.
And Lucas stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching her go.
The tension disappeared.