Chapter 2 - The Act of a Man Who Knew He’d Almost Lost Everything
Nathan ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothed his shirt, and pasted a smile on his face that felt as fake as the lies he’d told himself for a year. He rang the doorbell, his heart hammering so hard he was sure they’d hear it through the walls.
Margaret opened the door a second later, her eyes red-rimmed, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Nathan! What are you doing here?” Her voice was too high, too tight, and she glanced over her shoulder into the living room like she was scared he’d see something he shouldn’t.
“Grace left a note saying she was here,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I wanted to drive her home. Save her the trip.” He stepped past her before she could object, his boots thudding on the hardwood floors, and his chest ached when he saw Grace.
She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a frayed knit blanket he’d bought her for Christmas three years prior, her face pale as paper, dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. Her brown hair, which she’d always worn long and shiny, was pulled back in a limp ponytail, and when she looked up at him, her eyes widened in shock.
“Nathan?” She pushed herself up, wincing like the movement hurt, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the job site.”
“Took the afternoon off,” he said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the couch, close enough to smell the lavender lotion she still used, the same one she’d worn since their first date. He wanted to reach out, to touch her face, to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he held back. Not yet. “Missed you. Thought we could grab dinner on the way home. That Italian place in Alexandria you like?”
Grace stared at him like he’d grown a second head. For 11 months, he’d barely spoken two words to her at dinner, had spent most nights in his home office or the guest room, had flinched when she’d tried to hold his hand. Now he was showing up at her mom’s, offering to take her to her favorite restaurant? She glanced at Margaret, who was standing by the fireplace, her arms crossed, her eyes wide with worry, and turned back to him, her voice hesitant. “You hate that place. You say the garlic bread gives you heartburn.”
He shrugged, forcing a small laugh. “I’ve changed. Or I’ll just skip the bread. Worth it to see you eat something that doesn’t come from a hospital vending machine.” He nodded at the empty mug on the coffee table, the one with the faded World’s Best Admin logo her coworkers had gotten her, and his throat tightened when he saw the pill organizer tucked under a throw pillow, its little compartments labeled with the days of the week. He’d seen that organizer a dozen times in the last month, had assumed they were vitamins. Now he knew better.
Margaret cleared her throat, shifting her weight. “I was just about to make meatloaf. Grace’s favorite. You two could stay. Save the trip to Alexandria.”
Nathan stood up, rolling up his sleeves. “Let me help. You taught me how to make it years ago, remember? For our first Thanksgiving as a married couple?” He walked into the kitchen before either of them could object, his hands shaking a little as he opened the fridge to get the ground beef. This was the part he’d been dreading—acting normal, pretending he didn’t know his wife was fighting for her life, pretending he hadn’t had divorce papers in his pocket 10 minutes prior. But he had to. If he blew his cover now, she’d shut down, he knew it. She’d spent months building walls to protect him, and if he charged at them with a sledgehammer, she’d only build them higher.
He was reaching for a glass in the upper cabinet when his hand brushed a stack of papers tucked behind the cereal boxes. He pulled them out, his blood running cold when he saw the Mercy General Hospital letterhead at the top. Patient: Grace Marie Brooks. Date of Service: June 14, 2026. Diagnosis: High-Grade Serous Ovarian Carcinoma, Stage IIIB.
He stood there, holding the papers, his vision blurring, until he heard Grace’s voice from the doorway. “Nathan?”
He shoved the papers back in the cabinet, grabbed a glass, and turned around, his smile only a little wobbly. “Sorry. Zoned out. Thinking about the Capitol Hill job. The drywall is being delivered tomorrow, and Rico swears it’s the wrong thickness.” He filled the glass with water, walked past her, and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers. She was so cold. “You okay? You’re freezing.”
May you like
She took the glass, her eyes darting to the cabinet, then back to him, and nodded quickly. “Just the AC. Mom keeps it like a meat locker in here.” She took a sip of water, her hand shaking so much a little sloshed over the edge, and Nathan had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from pulling her into his arms.
Dinner was a quiet, tense affair. Margaret kept glancing at Grace, Grace kept picking at her meatloaf, and Nathan talked nonstop about the company, about Rico’s terrible jokes, about the new pickup truck he’d been thinking of buying—anything to keep the conversation light, anything to make them think he didn’t have a clue. But every time he looked at Grace, every time he saw her wince when she shifted in her chair, every time she excused herself to go to the bathroom and stayed gone for 10 minutes, his resolve hardened. He was going to fix this. He was going to fix all of it. No more secrets. No more distance. Just him and her, fighting this together, whether she liked it or not.
