Paul never came back. His things were gonejust empty hangers in the wardrobe. On the bedside table, a note scribbled on a scrap of paper: *Couldnt handle it. Sorry.*
When Katy fell ill, the world didnt collapseit just stopped breathing.
First came the exhaustion, the dull ache in her limbs, then the fever no pills or injections could touch. And then, the pain in her chestlike a red-hot iron rod twisting slowly inside her. She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling, wondering: *Is this just flu? Or something worse?*
That evening, Paul came home late. He tossed his jacket over a chair, dropped his keys on the sideboard, and without even glancing at her, asked:
*»Still lying around? The dishes arent done. The place is a mess.»*
*»Yeah,»* she whispered. *»I cant get up.»*
He sighed, as if it were her faultbeing sick, lying there, ruining his evening.
*»Fine. Stay there. Im having a shower.»*
No hug. No touch.
She stayed silent. She didnt even have the energy to resent him.
The next day, she was taken to hospital. The diagnosis was grim: bilateral pneumonia, complicated by a viral infection, suspected autoimmune involvement. The doctors spoke quickly, clinicallyno emotion. But in their eyes, Katy read: *This could go badly.*
She asked the nurse for her phone to call Paul.
He didnt answer the first time. Or the second. Or the third.
On the fourth try, he picked up. His voice was flat, as if shed interrupted something important.
*»What?»*
*»Paul Im in hospital. Its serious. I need»*
He cut her off.
*»Im at work, Katy. Not now.»*
*»But Im scared»*
*»Youre a grown woman. The doctors are there. What, you want me to drop everything and run to you?»*
She fell quiet. A lump rose in her throat.
*»Alright,»* she said softly. *»Sorry for bothering you.»*
He didnt reply. Just hung up.
Three days in, she stared at the IV in her arm, watching the grey sky through the window. The ward was silent except for the ticking clock and the hum of the vents.
She called Paul again. Ringing. And ringing.
Then her roommate said:
*»Stop calling him. Hes gone. Left his keys with me.»*
*»Gone? Where?»*
*»Didnt say. Just packed his things and left.»*
Katy closed her eyes. Something snapped in her chest. Not her heartsomething invisible, fragile, the thread that had tied her to him for years.
She didnt cry. She didnt have the strength.
On the seventh day, her mum arrived.
She burst into the ward with bags, snacks, and a look that said shed tear the hospital down if anyone hurt her daughter.
*»That absolute coward!»* she hissed. *»How could he?!»*
Katy tried to smile, but it barely held.
*»Mum»*
*»Hush. Im here. Youre not alone now.»*
Her mum stayed. Slept on the fold-out chair by the bed, brought homemade chicken soup in a thermos, argued with nurses about meds.
*»Youre not alone,»* she repeated every morning.
And for the first time in ages, Katy believed it.
Three weeks later, she was discharged. Weak. Thin. Dark circles under her eyesbut alive.
At home, everything was as shed left it. Dust on the shelves, stale air. Dirty dishes.
Paul hadnt come back. His things were gone. Empty hangers. And on the sideboard, that same scrap of paper:
*»Couldnt handle it. Sorry.»*
Katy stared at the words. Then crumpled the note and threw it away.
Her mum helped her clean, open windows, air out the rooms.
*»Fresh start,»* she said.
Katy nodded.
The first month after was slow. She could barely walk. Breathing still hurt. But every day, she took ten more steps than yesterday. Then twenty. Then she made it to the balcony. Then the garden.
Work called. Asked when shed be back.
*»Soon,»* she lied.
Six weeks later, she walked into the office. Colleagues looked at her like she might break.
*»Were so glad youre back!»* her manager said, hugging her.
Katy smiled. Properly. For the first time in forever.
Work became her lifeline. It drowned out the pain, the hollow ache, the memory of loving a man whod left in her darkest hour.
At night, she wrote in her journal. Not complaintsjust facts:
*»Today, I walked three blocks without coughing.
Today, I ate a whole apple.
Today, I didnt think of him.»*
Autumn came. Leaves fell. Katy bought a new coatdeep red, the colour of life, not sickness.
She started yoga. Then photography classes. Saturdays at the library.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was hers.
One evening, she saw a stained-glass horse in a shop window. Small, delicate.
She stopped.
As a kid, shed dreamed of horses. A white mare with a mane like clouds. Her parents had laughed: *»Weve got a garden, not a ranch!»* But one day, her dad brought home a wooden carvingrough, but with kind eyes.
She bought the glass horse.
*»Its a symbol,»* the shopkeeper said. *»Freedom. Strength. Survival.»*
*»I know,»* Katy smiled.
Winter.
Paul called in December.
*»Katy can we talk?»*
She didnt answer.
*»I I didnt know it was that serious. Thought it was just a cold. Then I was ashamed. Didnt know how to come back.»*
She watched the snow outside.
*»You didnt come back, Paul. You disappeared. When I needed you mostyou werent there.»*
*»I know. Im sorry.»*
*»Sorry isnt something I can just give you. Its something you earn. And you didnt even try.»*
Silence.
*»I miss you,»* he whispered.
*»I dont,»* she said. *»I missed who you couldve been. But you werent him.»*
She hung up.
Her heart didnt ache. Not even a little.
Spring.
Katy sold the old furniture. Bought new. Adopted a black cat with green eyes. Named her Blossom.
She started writing storiesabout illness, horses, women learning to breathe again.
Her mum visited every weekend. They drank tea, laughed, watched old films.
*»Youre glowing,»* her mum said once.
*»Am I?»*
*»Yes. Like someone lit a lamp inside you.»*
Katy smiled.
*»Maybe because Im not afraid of the dark anymore.»*
Summer.
She went to the countrysidea childhood friends farm. Fields, a river, a stable.
On the first day, she approached a chestnut horse with warm breath and soft eyes.
*»Can I?»* she asked the stable hand.
*»Go on,»* he said. *»Dont be scared.»*
She climbed into the saddle. The horse moved. Wind in her face, grass underfoot, sky overhead.
Katy closed her eyes.
And for the first time in forever, she didnt just feel aliveshe felt free.
Epilogue.
A year passed.
Katy didnt think about Paul. No hatred, no longingjust nothing. He was a chapter. Painful, dark, but done.
She wasnt looking for love. But she wasnt afraid of it either.
She was living.
And that, more than anything, was her victory.
*»Sometimes people leave not because youre unworthy of love.
But because they dont know how to stay when it matters.
And then you learn to stay for yourself.
And thats enough. And then the world began to feel light again.
She walked barefoot on the beach one evening, the sea whispering at her feet.
The sky melted into gold and violet, and she took a deep breathfull, easy, unafraid.
A dog ran past, chasing a ball, and she laughed, surprising herself.
She wasnt waiting anymore.
Not for apologies. Not for returns.
She was here.
And that was everything.
