The doctor came later that afternoon.
He spoke with Daniel first.
I waited outside the room.
I could hear their voices, but not the words.
When the doctor came out, he asked whether I was Daniel's family.
I told him I was his former wife and the mother of his children.
He nodded.
“Daniel asked whether you could join us.”
I went inside.
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
The doctor pulled a chair closer.
He explained that Daniel's condition remained serious.
There were still decisions to be made about his care.
They were monitoring his symptoms and adjusting the support he needed.
He spoke carefully.
He didn't promise that things would improve.
He didn't tell us exactly how much time Daniel had.
I listened and asked questions when I needed to.
Daniel watched me.
When the doctor finished, he asked Daniel whether there was anything else he wanted to discuss.
Daniel shook his head.
The doctor left us alone.
I looked at Daniel.
“Why didn't you ask me to come in earlier?”
“I thought you might not want to.”
“You asked me to come to the hospital.”
“I know.”
“Then let me hear what is happening.”
He nodded.
“I didn't want you to feel responsible.”
“I'm not responsible for making your medical decisions.”
“I know.”
“But I can listen. I can help you remember what the doctor says. I can make sure the children understand what they need to understand.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Would you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Even after everything?”
I didn't answer immediately.
“I am here because I want the truth. I'm not promising anything beyond that.”
He accepted it.
For the rest of the afternoon, we talked about practical things.
His appointments.
The papers he needed.
The people he had spoken to.
There weren't many.
He had kept most of his life private.
I asked whether someone at work knew how serious things had become.
“A few people know I've been dealing with health problems,” he said. “They don't know everything.”
“Have you told them you're in the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know the children have visited?”
He nodded.
I asked whether there was anyone else he wanted contacted.
He thought for a while.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don't want to make a list of people who barely know what's happening.”
“Then we won't.”
He looked at me.
“You don't have to do all this.”
“I know.”
I wanted him to understand that I was choosing what I could do.
I wasn't being forced.
I wasn't paying off some debt.
I was making decisions for myself.
Later, the older child called.
They asked whether Daniel was awake.
I put the call on speaker so he could hear.
“Hey,” Daniel said.
“Hi, Dad. How are you feeling?”
“A little tired.”
“Did the doctor come?”
“He did.”
“What did he say?”
Daniel looked at me.
I didn't answer for him.
“He said I'm still quite unwell,” Daniel told them. “They're looking after me and making sure I'm comfortable.”
There was a pause.
“Can we come tomorrow?”
“I'd like that.”
“Mom said we could visit your apartment sometime too.”
Daniel smiled.
“I'd like that as well.”
After the call, he looked at me.
“They're being very kind.”
“They love you.”
“I know.”
“Don't mistake their kindness for an absence of questions.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
That evening, I brought him a clean shirt and the book he had been reading in his apartment.
It was still on the little table beside his bed at home.
A folded receipt marked his place.
He looked at the book.
“You found it.”
“It was beside your chair.”
“I thought I'd lost it.”
“You have a habit of leaving things in strange places.”
He smiled faintly.
“You used to say that.”
“I still say it.”
For a moment, we sounded like ourselves.
Then the silence returned.
I looked at the book in his hands.
“Can I ask you something about the divorce?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever think about changing your mind?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Many times.”
“Even after the papers were signed?”
He nodded.
“Especially then.”
I looked at the floor.
“I remember the day the divorce became final.”
“I do too.”
“I went home and put the papers in the kitchen drawer.”
“I remember.”
“I thought I would feel relieved.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
He closed the book.
“Neither did I.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought it was too late.”
“It was not too late to tell the truth.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I rubbed my hands together.
“I used to look at the empty space where your things had been.”
He listened.
“I kept expecting to find something you had forgotten. A charger, a shirt, a book. I thought maybe if I found something, I would have a reason to call you.”
Daniel's eyes filled.
“I left a few things on purpose.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Some old books. A box in the cupboard.”
“You left them?”
“I couldn't bring myself to take everything.”
I almost laughed.
“You made sure I thought you had moved on, but you left things behind.”
“I didn't know how to leave properly.”
“You could have stayed and talked.”
“I should have.”
I looked toward the window.
There was no comfort in discovering that he had been unhappy too.
But there was something important in hearing him say it.
For years, I had believed the divorce had been easy for him.
He had not fought.
He had not argued.
He had signed the papers and moved away.
I had taken his silence as proof that he was relieved to be free.
Now I knew his silence had meant something else.
It had still been his choice.
But it hadn't been the choice I thought.
The next day, the children visited again.
Daniel was more tired than he had been the day before.
Still, he smiled when they entered.
They sat beside him and showed him pictures on their phones.
One was from a school activity.
Another was a photograph of a meal they had made.
Daniel studied every picture as if it mattered.
When they were ready to leave, the younger one leaned close.
“Dad, can we call you tonight?”
“Of course.”
“Even if you're sleeping?”
Daniel smiled.
“If I'm sleeping, I'll call you back when I wake up.”
The child nodded.
Then they hugged him.
After they left, Daniel looked at the empty chairs.
“I missed so much.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I wish I could go back.”
“So do I.”
He turned toward me.
“Would you have stayed?”
I understood what he meant.
If he had told me about the illness before the divorce, would I have stayed?
I thought about the question.
I thought about the house.
The children.
The ordinary life we had built.
I thought about the man I had married.
“Yes,” I said.
His eyes filled.
“I would have wanted to decide with you. I can't promise every day would have been easy. I can't promise I wouldn't have been frightened.”
He nodded.
“But I would have wanted the chance.”
He looked at the blue-bordered card.
“I took that away.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us looked away.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: A VISIT TO THE OLD HOUSE
The Wednesday Night Daniel Told Me There Was Someone Else, and I Realized Our Marriage Was Already Over
Part 14 of 20
