I didn't move. I set everything back exactly as it was and walked into the bathroom.
When I came out from my shower, Neil was on the balcony, on a call.
The door hadn't latched all the way, and the voice he was deliberately keeping low drifted in through the gap, carrying a softness and patience I'd never heard from him before.
"The morning after tomorrow? I have plans with someone... mm, I can cancel them."
"Your car comes first. I'll wait for your call. Let me know when it's fixed."
I leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor.
The morning after tomorrow was something we'd settled on long ago, the touring exhibition of a painter I adored.
He'd come through three times, and not once had I gotten to see it.
This time I'd booked a month in advance just to lock in Neil's schedule.
He always said he hated anything outside his plans.
But as it turned out, the only thing outside his plans he hated was me.
Neil finished his call and came back into the room. He saw the few pieces of clothing I'd draped over the closet door.
Not hung neatly, the hems pushed past the zoning line he'd set.
His brow furrowed. "Put these away. It's a mess."
I gave a soft hum of agreement.
Then I pulled out every black-white-gray piece that fit Neil's taste and dropped them all in the trash.
Neil watched me do it, not a flicker on his face.
He didn't ask why. He didn't say a word.
He just rolled over, turned his back to me, and went to sleep.
The next day, I woke burning up.
The rain I'd walked through last night had caught up with me after all.
Neil was already dressed and standing by the bed.
"It's seven fifteen. You didn't prepare breakfast on schedule, which has thrown off my morning work plan."
My head was splitting. I braced myself to sit up, but the room kept dimming in waves.
He swiped open his phone and tapped a few times in his notes.
"Five points off your relationship-conduct score."
Groggy, I made my way out of the bedroom. On the dining table sat the plate from the breakfast he'd already eaten.
Fried egg, toast, milk, the same as always.
But there was no portion for me.
In the laundry basket, the shirt and slacks he'd changed out of yesterday were gone.
My own soaked dress still lay quietly inside.
He'd washed only his.
I forced myself up and took a cab to the nearest hospital.
The ER was loud and crowded, and the fever had left me limp.
The doctor prescribed medicine and put me on an IV. After taking my temperature, he said, "A hundred and two point six. You'll need a family member here to sign off."
I held my phone, hesitating for a long time, then dialed Neil after all.
It rang for ages before he picked up.
"What is it?"
My voice came out rough. "I'm at the hospital. I have a fever. The doctor says I need a family member to—"
"You've seen my schedule. My morning is fully booked." He cut me off.
"It'll only take a little of your time. Just a signature."
The line went silent for a few seconds.
"I can spare forty minutes at most. Twenty for the round trip from the office, twenty to stay with you."
I closed my eyes and said quietly, "Fine."
"Could you buy me a heating pad from the hospital store?"
The call ended.
A moment later, my phone buzzed.
It was a delivery-app link from Neil.
"You can order one."
Ten minutes later, Neil arrived at the room right on schedule.
He signed, then took out his laptop and started working.
The IV dripped into me drop by drop, my arm gone numb with cold.
Looking at Neil's tightly pressed lips beside me, I said nothing and placed the order for the heating pad myself.
A nurse came to change the IV, saw the back of my hand, and frowned. "How did it swell up like this? An allergic reaction?"
Only then did I notice the wide patch of red hives spreading across the back of my hand, itching and aching at once.
