Faith Frazier POV:
I was never one for dramatics. I prided myself on my rationality, my calm demeanor. But that night, sleep offered no escape. I thrashed in bed, locked in a furious, tear-soaked argument with Dale in my dreams.
"You said you were tired, Dale!" I screamed in the dream, tears streaming down my face. "But you never told me! You let me believe everything was fine! Whose fault was it, really, that I went abroad? I went because you encouraged me, because we planned a future together!" My dream-self was a whirlwind of accusations. "Why couldn't you just tell me you were struggling? Why did you hide it?"
The dream ended as all our recent conversations did: in a cold, bitter stalemate.
I woke with a pounding headache, the phantom arguments echoing in my ears. Dale was already awake, dressed impeccably, exuding his usual charismatic aura. Our eyes met across the room, and for a long moment, we simply stared, the silence thick with unspoken words. He sighed, a weary sound. "Don't make a scene, Faith," he said, his voice implying I was already being difficult.
He knelt, and for a moment, I saw the ghost of the boy I fell in love with, his young face earnest and full of devotion. He slipped my warm boots onto my feet, his touch gentle. But the familiar flutter in my heart was gone, replaced by a dull ache of bitterness and cold.
"Jetta is just a subordinate, a colleague," he repeated, his words a hollow comfort. "I can take you to the hospital, you can see for yourself. There's nothing going on." He sounded almost convincing. "We can talk properly then."
"Okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But I have something to tell you first."
I had made my decision. I would pursue another advanced degree, at a university far from New York, a place where he had no connections, no influence. I had already booked a flight for a week later. This wasn't anger; it was a carefully considered escape. His words had been like shards of glass, embedding themselves deep in my flesh, a constant, throbbing pain. I wanted a love that was pure, untainted. If I couldn't have that, I would rather have nothing.
I wanted a clean break, for both our sakes.
The car ride to the hospital was silent. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. As we pulled up, his phone rang. I heard the muffled sound of a woman crying, a soft, pathetic wail. Dale's face immediately contorted with concern. "Something's come up," he said, his eyes already darting away from mine. "I need you to go up to the office first, I'll meet you there."
I wanted to tell him I didn't know the way, but he was already gone, his silhouette disappearing around the corner. I stood alone in the vast, empty parking lot, a sudden chill creeping into my bones. It took me a while to find my bearings, the sterile hospital environment feeling alien and overwhelming.
I finally found the right floor and approached the nurses' station. Their excited chatter carried clearly through the air. "Did you hear?" one whispered, "Mr. Atkins rushed here the moment Jetta called! She was so upset." Another chimed in, "He's so sweet. He treats her like a girlfriend."
My steps faltered. This was his "emergency."
"Apparently, he's always doting on her," a third nurse added. "Teaching her everything, hand-holding, the works. I even heard her family teasing him, asking when they were getting married!"
One nurse, a kind-faced woman, raised an eyebrow. "But doesn't he have a fiancée?"
"Oh, she's probably just some old hag he's stuck with," scoffed another. "Jetta is so much prettier, so much younger, and smart too! No wonder he prefers her."
A wave of self-loathing washed over me, threatening to consume me whole. I felt small, insignificant, unwanted. I turned, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat.
And there they were: Dale and Jetta, standing at the end of the hallway. Jetta was wearing the anniversary jacket I had bought for Dale from London, the one he had told me was "too precious" to wear, that he had "put away for safekeeping."
He had woven a web of beautiful lies, each one now tearing at my flesh, leaving me bruised and raw. Jetta, her face a picture of innocent distress, was crying softly. Dale, his eyes filled with tender affection, gently wiped her tears. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a balm. "No one will ever hurt you again, not while I'm here."
"Who was that woman on the phone last night, Dale?" Jetta asked, her voice a soft, childlike plea.
Dale hesitated, a long, agonizing silence stretching between us. Then, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, "Just a friend. No one important."
