Paul never came back. His things were gone. The wardrobe held only empty hangers. On the bedside tablea note scribbled on a scrap of paper: *Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
When Katy fell ill, the world didnt collapseit just stopped breathing.
First came the weakness, the dull ache in her limbs, then the fever that no pills or injections could touch. Then the pain in her chest, like someone had driven a red-hot rod through her and slowly twisted it. She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a duvet, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it. *Is this 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 at her, asked:
«Lying down again? The dishes arent done. The place is a mess.»
«Yes,» she whispered. «I cant get up.»
He sighed as if it were her faultbeing sick, lying there, disrupting his evening.
«Well, stay there, then. Im having a shower.»
He didnt come closer. Didnt hold her.
She said nothing. She didnt even have the strength to be angry.
The next day, they took her to the hospital. The diagnosis was grim: bilateral pneumonia, complicated by a viral infection, with signs of an autoimmune response. The doctors spoke quickly, clinically, without emotionbut in their eyes, Katy saw it: *This could end badly.*
She asked the nurse for her phone to call Paul.
The nurse handed it over. Katy dialled. He didnt answer.
She tried again an hour later. Then again. And again.
On the fourth attempt, he picked up. His voice was indifferent, as if shed woken him from something important.
«What?»
«Paul Im in hospital. Its serious. I need»
She didnt finish. He cut her off.
«Im at work, Katy. Not now.»
«But Im scared»
«Youre a grown woman. The doctors are there. What do you want, me to drop everything and run to you?»
She fell silent. A lump rose in her throat.
«Alright,» she said quietly. «Sorry to bother you.»
He didnt reply. Just hung up.
Third day in hospital.
Katy lay with an 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 ventilation.
She called Paul again. Ringing. Ringing.
Then her roommate spoke.
«Stop calling him. Hes gone. Left the 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, fragile, the thread that had tied them together for years.
She didnt cry. She didnt even have the strength for that.
On the seventh day, her mother arrived.
She burst into the ward with bags, a thermos, and a look that said shed tear the hospital down if anyone so much as glanced at her daughter wrong.
«That absolute coward!» she hissed, seeing Katy. «How could he?!»
Katy tried to smile, but it was weak.
«Mum»
«Hush, hush. Im here now.»
Her mother stayed. Slept on the fold-out chair by the bed, brought homemade soups, argued with the nurses if she thought something wasnt right.
«Youre not alone,» she murmured every morning. «Youre not alone, love.»
And for the first time in a long time, Katy believed it.
Discharge.
Three weeks later, they let her go. Weak, thin, dark circles under her eyesbut alive.
At home, everything was as shed left it. Dust on the shelves, the stale smell of neglect. Dirty dishes in the sink. Paul hadnt returned. His things were gone. The wardrobeempty hangers. On the bedside table, the same scrap of paper:
*Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
Katy stared at the words for a long time. Then crumpled the note and threw it away.
Her mother helped her clean the flat, wash the windows, air out the rooms.
«Fresh start,» she said.
Katy nodded.
The first month after.
She could barely walk. Breathing was a struggle. But every day, she took ten more steps than the last. Then twenty. Then she made it to the balcony. Then the street.
Work called. Asked when shed be back.
«Soon,» she replied.
Though she didnt know if she ever would be.
Return.
Six weeks later, she stepped into the office. Her colleagues looked at her cautiously, like she was fine china they might shatter.
«Were so happy to see you!» her boss said, hugging her.
Katy smiled. For the first time in monthsa real one.
Work became her lifeline. It drowned out the pain, the hollowness in her chest, the memory of loving a man whod left her in her darkest hour.
Evenings, she wrote in her journal. Not complaintsjust facts:
*Today, I walked three blocks without getting breathless.
Today, I ate a whole apple.
Today, I didnt think about him.*
Autumn.
Leaves fell. Katy bought herself a new coatdeep burgundy. The colour of life, not sickness.
She started yoga. Then photography classes. Saturdays, she went to the library.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was hers.
One evening, passing a shop window, she saw a small stained-glass horsedelicate, coloured glass.
She stopped.
As a child, shed dreamed of horses. A white mare with a mane like clouds. Her parents had laughed. «Weve got a back garden, not a ranch!» But once, her dad had brought her a wooden carvingrough, but with kind eyes.
Katy went in and 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 realise it was that bad. Thought you just had a cold. Then then I was ashamed. Didnt know how to come back.»
She watched the snow through the window.
«You didnt come back, Paul. You vanished. When I needed you mostyou werent there.»
«I know. Im sorry.»
«Sorry isnt something you just get. You earn it. And you didnt even try.»
Silence.
«I miss you,» he whispered.
«I dont,» she said. «I missed the man 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 Willow.
She started writing storiesabout sickness, about horses, about women learning to breathe again.
Her mother visited every weekend. They drank tea, laughed, watched old films.
«Youre glowing,» her mum said once.
«Am I?»
«Yes. Like someones lit a light inside you.»
Katy smiled.
«Maybe because Im not afraid of the dark anymore.»
Summer.
She went to the countrysideto an old friends farm. Fields, a river, a stable.
On the first day, she approached a chestnut mare with warm breath and soft eyes.
«Can I?» she asked the stable hand.
«Go on,» he said. «Just 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 years, she didnt just feel aliveshe felt free.
Epilogue.
A year passed.
Katy didnt think of Paul. No hatred, no longingjust absence. He was a chapter. Painful, dark, but over.
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 counts.
And then you learn to stay for yourself.
And thatis enough.*
