Chapter 9
I didn’t want to go alone.
That was the embarrassing truth of it, the part I hadn’t said aloud even to myself.
I liked to think I was independent, capable, unshaken by something as routine as a follow-up with my doctor, but the moment I parked outside the clinic, my fingers tightened around the steering wheel like I expected the ground to drop out from under me.
It wasn’t fear exactly, just the kind of quiet vulnerability that made everything feel a little too bright, a little too sharp.
And Callum wasn’t answering his phone.
I told myself it was fine, that he was probably busy, that I had handled plenty of appointments alone before, long before he ever existed in my orbit. Still, the silence felt heavier than it should have, sitting on my chest with a slow, unwelcome familiarity.
I checked my phone again.
No new messages.
Not even the little “typing…” bubble that liked to tease me when he was starting a response and got distracted.
I swallowed, pushed open the car door, and headed inside.
The waiting room smelled like mint gum and disinfectant, two scents I’d always associated with hospitals, even though I couldn’t remember why. The receptionist smiled politely. I returned it with something that probably looked less like a smile and more like a grimace trying very hard to behave.
“Ginny Wilson?” she called after a few minutes.
I stood, heart thudding faster than I wanted it to, my chest giving that tiny twinge, sharp, electrical, too familiar. Not bad enough to panic, not yet, just enough to remind me it was there.
The medical assistant took me back, weighed me, checked my vitals, made small talk about the weather. I answered automatically, nodding at the right places, pretending I didn’t feel like an overstretched string.
When she left me in the exam room, the quiet hit harder than I expected. I sat on the paper-covered table, swinging my feet like a restless kid, my phone facedown in my lap. It stayed stubbornly silent.
I tried to breathe normally.
The doctor came in with a clipboard and sat down immediately, typing into his computer.
“How have you been feeling?”
I hesitated. The truth felt heavy. The lie felt easier.
“A little tired,” I said. “Some chest tightness. But manageable.”
His brow lifted. “How often?”
“Sometimes,” I said, which meant too often. “Mostly when I’m stressed.”
He hummed, which was never a good sign. Doctors didn’t hum for good news. They hummed for things they didn’t want to say yet.
“Your PSVT looks like it’s flaring up more than before,” he said, flipping through my most recent readings. “Your last ECG showed an uptick in episodes. Nothing dangerous at the moment, but enough that we need to pay attention.”
There it was.
The tug in my chest.
“I see,” I whispered.
He went on, clinical and calm. “Stress is one of your key triggers. You know that. Even if the stress isn’t outwardly dramatic, internal tension absolutely counts. And from what I am seeing and from what I have heard from you, you’re experiencing a lot more of it.”
I tried to laugh, but the sound came out wrong, thin and strained. “Life’s just… been a little overwhelming lately.”
He didn’t press for details, which I appreciated more than I could say. He just nodded slowly, as if he understood everything I wasn’t admitting.
“I know you’re still on the waitlist for the catheter ablation.
I will slightly increase the dosage of your current medications to try to ease your symptoms until you can get the procedure, but we need to also work on the things we discussed last time.
Less stress, more rest, careful monitoring, no skipping meals, and no pretending symptoms aren’t symptoms.”
He ended with a gentle, “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”
Something in me went tight.
“I’m not,” I said automatically. “I’m trying.”
“That’s good,” he said, smiling. “But you’re human. And your heart is telling us it’s time to slow down.”
Slow down.
Right.
Except how was I supposed to slow down when everything around me felt like it was moving faster, and Callum, my constant, my safe place, felt like water slipping through my fingers?
He printed out updated instructions, circled a few things, then patted my shoulder with the kind of kindness that made my throat ache.
“Take care of yourself, Ginny.”
“I will,” I lied.
· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·
I walked out of the clinic feeling lighter in the sense that the conversation was over, but heavier everywhere else. The sun looked too bright, the air too thin, and my phone still had zero notifications.
The drive home blurred into a stretch of thoughts I didn’t want to examine too closely.
The doctor’s warnings. The way my heart kept skipping in that nervous, fluttering way.
The exhaustion weighing down my limbs like they were filled with sand.
And Callum, who should have been there, or at least reachable, or at the very least aware that today mattered.
