Part 3The Man She Ran To

My surgeon reviewed my chart and gave me the rundown. “You can be discharged next week.”

I nodded. Mark was scheduled for a business trip next week. I’d have to hire someone.

“And make sure you get out in the wheelchair,” the doctor added on his way out. “Keep moving.”

I managed a clumsy lap around the garden by myself. When I got back to my room for lunch, I saw a new hashtag trending on Twitter.

It was a photo collage. Claire’s back, Leo’s face. From sixteen to twenty-six. In the first, she’s hugging him, a tall, protective figure. In the last, a candid shot from the hospital, she’s leaning over him. And in the blurred background, almost an afterthought, was me, a solitary figure struggling with a wheelchair.

#TheDancerAndTheDoctor

#ChildhoodSweetheartsReunited

My heart seized. Then I saw the caption that went with it, and the floor dropped out from under me.

The best kind of second-chance romance is between step-siblings. So what if they broke up? They still have to see each other at Thanksgiving dinner every year.

The words unlocked everything. A fog of confusion I had been living in for three years suddenly evaporated.

The worn photograph Claire kept in her wallet—it wasn't her brother. It was her stepbrother. The one her father brought into the family when he remarried. I knew she had one, but in three years, I’d never met him. Every time I suggested it, she shut me down.

It all made sense now.

She must have known I had a crush on her back in college. One night, I saw her drinking alone at a bar off-campus. I followed her, my heart pounding, wanting to make sure she was okay. I finally worked up the courage to approach, but she turned around just as I was about to lose my nerve.

I spun around, my back to her, pretending to be looking at something else.

Then I heard her voice, that cool, clear sound. “Ethan.”

My heart stopped.

“Weren’t you going to offer me that water?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

After that, we started talking. She knew I was gone for her. She was the one who asked me out. The one who suggested we get married. The whole thing, from first date to marriage license, took less than six months. It was all so impossibly easy.

What I had mistaken for a fairy tale, for the sweet reward of a long-held crush, was actually a cage. A cage Claire had built for me, and for herself.

She married me because she was in love with Leo.

Her own twisted sense of morality told her she couldn't be with him. Their parents had forced them apart, sent him abroad to study dance while she stayed here for med school. She needed a distraction. A shield. Someone who could make her forget, and convince her parents she had moved on.

And I was the volunteer who walked right into the trap.

I pieced it all together from his social media history and the whispers I’d overheard.

Now, it was the week before Christmas. I searched online for a home health aide, but no one was available. Most agencies were closed for the holidays, and the few freelancers I found considered a hospital job bad luck at the end of the year. I tripled my offer, but got no replies. It looked like I’d have to stay here until Mark got back.

The hospital was overflowing, and they needed my bed. A new patient had already been assigned to the room next door—an elderly woman who moved with more agility than I did.

“All alone, handsome?” she asked with a wink.

I just nodded.

My doctor and the nurses kept stopping by, gently reminding me about my discharge. I felt a flush of embarrassment, a deep sense of apology. “My friend is coming. Soon. I’ll be out of your hair.”

The young nurse, the kind one, saw the panic in my eyes. She was about my age. “Hey,” she said softly, “it’s okay. I’ll ask Dr. Miller to give you one more day. Just one.”

She saw my helpless expression and gave me a conspiratorial wink, mouthing the words: Don’t worry.