The fever hit me like a freight train sometime during the night.
I woke up shivering despite the sweat soaking through my nightgown, my head pounding with a pain so intense it made my vision blur. Every muscle in my body ached, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun violently around me.
"Ethan," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to myself.
He was already up, standing by the dresser in his work clothes, checking his phone with that familiar look of distraction.
"Ethan," I tried again, louder this time, though it came out as more of a croak.
He glanced over, his expression immediately shifting to one of mild annoyance. "What's wrong now?"
"I think I have a fever," I managed, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. "I feel terrible."
He walked over and placed the back of his hand against my forehead with all the enthusiasm of someone checking a broken appliance. His touch was brief, perfunctory.
"Yeah, you're warm," he said, already stepping away. "There's some medicine in the bathroom cabinet. Take a couple of those."
I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but the effort made my head spin so violently I had to lie back down. "Ethan, I don't think I can get up. Could you please—"
"Look, Olivia, I really don't have time for this right now." He was back at his phone, typing rapidly. "Jessica's moving into her new apartment today, and I promised I'd help. She's counting on me."
The words hit me like ice water despite my burning skin. "You're leaving? While I'm sick?"
"It's just a fever. Adults get fevers all the time." He pocketed his phone and grabbed his keys from the nightstand. "Take some medicine, drink fluids, sleep it off. You'll be fine by tomorrow."
I watched him head toward the door, my vision swimming with fever and disbelief. "Ethan, please. I really don't feel well. Could you at least get me the medicine before you go?"
He paused in the doorway, his jaw tight with impatience. With an exaggerated sigh, he disappeared into the bathroom. I could hear him rummaging through the medicine cabinet, muttering under his breath.
He returned with two small white pills in his palm, not even bothering to check what they were.
"Here," he said, dropping them on the nightstand next to a half-empty water glass from the night before. "Take these and get some rest. I'll probably be back late—Jessica has a lot of stuff to move."
I stared at the pills through my fever haze, trying to focus on the tiny print. The expiration date swam in and out of view, but I could make out enough: March 2021. It was now October 2023.
"Ethan, these are expired," I said weakly.
"Medicine doesn't just stop working the day it expires," he replied, already halfway out the door. "It's fine. I really have to go now—Jessica's waiting."
The front door slammed, leaving me alone in the sudden silence. I could hear his car starting in the driveway, the sound of gravel crunching as he backed out and drove away to help another woman while I lay burning with fever in our bed.
I managed to swallow the expired pills with lukewarm water, then collapsed back against the pillows. The fever seemed to be getting worse, making everything feel surreal and disconnected. Time moved strangely—sometimes crawling, sometimes jumping forward in chunks I couldn't account for.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Through my fevered haze, I saw Gabriel's name on the screen.
"Hello?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.
"Olivia? I was calling about the revisions for chapter twelve, but you sound terrible. Are you alright?"
Gabriel's voice seemed to come from very far away, though I could hear the concern in it clearly. It was such a stark contrast to Ethan's dismissive tone that I almost started crying.
"I have a fever," I managed. "I'm not feeling well."
"You sound more than 'not well.' You sound like you're barely conscious. Is someone there with you?"
I closed my eyes, the room spinning even behind my eyelids. "Ethan had to help someone move."
The silence on the other end of the line stretched long enough that I wondered if the call had dropped.
"He left you alone while you're this sick?" Gabriel's voice had changed, taking on an edge I'd never heard before.
"It's fine," I whispered automatically, the lie coming as easily as breathing. "I just need to sleep it off."
"Olivia, listen to me carefully. Do you have a thermometer?"
I tried to think, but my thoughts felt thick and sluggish. "Maybe. In the bathroom."
"Can you get to it?"
I attempted to sit up, but the world tilted violently and I had to grab the nightstand to keep from falling. "I don't think so."
"That's it. I'm coming over."
"No, Gabriel, you don't need to—"
"What's your address?"
The authority in his voice cut through my fevered protests. I found myself giving him the address, my words slurring together as the fever climbed higher.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't try to get up, just stay where you are."
The call ended, leaving me alone with the sound of my own labored breathing. I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of time passing but unable to track it properly.
When the doorbell rang, it felt like both minutes and hours later. I tried to call out, but my voice was gone. The ringing continued, then I heard the sound of a key in the lock—no, not a key. Knocking. Loud, insistent knocking.
"Olivia! I'm coming in!"
Footsteps on the stairs, quick and purposeful. Then Gabriel was in the doorway, his face tight with worry as he took in my condition.
"Jesus," he breathed, crossing to the bed in two quick strides. His hand touched my forehead, and I heard him swear under his breath. "You're burning up. We're going to the hospital. Now."
I tried to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Gabriel was already moving, gathering a blanket to wrap around me, his movements efficient and sure.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice or my legs.
Without hesitation, he scooped me up in his arms, blanket and all. I should have been embarrassed, should have protested, but I was too sick to care about anything except the relief of someone finally taking charge.
The ride to the hospital passed in a fever-dream blur of streetlights and Gabriel's voice, low and reassuring, telling me everything would be okay.
As we pulled into the emergency room entrance, one thought cut through the haze with painful clarity: my husband had left me to suffer alone with expired medicine, while my editor—a man I barely knew outside of work—had dropped everything to save me.
The contrast was so stark, so devastatingly clear, that even through my fever, I felt something fundamental shift inside me.
Something that might have been the last thread of my marriage finally snapping.
