Two years into our marriage, all that was left between me and my husband, the rescue captain, were four cold words.
When he was called out, he texted "On assignment."
When he came back, he texted "Safe."
Even on our wedding anniversary, that was all.
Then, yesterday afternoon, a chain of explosions tore through the chemical plant on the city outskirts.
As the attending physician in emergency medicine, I was run off my feet in the trauma bay, and it was over the medical-coordination radio that I heard him talking to the new intern from my own department.
"Captain Delgado, the scene was terrifying. If you hadn't shielded me just now, the blast wave would've knocked me flat."
After a short burst of static, that man, always cold and unfeeling, answered in a voice gentler than I'd ever heard from him.
"Don't be scared. Just stay behind me and focus on the patients. I'll protect you with my life."
The hand holding the defibrillator trembled. I drew a deep breath, forced myself calm, and kept working on the critical patient on the table.
Hours later, once the last of the wounded had been transferred out, I took a warmed container of food to the emergency lounge to find him.
The door was half open. That man, who called me delicate whenever I ran a fever, was crouched on one knee on the floor.
He was carefully holding an iodine swab, dabbing at a tiny scrape on the intern's shin.
Calmly, I dropped the food container into the trash bin beside me.
Loving him was too exhausting. Every day was fear and dread.
Now I'd decided to take that feeling back, and let myself off the hook.
1.
I turned and walked out of the emergency department. I didn't rest. I went straight to the director's office.
I pushed the door open and set an application to join Doctors Without Borders in the Zaire conflict region on his desk.
The director pushed up his glasses, read the words on the form, and his brow knotted at once.
"What kind of nonsense is this? Didn't you just submit a long-leave plan last week to try for a baby? I signed off on it myself."
He jabbed a finger at the application, his tone impatient.
"Going to Zaire means being gone two years. The conditions there are brutal. You're just going to leave your husband? Give up on having a child?"
I stared at the ink on the form and tugged the corner of my mouth into a smile.
"There's no need to try for a baby anymore."
I looked up at him, my voice steady. "I've made up my mind. Please sign it for me."
The director studied me for a long moment, sighed, and put pen to paper.
I walked out of the office with the approved form. Just as I reached the corner, I heard laughter.
"Captain Delgado, you were amazing back there. You spotted that blast point in one look. I was frozen stiff."
"Watch and learn. Don't be so reckless in the future. You'll get yourself hurt."
I stopped, and turned my head.
Daryl Delgado was looking down at Imogen Fox, the two of them standing close, almost shoulder to shoulder.
There was a smile on his face. A relaxed sort of smile.
Five years of marriage, and all he ever showed me was impatience and fatigue.
I'd almost forgotten he could smile at all.
Hearing footsteps, Daryl turned.
The smile vanished from his face in an instant.
Then he took a big step to the side, putting distance between himself and Imogen.
"I just finished up," he said, his tone gone cold and businesslike. "Passing by, thought I'd let you know I'm safe."
"Oh." I didn't add a single word.
Daryl frowned, clearly displeased by how flat my reaction was.
He was used to me fussing over him, asking after him.
He tugged impatiently at his collar. "There's still work back at the brigade. I'm heading out."
He left the moment he said it, unwilling to spare me even one more glance.
Imogen took a couple of steps after him, then stopped short as she passed me.
She had her hand over the fresh gauze on her knee and looked at me timidly.
"Director, today was my first time riding out to a rescue site. I was terrified."
"I'd like to keep learning from Captain Delgado. You don't mind, do you?"
Before I could answer, Daryl halted up ahead and shouted back at her.
"Imogen, what's the holdup? Keep up."
"Coming, Captain!"
Imogen winked at me and jogged after him with light, quick steps.
Watching the two of them walk off side by side, I folded the approved form in half twice and pushed it into my pocket.
Over the past half year and more, Daryl had only sent wounded to our emergency department a handful of times, when the brigade's workload was heavy.
And yet from those few brief work encounters, he'd somehow grown this close with Imogen.
I gave a small, self-mocking laugh.
Back home, the first thing I saw were the bottles of prenatal folic acid on the coffee table.
Beside them sat a stack of ovulation tests and a thick pile of pre-pregnancy checkup forms.
To carry Daryl's child, I'd swallowed bitter medicine for over half a year and jabbed myself with needles until my belly was mottled with bruises.
I walked over and threw all of it into the trash.
I turned and went into the bedroom.
I dug out the suitcase and opened the closet.
I grabbed my clothes and shoved them into the case in one armful.
Then my documents, bank cards, passport.
Once the packing was done, I opened my laptop and typed out a divorce agreement.
The printer spat out two thin sheets of paper.
I gripped the pen and signed my name in the space for the wife.
I set the agreement on the coffee table in the living room and weighted one corner with the cup Daryl usually drank from.
With all of it done, I wheeled the suitcase to the door.
Hand on the handle, I paused.
I pressed open the settings panel on the smart lock.
I found the enrolled fingerprints and selected my own.
Tap. Delete.
The system's prompt tone was jarringly loud in the quiet hallway. "Deletion successful."
This door, I would never walk through again.
At the entrance of the complex, the phone in my pocket buzzed.
A message from Daryl.
"Team dinner tonight, I'll be back late. Don't wait up."
I looked at the words on the screen, and smiled.
