I gathered my things, ignoring their snickers,
shoving everything into a cardboard box. My hand was shaking so badly, I dropped the box, scattering my belongings at Ethan’s feet.
He looked down at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Need some help, Mark? I can be charitable.”
“He’s just trying to get your attention, Sarah,” Karen said, “hoping you’ll feel sorry for him and take him back.”
As I knelt, gathering my things, Sarah suddenly spoke. “Mark, is your arm hurting?”
I didn’t answer, sweat stinging my eyes.
She grabbed my arm. “Let me see!”
I pushed her away. “No.”
Ethan caught Sarah, then punched me in the face. “Don’t you dare touch her, you
ungrateful piece of…”
I stumbled, pain shooting through my arm. My
sleeve ripped, exposing the angry, red,
infected scar.
Everyone went silent.
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “The hospital. Now. Come on.‘
I gave a weak smile, found some string to tie up the box, and walked away, dragging it
behind me.
く
Sarah started to follow, then stopped with a
cry. “Ethan? What’s wrong?”
He clutched his head, his face contorted in
pain. “Nothing…just a headache…forgot my
medication.”
Karen rushed to his side. “Sarah, it’s my
fault! I forgot to remind him! He works so
hard…his migraines are acting up again. From
his time studying abroad.”
“The hospital! Now! I’ll drive.‘
وو
As I turned the corner, I could still hear the
commotion, and I laughed, a bitter, painful
laugh, as I dragged my box away, alone.
I took a cab to the hospital, fumbled through
with
the paperwork with my good arm, and
watched the ER doc’s face pale when he saw
the other one. He rushed me to a specialist,
more tests, and finally, the verdict: close call.
Any longer, and the infection could’ve turned
necrotic, meaning amputation. I was suddenly
very grateful I’d walked out of work. No one-
armed bandit for me.
Pain meds kicked in, and I was feeling human
again when I passed a room and glimpsed
two familiar figures: Sarah and Ethan. He was
propped up in bed, opening his mouth like a baby bird while Sarah fed him peeled grapes. I’d never seen her so tender.
The doctor came to do rounds, and I stepped aside to let him in, overhearing snippets of their conversation. “…migraines are
complex…difficult to diagnose definitively…
L
your husband seems relatively normal…”
Then Sarah’s voice, sharp with concern:
“Doctor, run every test, whatever he needs.
Top specialists, whatever it costs. Just make
sure he’s okay.” A murmur from Ethan:
“You’re so good to me, Sarah.”
I felt nauseous. I grabbed my prescriptions
and went home.
Sarah got back around 10, looking exhausted.
She glanced at my arm, as if just
remembering the afternoon’s events. “How’s
your arm?”
“Fine. How’s your…brother? Shouldn’t you be
at the hospital, tucking him in?”
Her face darkened. “Mark, are you being
sarcastic?”
<
I slapped my hand on the coffee table. “Are
you being deliberately obtuse? When are we
getting divorced?”
She looked stunned. “You’re serious?”
I nodded. “I don’t love you anymore. Divorce
gives us both freedom. It’s for the best.”
“What do you mean, you don’t…”
