Chapter 15 #2
My mother covered her mouth with her hand, making a choked sound.
My father stepped closer. “Callum. What have you done?”
“I didn’t know,” I said quickly, voice shaking. “I didn’t know she was that sick. She was on medication! I thought that would going to be enough. I swear to God I didn’t know—”
“But she tried to call you,” my mother said. “She needed you. And you weren’t there.”
The shame hit me like a blast of heat. The truth of it. The simplicity. The cruelty. And the fact that I deserved every word.
Thalia scoffed under her breath. “Of course he wasn’t there. He was busy unraveling some imaginary drama with that woman—”
“Thalia,” Ginny called out.
Her voice was soft, barely there, but it made all three of us fall silent.
Thalia turned immediately and went into the room, her anger melting into concern. “Gin, don’t talk. You need to rest.”
My parents and I remained in the hall, which was starting to feel like an interrogation room.
My father crossed his arms. “Explain, now. I need to know what was so important that you abandoned your wife in her time of need.”
So I did.
I told them everything.
The police report that didn’t exist. The fabricated fear. The manipulative messages. The truth I found out too late. The way I’d been pulled into someone else’s chaos, convinced I was helping. Convinced I was doing the right thing. While Ginny, my actual life, was slipping out of focus.
My voice broke more than once.
No one comforted me.
When I finished, silence fell again, heavier this time. Colder.
My mother stared at the floor like she couldn’t look at me.
My father rubbed his face with his hand. “You should have told Ginny,” he said finally. Quietly. Disappointed. “You should have told all of us.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know. I was stupid. I was blind. I thought I was protecting her from stress and—”
My father cut me off with a sharp gesture. “You don’t get to use the word protecting.”
I flinched so hard it hurt.
“Did I fail in some way when I raised you? Did I raise you to be a dishonest man? A man without loyalty? Without any common sense? That is your wife, and you made vows to her! That is my daughter sick in that bed, and you are the one that delivered the final blow! I hope you look yourself in the face and feel sick every time you see your reflection. You are not the man I raised.” My father said, his voice raising with every word.
I felt sick to my stomach, but it wasn’t over.
“I can hardly believe any of this is real life, I feel like I am living in a nightmare. How are you ever going to fix this?” My mother joined in, and I was completely speechless.
In the silence, I could hear Ginny calling out again. “Please,” she said. “Stop. Just… stop fighting.”
Her voice was faint but urgent, and everyone froze.
Going back into the room, my mother stepped closer to the bed, her expression softening too. “Sweetheart, do you need anything? Water? A blanket? I can get a nurse.”
Ginny shook her head weakly. “I just… I want to get today over with, and then I want to leave.”
My father straightened. “You will. And you won’t be alone. We’ll stay with you until you’re stable.”
I cleared my throat. “I’ll stay with her—”
Thalia snapped her head toward me. “Absolutely not.”
My father didn’t disagree.
My mother didn’t either.
Ginny closed her eyes again, breathing slowly like even this conversation was draining what little strength she had.
Thalia looked at me with a hatred I had earned.
“You don’t get access to her until she’s strong enough to decide what she wants,” she said. “Not after today.”
“I’m her husband,” I said weakly.
“She’s my best friend,” Thalia said immediately. “And right now she’s too sick to protect herself from anything, including stress. Including you.”
My mother stepped beside Thalia.
“I agree,” she said, voice still trembling. “Ginny needs calm. She needs care. And right now, Callum, you are not providing either.”
It should’ve made me angry.
It didn’t.
It only hollowed me out more.
Because they were right.
Ginny whispered again, barely audible. “Please stop fighting.”
Thalia lowered her head. “Okay. We’ll stop.”
But her eyes never left me.
Cold. Unforgiving.
The nurse appeared then with papers, and everyone moved around the room, quiet, tense, focused on Ginny.
Except me.
I stood frozen at the foot of the bed, watching the women I loved more than anything, who had collapsed alone, who had called me and gotten silence, fight to keep her eyes open while everyone else took care of her in my place.
They came for her sooner than I expected.
A team I didn’t recognize, efficient and practiced, lifting rails, disconnecting lines, transferring her carefully onto a narrow hospital bed meant for movement, not rest. Someone explained the catheter ablation in calm, clinical terms - what they would do, how long it might take, but the words slid past me, meaningless against the sight of her fingers tightening in the sheet.
Her eyes found mine as they adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. There was fear there, sharp and unmistakable, edged with exhaustion. I stepped forward without thinking, then stopped short, unsure whether I was allowed, unsure whether I had earned the right.
“Hey, you’re going to be fine. I love you.” I managed, the word thin and useless. I didn’t know how to comfort her when I was the reason she’d been alone to begin with.
She tried to smile anyway. That was worse.
Then they were wheeling her away, out through the doorway, down the hall, the bed moving faster than I wanted it to.
I stayed where I was, rooted, watching until the turn swallowed her from view, my chest tight with terror and shame and the sick certainty that I might not even be the person she wanted beside her in that moment.
The waiting stretched. Time lost its edges. I sat. I stood. I stared at the floor, at the wall, at my hands. Every sound down the hallway made my head snap up. Every passing cart felt like an answer that wasn’t meant for me.
I counted nothing and everything. Seconds, breaths, the spaces between my thoughts. I imagined wires and monitors and her heart laid bare in ways I didn’t understand. I imagined what could go wrong. I imagined what already had.
When they finally brought her back, it felt like the entire world breathed a sigh of relief.
It hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing the sound that threatened to escape, and watched as they settled her back into place, reconnected the machines, adjusted her blankets.
She stirred, frowning faintly, and for a brief second her gaze drifted toward me again.
I didn’t look away.
And when they finally wheeled her toward the exit the next day, my mother walked beside her, holding her hand, and my father stayed on her other side, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed the wheelchair. Thalia pushed from behind, silent but rigid with purpose.
No one told me to follow. No one asked me to help. No one even looked back.
But I followed anyway, several steps behind, far enough that I wouldn’t crowd her, yet close enough that I couldn’t lose her. I didn’t know where else to be. I couldn’t make myself stay away.
Because even if she wouldn’t look at me…
Even if she couldn’t trust me right now…
Even if I had failed her in the worst possible way…
She was still my wife, and I wasn’t leaving.