Prologue
Prologue
“Would you still love me if I were no longer young and beautiful?”
I look at my soon-to-be husband and smile softly.
We’re sitting in our apartment, having a nice dinner with some red wine. He takes a bite of fish and pasta. That took a very long time to make, actually.
We had to restart like three times. I grin at the thought.
Once he’s done chewing, he swallows and tilts his head to look at me.
“Of course, baby.” He picks up his wine glass and goes to take a sip, then stops.
“Anyone who doesn’t want to get old with you is an idiot.”
“Good thing you’re not an idiot,” I say in a joking tone.
He gives me that charming smile that I fell in love with all those years ago. When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle up, and that shows that he’s not faking.
He has a left dimple that pops out when he smiles really big. Which he hates. I never figured out why. He chuckles at my comment and pulls me closer to his chest. “Yeah, good thing.”
I snuggle closer to his chest and breathe in his scent. I look up at him again. “Do yo-” I stop my sentence when I hear his phone ring.
“Shoot, sorry.”
He unwraps his arm from my shoulder and goes to grab his phone from the front pocket of his dress pants, which he’s still wearing since he got home from work a few hours ago.
He doesn’t look at who’s calling before he presses the button and puts it up to his ear. “Hello?” He asks. I can’t hear who’s on the other side, like they're trying to be as quiet as possible. “Yes. I’ll be there. Right away.” He ends the call and gets up from the couch and goes into another room for a few seconds before he emerges again with his doctor coat in one hand and his briefcase in the other one.
“What’s going on?”
He looks at his watch, then looks back at me. “A patient at the hospital isn’t doing well.” He must see the confusion on my face because then he tells me, “She won’t cooperate. She’s telling them that she’ll only listen if I'm there.” He rubs his temples, then blows out a breath.
I look at the clock hanging above my head, then look back at him.
“It’s 12 in the morning.” I raise an eyebrow.
This ‘patient’ is always calling for him. Why can’t she ask for someone else? Why does it have to be him?
His eyes soften as he walks over to me and grabs my hand.
“I know. I’ll try my hardest to be back as soon as I can.” he gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. “I promise.” I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so I just nod.
“You’ll be ok?”
He gives me a sad smile, and suddenly I feel guilty asking questions and wanting him to stay. Selfishness. He’s out here trying to make people better; I shouldn't feel like this at all.
Maybe I should’ve asked the questions. Maybe things would’ve been different if I had.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He grabs my face gently in his hands. He searches my face, hums softly, and lets go.
“Text me if you need anything, ok?”
I never text him.
I nod again.
“Words, my love.”
I muster up a tiny smile and answer him. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He grabs his keys from the countertop and rushes out the door. I watch the door for who knows how long. By two, I’m still sitting with my legs crossed waiting for him. Eventually I fall asleep, and I never hear him walk through the door.
