Paul never came back. His belongings were gone. The wardrobe held empty hangers. On the bedside table was a note scribbled on a scrap of paper: *Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
When Katy fell ill, the world didnt endit just stopped breathing.
First came the exhaustion, the dull ache in her limbs, then the fever that no pills or injections could break. Soon, a sharp pain settled in her chest, as if someone had plunged a red-hot iron into her and twisted it slowly. She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it. *Just the flu? Or something worse?*
That evening, Paul came home late. He shrugged off his coat, tossed his keys onto the dresser, and without so much as a glance in her direction, asked, «Still lying there? The dishes arent done. The place is a mess.»
«Yes,» she whispered. «I cant get up.»
He sighed, as if her illness were an inconveniencea personal affront to his evening.
«Fine. Stay there. Im having a shower.»
He didnt touch her. Didnt hold her.
She stayed silent. She didnt even have the strength to resent him.
The next day, she was admitted to hospital. The diagnosis was grim: bilateral pneumonia, complicated by a viral infection, with suspicion of an autoimmune component. The doctors spoke quickly, clinically, without emotionbut in their eyes, Katy read the unspoken truth: *This could end badly.*
She asked the nurse for her phone to call Paul.
The nurse brought it. Katy dialed. He didnt answer.
She tried again an hour later. Then again. And again.
On the fourth attempt, he picked up. His voice was flat, as if shed woken him from something more important than her suffering.
«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 do you wantme to drop everything and run to you?»
She fell silent. A lump rose in her throat.
«Alright,» she said softly. «Sorry to bother you.»
He didnt reply. Just hung up.
Day three in hospital.
Katy lay with an IV in her arm, staring out the window. Grey sky, wet pavement, lone figures in raincoats. The ward was quietjust the ticking of a clock and the hum of the ventilation.
She called Paul again. Ringing. Still ringing.
Then her wardmate said, «Dont call him. Hes gone. Left his keys with me.»
«Gone? Where?»
«Didnt say. Just packed his things and left.»
Katy closed her eyes. Something inside her snapped. Not her heartsomething invisible, delicate, the thread that had tied her to him for years.
She didnt cry. She didnt have the strength for that.
Day seven. Her mother arrived.
She burst into the ward with bags, parcels, and a look that said shed tear the hospital down if anyone dared hurt her daughter.
«That wretched man!» she exclaimed when she saw Katy. «How could he?»
Katy tried to smile. It wavered.
«Mum»
«Shh. Im here. Youre not alone now.»
Her mother stayed. Slept on the fold-out chair, brought homemade broth in a thermos, argued with doctors for better treatment.
«Youre not alone,» she repeated every morning. «Youre not alone, Katy.»
For the first time in a long while, Katy believed it.
Discharge.
Three weeks later, she was sent home. Weak, thin, shadows under her eyesbut alive.
The flat was as shed left it. Dust on the shelves, the stale smell of neglect. Dirty dishes. Paul never returned. His things were gone. The wardrobeempty hangers. The note still on the bedside table:
*Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
Katy stared at the words for a long time. Then crumpled the paper and threw it away.
Her mother helped her clean, open windows, air out the rooms.
«Fresh start,» she said.
Katy nodded.
The first month after.
She could barely walk. Breathing was labor. But every day, she took ten more steps than the last. Then twenty. Then the balcony. Then the garden.
Work called. Asked when shed return.
«Soon,» she answered.
Though she didnt know if she ever would.
Return.
Six weeks later, she walked into the office. Colleagues looked at her carefullylike a fragile vase they might shatter by accident.
«Were so glad youre back!» her manager said, hugging her.
Katy smiled. For the first time in monthsgenuinely.
Work became her lifeline. It drowned the pain, the hollowness in her chest, the love shed once felt for a man who left her in her darkest hour.
Evenings, she wrote in a journal. Not complaintsjust facts:
*Walked three blocks without losing breath today.
Ate a whole apple.
Didnt think of him.*
Autumn.
Leaves fell. Katy bought a new coatdeep red, the colour of life, not sickness.
She took up yoga. Then photography classes. Saturdays, the library.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was hers.
One evening, passing a shop window, she saw a small stained-glass horsevibrant, delicate.
She stopped.
As a child, shed dreamed of horses. A white mare with a cloud for a mane. Her parents had laughed. *Weve a garden, not a ranch!* But once, her father brought home a wooden carvingrough, but with kind eyes.
Katy 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?»
Silence.
«I I didnt know it was that serious. Thought you just had a cold. Then then I felt ashamed. Didnt know how to come back.»
She looked out the window. Snow. Streetlamps. Silence.
«You didnt come back, Paul. You vanished. When I needed you mostyou werent there.»
«I know. Im sorry.»
«Forgiveness isnt something I can just give. Its something you earn. And you didnt even try.»
A pause.
«I miss you,» he whispered.
«I dont,» she said. «I missed who you couldve been. But you werent that person.»
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 writingabout illness, about horses, about women learning to breathe again.
Her mother visited weekends. They drank tea, laughed, watched old films.
«Youre glowing,» her mother said once.
«Am I?»
«Yes. Like someone lit a light inside you.»
Katy smiled.
«Maybe because Im not afraid of the dark anymore.»
Summer.
She visited the countrysidean old childhood friend. Fields, a river, a stable.
The first day, she approached a chestnut horse with warm breath and soft eyes.
«May I?» she asked the stablehand.
«Go on,» he said. «Just dont be afraid.»
She climbed into the saddle. The horse moved. Wind in her face, grass underfoot, sky overhead. Katy closed her eyes.
For the first time in years, she didnt just feel aliveshe felt free.
Epilogue.
A year passed.
Katy no longer thought of Paul. No hatred, no longingjust silence. He was a chapter. Painful, dark, but closed.
She wasnt looking for love. But she wasnt afraid of it, either.
She lived.
And that, in itself, was victory.
*Sometimes people leave not because youre unworthy of love,
but because they dont know how to stay when it matters.
And so you learn to stay for yourself.
And thatis enough.*
