Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ella
The phone rang out, harsh and sudden, the sound cutting through the clutter stacked all over the living room.
The move had been too rushed. I'd spent nearly all my time on Maya's hospital transfer.
This temporary rental—a studio apartment—had barely been touched.
Boxes crowded the living room floor, some shipped from Manhattan with Maya's and my belongings, some left by the landlord, others new deliveries I hadn't opened yet. The place was a disaster.
The ringing wouldn't stop. Finally, I dug the phone out from between the couch cushions.
An unfamiliar number lit up the screen. Area code 212. Manhattan.
My exhausted nerves snapped awake. Lucas's face flashed through my mind.
Was it him?
The phone kept buzzing in my palm, hot as burning coal.
No. The thought came and went just as fast. He wasn't the only person I knew in Manhattan. Why did I immediately think of him the second I saw that area code?
I missed him. God, I missed him. Since the day I left, I hadn't slept right. I'd tried everything—melatonin, exhausting myself, staying off my phone. Anything to stick to my decision, to cut this mistake of a relationship loose.
But now, just one call, and I was falling apart. And I didn't even know if it was him. Could be someone from the sanatorium. Could be the law firm. Could be Mrs. Hughes.
Right. Had to be. With Lucas's ego, if he saw I'd blocked him, there was no way he'd stoop to calling from a different number.
The phone rang for at least another minute. I took a breath and answered.
"Ella..."
Lucas's voice came through, low, magnetic, exhausted.
I nearly screamed. Clapped a hand over my mouth.
It was him. Actually him. He'd come looking for me.
"I miss you," he said, worn out. "Come home, please?"
I almost broke. The "okay" was right there, ready to spill out.
Everything I'd been holding down surged through me—I'd been thinking about him every second, going insane with it. But I kept telling myself it was just withdrawal. That Lucas, who'd cheated on me, wasn't worth it. I'd been using that thought to keep myself from turning back.
I didn't answer.
Neither of us spoke.
Just our breathing, tangled together through the line.
His breathing was ragged, rushed, like he was barely holding himself together.
Had he been drinking?
The thought dropped my heart straight into ice.
If he really missed me, he would've called with this new number the second I blocked him. He would've told me during the day, sober and clearheaded. But now? What was this?
Drunk, bored, using me as easy entertainment? Proving to himself he wasn't the one rejected—that he was the one who didn't want me? So he could go back to another woman guilt-free?
Enough.
"Did you sign the divorce papers?" My voice came out cold, steady. "Property settlement, asset disclosure, custody waiver—sign them and mail them to me."
"Ella," Lucas sighed. "If I never sign, you'll always be my wife. On paper."
I almost laughed. Furious.
So that was why he called. To confirm I was still pathetic in front of him. That I was still the woman he could control. That I'd come running the second he said the word, just like before.
"Lucas, you don't need a wife. You need a doormat."
I hung up. My whole body shook with rage. I wanted to cry again. Lucas could tap his screen and trigger a tidal wave inside me, just like that.
I blocked the number. Threw the phone aside.
I knew I wouldn't sleep tonight. So I unpacked. Stayed busy till late into the night, until my body was too exhausted to think, until I finally collapsed into unconsciousness.
In the mirror that morning, I scared myself. Dark circles like I'd been punched.
I caked on concealer and foundation, then went to the hospital to see Maya, same as every day.
Five days since we'd moved to Rochester. This city had the best kidney disease specialists in the country. All thanks to Joe's recommendation. Fresh out of med school, he'd come here full of ambition, landing a residency at this top-tier teaching hospital.
Because of Joe, Maya and I had managed to get our footing in this strange city.
Joe handled nearly everything that would've broken me.
The medical records—thick as a dictionary.
The endless paperwork. The insurance nightmare.
If I'd done it all myself, I'd have lost weeks.
But Joe was good. He moved effortlessly between billing, attending physicians, insurance reps. Solved problem after problem for me.
"He likes you," Maya said suddenly, propped up in her hospital bed.
"What?" I blinked.
"Count how many times we've run into him today."
I ran through it. He'd come to the room three or four times—checking on Maya, going over bills. Beyond that, he'd been in line behind me at the cafeteria. I'd seen him at the store when I was picking up supplies for Maya.
I shook my head, almost laughing at her conclusion. "The hospital's small. He's a resident. He has to rotate through departments. Of course he's everywhere."
"You think so?" Maya smiled, then started coughing.
I hurried to pour her water.
Maya was getting worse. Dialysis had increased from twice a week to three times, four hours each session. I tracked her fluid intake, monitored sodium and potassium, and checked her blood pressure. The doctor said she needed a kidney donor soon. Otherwise...
I couldn't think about it.
After the nurses' final rounds and kicked out the families, I left the hospital, dragging myself to the bus stop. Lights blazed in the buildings around me. Behind every window, a happy family.
Without thinking, I rested my hand on my stomach. Flat. Nothing to feel yet. But I knew a life was sleeping inside.
A black Toyota pulled up. The window rolled down. Joe's face appeared, gentle, clean-cut, wearing that soft smile.