When I finally pulled into the driveway, my chest gave another twinge. Not enough to floor me, but enough to remind me that the doctor wasn’t exaggerating. Stress wasn’t some vague idea, it was sitting in my ribs like a heavy stone.
I checked my phone again before getting out of the car.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
For one irrational second, the lack of a message felt worse than the appointment itself, worse than the symptoms, worse than the doctor telling me my heart was doing the thing it shouldn’t be doing.
Because I needed him.
Not in a desperate, dramatic way, just in the quiet, everyday way you need the person you trust most to notice when things get a little harder.
I sent him a simple text: Hey. Appointment’s done. Call me?
I watched the screen, waiting for a response that didn’t come.
The world tilted faintly, a dizzy little sway I pretended not to feel as I forced myself out of the car. My keys jangled in my hand. My heartbeat thudded too fast, too hard, like my body was still racing without my permission.
Inside, the house was warm and still. Comfortable. Familiar.
And unbearably empty.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to coax my pulse into behaving. Stress triggers, the doctor had said. My body absorbing tension even when my mind tried to rationalize it away.
I wasn’t panicking.
I wasn’t.
But the silence made it hard not to.
My phone buzzed suddenly, and my heart jumped, hopeful, relieved, ready.
Except it wasn’t him.
Just Thalia, sending me a dog video.
I smiled, small and tired, and sat down on the couch before I could sway again.
I would tell her eventually.
Maybe.
Or maybe I’d pretend a little longer that everything was fine, that Callum was fine, that whatever distance had crept between us wasn’t growing by the hour.
But right now, I just needed to breathe.
And hope that my phone lit up with the name I was waiting for.
It didn’t.
The screen stayed dark in my hand, a weight I didn’t want to examine too closely. I set it facedown on the coffee table, trying not to read too much into the silence, trying not to wonder why the person I wanted comfort from felt farther away with every passing hour.
Two hours later, the front door opened.
The sound made me flinch. Callum stepped inside slower than usual, like he was walking into a room he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore. His eyes found me immediately.
“Hey,” he said, quiet.
I tried to smile. It felt thin. “Hey.”
He moved toward me, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head. It was gentle, warm, familiar, but quick. Too quick. Like something he’d checked off a list rather than something he’d reached for.
“You okay?” he murmured, that same too-light tone brushing over the words.
“I had my appointment,” I said.
“I am sorry I missed it. How’d it go?” He straightened.
There was a sting in my chest unrelated to the PSVT. He knew exactly which appointment I meant. If he’d been thinking about it at all, why hadn’t he answered? Why hadn’t he checked in?
“It wasn’t great,” I said softly. “My doctor thinks the episodes are worsening. He’s changing my medication. And he wants me to be careful with stress.”
Callum nodded, almost absently. “Okay. Well, that’s… something. Good that he’s on top of it.”
Good.
Good?
I let my fingers tighten around the edge of the cushion. “I texted you.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking away for a beat. “Sorry. Work was… a lot.”
“All day?”
He hesitated. His face didn’t shift much, but I felt the pause like a cold draft.
“I was in meetings,” he said. “Barely had time to breathe.”
The explanation didn’t land right. Not because it was impossible, just because it sounded… curated. Too convenient.
My voice thinned. “I could’ve used you.”
His shoulders lifted, then dropped, a careful exhale. “Gin, I can’t always be glued to my phone.”
“I didn’t say always.”
“But it feels like that’s what you want.”
“I wanted you today.” My throat tightened. “That’s all.”
He rubbed a hand down his face, already frustrated, already retreating into that stiff place where I couldn’t reach him. “I’m trying, okay? I know things are hard for you right now. But I can’t be perfect.”
“I’m not asking for perfect.”
“Well, it sounds like you are.”
The words landed like a punch. I felt completely frozen.
“I had a medical appointment about my heart,” I whispered. “I thought you’d be a little more…”
Present.
Concerned.
Mine.
“…in it with me.”
“I am,” he insisted, but the conviction wasn’t there. “You told me how it went. We are talking now. I’m here now.”
“Physically,” I murmured. “Not entirely otherwise.”
His jaw ticked. “What does that mean?”
