Eleanor opened her eyes a minute before the alarm—a habit ingrained from years of waking at 6 a.m. Beside her, Andrew breathed softly, his back turned to her. An empty space lay between them, an invisible border. She used to love watching him sleep. Now, her gaze simply slid over his shoulders as she got out of bed.
A floorboard creaked underfoot. The cold bathroom tile met her bare feet. Here, Eleanor moved through her morning ritual on autopilot, to the steady drip of a leaky faucet: wash, moisturize, a touch of makeup. A tired woman looked back at her from the mirror. Fine lines had settled around her eyes. “38 isn’t old,” she thought, tracing a faint crease near her mouth. Only her eyes gave her away. They had seen too much: endless hospital corridors, test results, several failed rounds of IVF, and the slow, steady drifting of her husband.
The kitchen greeted her with sterile cleanliness. Chrome surfaces gleamed. No trace of last night’s dinner, no clutter. She and Andrew had long ago started eating breakfast separately: she, early; he, late. The coffee maker hissed, spitting out a stream of fragrant espresso. The smell of freshly ground beans filled the room. For a moment, Eleanor closed her eyes. A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden: ten years ago, laughing at this very coffee maker, fumbling with the settings. Andrew had hugged her from behind, his breath warm on her neck, and they’d shared a single mug. Now, they each had their own. And their own lives.
The front door clicked open, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. Andrew walked into the hall.
“Ellie, have you seen my blue tie?” His voice was tight, edged with irritation.
“In the closet, second shelf on the left,” she answered without turning.
Her usual role: household GPS, keeper of order. A minute later, Andrew appeared in the kitchen. His expensive suit fit perfectly, only the tie remained undone.
“Thanks. I’ll be late tonight, big meeting with the suppliers,” he said, carefully avoiding her eyes as he scrolled through his phone.
“You’ve had a lot of big meetings lately,” Eleanor said, watching his reaction closely.
His fingers froze for a second over the screen.
“Business is growing. You know that,” he replied too quickly. “That shipment of heart monitors for County General needs my oversight.”
“Okay,” Eleanor nodded, noting the new shirt, the unfamiliar cologne, and the slight tremor in his fingers that betrayed the lie.
After he left, she sat for a long time over her cold coffee. Fifteen years of marriage. Her money had helped him start this business—an inheritance from her grandmother, a condo downtown she’d sold without a second thought, believing in his dream. The last seven years had been a blur of fertility treatments, four rounds of IVF. The last one, six months ago. And then, a silence between them that grew louder every day.
At the hospital that morning, the usual controlled chaos reigned. The beeping of monitors mingled with the hushed voices of the staff. It smelled of antiseptic and coffee. Eleanor put on her white coat, straightened her back, and transformed from a weary wife into Dr. Hayes, deputy head of the cardiology department. Here, her voice was confident. Her movements were precise, her diagnoses sharp.
“Dr. Hayes, lab results for the patient in room seven,” a young nurse said, handing her a chart.
Eleanor scanned the numbers, her brow furrowing.
“Increase his dosage immediately. And call the lab, have them run his blood chemistry again,” she ordered in a calm, authoritative tone.
“Yes, Doctor. Also, the chief was asking if you could cover a weekend shift? Paul’s wife is due.”
“I’ll take it, absolutely,” Eleanor replied. Home was just walls and a crushing silence anyway.
“You’re always so decisive,” the nurse remarked with admiration. “Like you never have any doubts.”
“At work, never,” Eleanor said, thinking how different her personal life was.
“You look terrible,” said Susan, her old friend and colleague, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee.
She set one down in front of Eleanor. The plastic lid was still warm.
“Not sleeping again, Ellie?…”
Comments are closed.