When Herman picked me up at the police station, saw me shaking and disheveled, he dropped to his knees and said he was sorry.
All those nights afterward, every time I jolted awake from a nightmare, I'd lie there wondering why he'd left me behind.
I told myself over and over: He's a doctor. He had something more important to deal with. He doesn't belong to me alone.
But now, seeing the perfect score he'd given someone else, I finally understood that what he'd given me didn't even earn a passing grade.
He could belong to his patients. He could belong to his ex. The only person he could never belong to was me.
Click.
The bedroom door swung open.
He saw my red, swollen eyes and reached out, his fingers gentle against my face.
"Did someone give you a hard time?"
I shifted slightly, pulling away from his touch.
My voice cracked despite every effort to hold it steady.
But my eyes were clear as glass when I looked at him.
"My supervisor said I was wasting my looks. Said I can't even bring in enrollment numbers or investment."
He paused for a fraction of a second, then pulled me into his arms.
His tone was careless. Barely even trying.
"Forget that dead-end job. Just quit—I'll take care of you, okay?"
A chill spread from somewhere deep in my chest. I couldn't feel his warmth anymore.
A sudden ringtone shattered the eerie silence between us.
It was Herbert.
"Uncle, my mommy just fainted! She's at the hospital, and I don't have anywhere to go, and I haven't eaten, and I'm so hungry..."
The boy's tearful little voice sent Herman into a tailspin.
His brow furrowed.
"Don't be scared. I'm coming to get you right now!"
He was already moving—shoes on the wrong feet, a shirt snatched off the back of a chair—and then he was out the door.
He didn't look back until he was already in the hallway.
"Something came up with the kid. I need to go handle it."
Not long after he left, a new post appeared on Janet's social media. The photo had a hospital room in the background.
The caption read: Rare family time. Someone's cooking is as amazing as ever.
In the picture, Herman and Herbert sat side by side at the edge of the hospital bed, feeding her. Another shot showed Herman's back as he stood at a counter, chopping vegetables, preparing a meal.
So this was what he meant by "no feelings."
Cold-faced, yet doing everything a husband would do.
I laughed bitterly and turned off my phone.