“You’re distant.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re hiding something.”
He shot that down so fast it made the air between us sting. “I’m not.”
I swallowed. The vulnerability felt unsafe suddenly, too exposed. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked down, then away, then exhaled like the conversation was an inconvenience he didn’t have the energy for.
“We’re fine,” he said finally. “You’re exhausted, you got bad medical news, and now everything feels heavier because of it. That’s all this is.”
“So it’s just me? It is all in my head?” The words slipped out soft, hurt.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He let out another sigh, long, weary, like I was being unreasonable, like this entire conversation was just one more thing on his plate.
The stress bloomed hot beneath my ribs. My heart fluttered again, a brief arrhythmic stutter. I pressed my palm against my chest.
He frowned. “You’re okay?”
“I’m stressed,” I said honestly. “And I don’t want to be. But I don’t know what’s going on with you, and you won’t tell me anything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Isn’t there?”
His silence answered for him.
The ache behind my breastbone spread slowly, deep and tired. “I think I need to lie down.”
He nodded too quickly. Relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, rest is good.”
That hurt more than all of it, the ease with which he let the conversation die, the relief in his voice when he realized he didn’t have to answer anything real, the way he didn’t reach for me as I stood.
He didn’t follow.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t ask if I wanted him with me.
He just watched me walk away.
And the distance I’d been afraid of all day felt real enough to touch.
· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·
Three years ago
The day drained me long before it ended. By the time I stepped out of the building, my bag felt too heavy, the sun too bright, the air too thin. I just wanted to go home and stop thinking.
Callum was waiting by my car.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, wind pushing at his hair, sun catching the soft line of his jaw. The moment he saw me, his whole expression settled into something warm and relieved, like he had been holding his breath.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, adjusting my bag.
“You sounded worn out earlier,” he said, shrugging lightly, though his eyes kept scanning my face like he was assessing the damage. “So I thought I’d come get you.”
“I didn’t sound worn out.”
He gave me a look.
I sighed. “Okay… maybe a little.”
He stepped closer and brushed his thumb between my eyebrows, smoothing the tension there. “You don’t have to push so hard, you know.”
“I wasn’t pushing.”
His smile pulled wider. “You were.”
Before I could argue again, he opened the back door of his car. A blanket lay folded neatly on the seat, next to two cartons from my favourite Thai place and a bunch of wildflowers tied loosely with twine. Not fancy flowers, bright ones, mismatched, like they’d been out gathering them himself.
My breath caught.
“You brought dinner.”
“And quiet,” he added. “And now, I’ll bring you someplace far away from all of this chaos.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I want to.”
I didn’t have words for the way that hit me, soft and sharp at the same time.
He drove us to a spot overlooking the river, the kind of place we only ever ended up at by accident, wide sky, slow-moving water, warm light brushing every surface gold. He spread the blanket out carefully, patting the spot beside him.
“Sit,” he said, nudging the edge of it. “You’ve had a day.”
I sank down, letting the weight of the world ease off my shoulders one inch at a time.
He opened the containers, handing me my order without asking because he always remembered. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the first bite, and he smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
We ate quietly for a while, legs brushing, the wind lifting strands of my hair. When I leaned against him, just enough to test whether I could, he immediately shifted to make room, his arm draping around my waist with an ease that made something warm unwind inside me.
He pressed a slow kiss to the top of my head. “You can tell me when it’s too much.”
“It’s fine,” I murmured.
“It doesn’t look fine,” he said gently.
I exhaled, long and shaky. “It’s just one of those weeks. Work is stressful, I don’t like my manager and they keep piling more work on me.”
“Then you don’t get through it alone.” His thumb stroked a slow arc against my hip. “Let me be here with you.”
“You’re already here.”
He tilted his head until his forehead rested against the side of mine. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s where I plan to stay.”
My chest tightened, but not in the way it had earlier. This was softer, fuller, steadier.
He tipped my chin up with a knuckle, subtle and tender. “I’ll always make time for you,” he said, voice low, calm, certain. “No matter what’s going on, no matter how busy I am, you come first.”
Warmth surged through me, quiet, overwhelming, impossible to hide.
I didn’t question him.
I simply believed him.