He couldn’t understand why she was so convinced he was having an affair with a coworker. They were colleagues, nothing more.
But Susan wouldn’t hear it. She’d cry bitter tears, ranting about how all men were the same—one wink from a pretty girl and they’d forget twenty years of marriage.
She’d bring up their kids, asking how he could look them in the eye. Andrew’s reactions shifted over time: from anger and defense to a quiet, hollowed-out silence. He eventually stopped trying to explain himself altogether.
One evening, after a particularly long shift, Andrew turned to Elena and apologized for his wife’s behavior. He felt humiliated by the scenes Susan had caused at the clinic, explaining that she hadn’t always been this way—it was like the jealousy had become a fever she couldn’t break.
Elena looked out the window and sighed. She told him she understood. Susan loved him, and she was terrified of losing what she had.
In a way, Elena said, it was a blessing to be loved that much. Andrew looked at her, his voice low, and asked if she had ever loved anyone like that.
Elena’s expression shifted. She asked him to pull the ambulance over by the old creek bridge. She needed a minute of air.
They sat on the tailgate in the quiet of the evening. After a long silence, she told him her story. Her first love had also been named Andrew.
They were high school sweethearts, married young, and were planning for their first child. He had been a firefighter in the city.
One afternoon, Elena was home after a shift at the hospital. She was only a few weeks along, and they hadn’t told anyone yet. She was making dinner, waiting for him to walk through the door.
He never did. There had been a massive warehouse fire. Her Andrew had died a hero, pulling a rookie out of the flames just before the roof collapsed. She got the call as the sun was setting.
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