Chapter 2 - The Diagnosis of Regret
I refused to leave her side. When the head cardiologist, Dr. Aris, came by to check on Sophie, I stood firmly by her bed in the private observation room, demanding to know every single detail of her prognosis. Because our divorce was finalized, I was no longer her legal next of kin, a harsh reality that cut deep when the nurse initially hesitated to share her charts. But Sophie quietly gave her verbal consent, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Mr. Vance," Dr. Aris said, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the echocardiogram results. "The cardiomyopathy has progressed significantly over the last eight weeks. The ejection fraction—the measurement of how much blood the heart pumps out with each contraction—is critically low. We have stabilized her arrhythmia for now, but she requires a dedicated, stress-free environment and a highly specialized medication regimen. If the heart muscle doesn't respond to the treatment within the next few months, we will have to discuss the possibility of a heart transplant."
Transplant. The word hung in the sterile air like a terminal sentence.
I looked at Sophie. She looked so tiny beneath the heavy hospital blankets, her beautifully short-cropped hair making her look young, innocent, and terrifyingly vulnerable. I remembered the way her laughter used to echo through our old apartment, the way she would dance in the kitchen while making blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings. I had let the darkness swallow all of that, too blind to see that she was fighting for her literal breath while I was feeling sorry for myself in a lonely bachelor pad.
"I'm moving you out of here," I said fiercely, turning back to Sophie the moment the doctor left the room. "Not to a facility. Not back to your lonely apartment. You're coming with me."
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Sophie shook her head weakly, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips. "Ethan, we are divorced. The papers are signed. You have a new routine, a quiet life. You can't just undo everything because you feel guilty."
"This isn't just guilt, Sophie," I said, catching her face in my hands, feeling the terrifying prominent sharpness of her cheekbones. "This is the realization that I am a fool. I thought leaving was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But staying away from you now? That would be impossible. Let me take care of you. Please. Just as a friend, if that's all you can give me. Let me be there."
