Chapter 1
The hospital reeked of antiseptic and fear.
I held a crumpled bouquet of daisies, on my way to see Rohit after his appendix surgery.
Two months since my divorce.
Two months of waking up to cold sheets, quiet rooms, a silence so thick it felt like it was choking me.
I told myself I was fine.
I told myself the split was for the best.
Then I saw her.
In the corner of the internal medicine wing, slumped against a cinder block wall.
Faded blue hospital gown.
IV stand beside her, the plastic bag dripping clear liquid slow as tears.
Her hair.
Her long, black hair—the one I used to braid when she fell asleep on the couch—was gone.
Chopped short, ragged at the ends, like she’d cut it herself in a bathroom mirror.
Her face was hollow.
Cheekbones sharp enough to cut.
Dark circles under eyes that stared at the floor, seeing nothing.
My throat closed.
The daisies slipped from my hand.
Petals scattered across the linoleum.
It was Maya.
My Maya.
The woman I’d married five years before.
The woman I’d walked away from after one stupid, tired fight in April.
I forgot how to move.
Forgot how to breathe.
People stepped around me, annoyed, rushing to their own pain.
I didn’t care.
All I saw was her.
Fragile.
Alone.
Dying on her feet and nobody noticing.
I walked toward her slow, like I was approaching a skittish bird that would fly away if I moved too fast.
My hands shook so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Maya?”
Her head snapped up.
For a split second, shock flared in her eyes.
Then she flinched.
Like she’d been burned.
“Arjun?”
Her voice was a rasp.
Barely louder than the hum of the monitors down the hall.
I dropped to my knees in front of her.
Took her hand before I could think better of it.
It was ice.
Fingers thin, nails brittle, no color under the skin.
“What happened to you?”
My voice cracked.
“Why are you here alone?”
She pulled her hand away fast.
Like my touch hurt.
Stared back at the floor.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“Just some routine tests. I’m fine.”
I reached for her hand again.
Held it tighter this time, gentle but firm.
She didn’t pull away.
Not fully.
“Maya.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“I can see you’re not fine. Your hair. Your face. This IV. Don’t lie to me. Please.”
For a long time, she said nothing.
The beep of a monitor.
A baby crying down the hall.
A nurse’s shoes squeaking on the floor.
Then her shoulders started to shake.
Soft at first.
Then harder.
She didn’t make a sound.
Just cried silent tears that dripped onto the back of my hand.
I pulled her into my arms.
She was so light.
Like a child.
Her body trembled against mine, and I felt something inside me break all over again.
Worse than the divorce.
Worse than the nights I’d spent drunk, hating myself.
She was hurting.
And I’d left her.
I’d walked away when she needed me most.
Finally, she lifted her head.
Eyes red, swollen, glistening.
May you like
She opened her mouth to speak.
And the words that came out shattered my world forever.
