Chapter 2

My relationship with Olivia wasn't always like this. We were the classic childhood sweethearts, our families intertwined for generations. Our fathers had been best friends, and our engagement felt as natural as breathing. Her grandmother, a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, treated me like her own grandson.

I remembered when my parents passed away in a car accident during my first year of medical school. The grief was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. Olivia was my rock. She held me when I cried, managed the funeral arrangements when I couldn't, and sat with me in silence for hours. Her grandmother would bring over homemade soup, patting my hand and telling me stories about my father. "You have his heart, Liam," she used to say. "Don't ever let anyone tarnish it."

In those dark days, Olivia was my protector. She was fierce in her defense of me, shielding me from the pitying looks and the overwhelming logistics of death. I loved her for it, a deep, grateful love that I thought would last a lifetime. I promised myself I would spend the rest of my life repaying her kindness, being the man she deserved.

But things started to change after I began my residency. The long hours, the exhaustion, the life-and-death stress of the hospital-it took its toll. At first, she was understanding. But gradually, her patience wore thin. My calls would go unanswered. My texts would be met with short, dismissive replies hours later. When I came home, desperate for a moment of peace, she would be out with friends, or she would complain that I wasn't fun anymore, that all I talked about was work.

The distance grew into a chasm. The emotional neglect was a constant, dull ache in my chest. I kept making excuses for her. She's stressed. She's not used to the demands of a doctor's life. I'd try to plan dates, to buy her gifts, but nothing seemed to bridge the gap. It felt like I was the only one trying, the only one holding onto the memory of what we used to be.

The contrast between her indifference and the brief, business-like kindness of the stranger I had just married was jarring. Sarah, in five minutes, had offered me a practical solution to a potential problem-a place to stay. Olivia, my fiancée of five years, couldn't even be bothered to ask how my day was. The thought left a sour taste in my mouth.

I pushed the turmoil aside and focused on my responsibilities. The next day, I went to the hospital. Work was a refuge, a place where my actions had clear, tangible results. I was in the middle of a complex procedure, guiding a junior resident through a difficult suture, when my department head, Director Miller, paged me to her office.

Director Miller had been a close friend of my father's. She'd watched me grow up and had been my mentor since I started my medical career. Her office was a sanctuary of calm, filled with medical journals and a single, elegant orchid on her desk.

"Liam, sit down," she said, her expression serious. "I've received your resignation letter."

I nodded. "Yes, Director. I've decided to leave the city."

She leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "Is this about Olivia? I heard about her accident. And I've heard... rumors. That she's brought some man and his child into your home."

The shame was hot on my cheeks. Of course, the hospital gossip mill was already working. "It's complicated," I mumbled.

"Liam, your father would want you to be happy," she said gently. "This hospital, this city, holds a lot of memories for you, but you don't owe your future to a memory. If you need to leave to find your own peace, then you have my full support. Just know that the door here is always open for you."

Her kindness was almost my undoing. I had to swallow hard to keep my composure. "Thank you, Director. That means a lot."

As I was leaving her office, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. "This is your wife. Hope you found somewhere to sleep." It was from Sarah. Before I could reply, Olivia called.

"Liam, where are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "My grandmother is on her way over to the house. She wants to see you. You need to be here. Don't you dare embarrass me."

I sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. "I'm at the hospital, Olivia."

"Well, leave! This is important," she snapped. "And on your way, pick up some organic, gluten-free cookies. David Jr. only eats the best."

Before I could respond, she hung up. It wasn't a request; it was a command. I looked down at the text from Sarah, then at the memory of Olivia's demanding voice. The whiplash was dizzying. I was caught between two worlds, and I was losing my footing in both.