"Get in, Ella."
I hesitated, then opened the door. Night buses took forever. A ride from Joe was easier.
He drove toward my apartment. He knew the address—he'd helped me move those heavy boxes while I was running between the hospital and apartment hunting.
The car was warm and clean. Soft instrumental music drifted from the speakers, wrapping around me like water. I leaned back in the seat. The exhaustion started to lift.
Joe talked, low and steady, like white noise.
"Back when you worked at the sanatorium... I was still in med school."
I closed my eyes, murmuring acknowledgment so his words wouldn't just fall flat.
"Because my father ran the place, I'd been volunteering there for years."
Something warm and rough covered the back of my hand.
I jerked awake.
Joe was still watching the road, but panic flickered across his face. His voice cracked, halting.
"I'd never met anyone like you. The way you worked—so professional, so sure. And how gentle you were with every patient. It was impossible to forget."
I tried to pull my hand back. Couldn't. Joe tightened his grip, veins standing out. I realized his gentleness had edges.
"Joe, you—"
"Ella, listen," Joe said louder, like if he didn't get it out now, he never would.
"Two years ago, when I heard you got married.
.. I was devastated. That's why I chose Minnesota for my residency.
Even when I picked this hospital, I thought about your sister's kidney disease. That maybe someday I could help you."
My heart sank. Joe was crossing the line from friendship, and I couldn't pretend I didn't see it anymore.
"When I visited my father recently—that day in the rain—it wasn't a coincidence, Ella. I went there to see you. I just wanted to know if you were okay."
The car jerked to a stop at a red light, tires whining against pavement. He turned to me. The dashboard's cold blue glow reflected in his eyes, shattered starlight, burning with raw intensity.
"Now you've left him. Ella, I can—"
Pressure filled the small space. I wasn't that clueless—I heard what Joe wasn't saying. Combined with Maya's comment earlier, it terrified me.
My apartment building was right there. I could shove the door open, escape this. But Joe wasn't just anyone. We saw each other at the hospital every day. Two years of marriage had taught me one thing: running only made problems worse. The only way out was through.
I yanked my hand free. Met Joe's eyes. Spoke slowly and clearly.
"I'm pregnant, Joe. The baby is Lucas's."
Joe's smile froze. The warmth drained from the car. I couldn't stay. I shoved the door open and stepped into the cold night.
I felt a pang of regret, but mostly relief. No matter what, I wouldn't lie to someone who'd been good to me. Everything Joe had done for me, I'd remember it. When I could, I'd pay him back. As a friend.
I thought things would be awkward with Joe for a while. But the next day, he showed up at Maya's room, right on time.
He held out a box of erythropoietin and a bottle of phosphate binders.
"You need help right now, Ella." His eyes darted away, but his expression stayed genuine. "Even if it's just as a friend, let me help."
I was surprised. And grateful. I hadn't lost him.
"Thank you, Joe. If you ever need anything, anything I can do, please ask."
When I turned to set the medications on the nightstand, I caught Maya's knowing look.
I hadn't seen her face that lively in ages. Still, I shot her a warning glance. Don't start.
The attending physician arrived with a cluster of residents for morning rounds. Joe blended into the group and followed them into the room. After they finished—questions, exams, charting vitals—he stayed behind.
Joe looked like he wanted to say something. To keep things from getting uncomfortable, Maya and I kept ourselves busy, trying to seem relaxed.
Finally, Joe stepped closer, like he'd made up his mind.
"Helping you makes me happy." The words came fast, like something was chasing him. "I can't give you what your ex-husband could—the money, the lifestyle. But if you let me, I'll stay by your side. I'll help you however I can."
I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him. His eyes didn't carry Lucas's condescension. Just clumsy, awkward sincerity.
"Okay. Thank you, Joe," I said softly, meaning it. "You've already helped so much. Really."
My mood lifted.
After leaving Lucas, I'd fallen from a mirage back into real life. We were ordinary people. We worried about bills, stressed about work. Our struggles were shared. We understood each other.
I liked real life. Solid ground beneath my feet.
But Joe's words reminded me of something.
That night, I checked my bank account.
The past two years, I'd lived in a kind of fantasy.
The Rockefeller family was a massive, well-oiled machine.
The manor's operating expenses came from the family foundation.
Beyond the major expenditures handled by accountants, all I touched was a sliver off the top—but that sliver was enough for me to donate regularly to a dozen charities.
At first, having that much money made me nervous. But after watching it flow out day after day, I'd stopped thinking about it.
I'd never had money growing up, so I'd never cared much about it. Then at the sanatorium, everything was covered—room, board, meals. My paycheck went straight to Maya's medical debt the second it hit my account. I'd gotten used to not having money. So I didn't miss what I'd never really had.
Now, doing the math, subtracting Maya's medical expenses and the massive cost of a kidney transplant, I didn't have much left to live on.
I stared at the numbers. Ran them again. Panic crept in. I'd forgotten something critical.
I was pregnant.
Which meant I wouldn't be able to work for a long time.
How was I going to pay for the baby?