Chapter 3

Dock drove away from the hospital, but he didn't go straight home. He found himself on the freeway, heading north, in the opposite direction of his apartment. He didn't know why. He just drove, the city lights blurring past him, his mind a strange blank.

The silence in the car was heavy. Gladys was always the one to fill the silence, chattering about her day at the hospital, some funny thing a patient said, or a new recipe she wanted to try. He'd usually just grunt in response, half-listening while his mind was on work or on Brianna. Now, the absence of her voice was a physical presence.

He finally exited the freeway and circled back, an unfamiliar feeling of dread settling in his stomach as he pulled into his garage. He got out of the car, half-expecting, half-hoping to see her car back in its spot. It wasn't.

He walked into the house. The cold roast chicken was still on the counter, now covered in plastic wrap. A single plate was set at the table. His plate.

A wave of irritation washed over him. This was so dramatic. She was trying to make a point, to make him feel bad. It was working, and that irritated him even more.

He saw the housekeeper, Maria, finishing up in the kitchen.

"Good evening, Dr. Patterson," she said, her eyes full of a sympathy he didn't want.

"Maria. Has... has Ms. Vazquez been back?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No, Doctor. She left last night. She took a small bag." Maria's gaze was knowing. She' d been with them for years. She' d seen everything.

"Right," he said, turning away. "Well, you're finished for the night. I'll lock up."

After she left, the silence descended again, thicker this time. He walked through the rooms. Everything was neat, tidy, exactly as Gladys always kept it. But it felt sterile, empty. Like a hotel room.

He couldn't stand it. He grabbed his keys and headed for O'Malley's.

Lee was already at the bar, a beer waiting for him. "There he is! The newly single man!" Lee clapped him on the back. "To freedom!"

Dock took a long pull from his beer, the cold liquid doing little to numb the knot in his gut.

"So she's really gone?" Lee asked, his tone more serious now.

"Looks like it," Dock said, shrugging. "She finally got the message."

"What message? That you've been playing her for three years?" Lee said it with a cynical laugh, but the words hung in the air.

"It wasn't like that," Dock snapped, more defensive than he intended.

"Sure, it wasn't," Lee said, raising his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm happy for you, man. You're finally done with the charade. Brianna's better, you can be with her. It's what you always wanted, right?"

"Right," Dock said, forcing the word out.

"I mean, Gladys was nice and all," Lee continued, oblivious to Dock's mood. "A little too nice, you know? Like, Stepford wife nice. Always cooking, always cleaning, always asking about your day. Must have been exhausting."

Dock flinched. He'd never thought of it that way. It was just... what Gladys did.

"She sent me the divorce papers," Dock said, changing the subject. He'd gotten the email from her lawyer that afternoon. It had felt surreal.

"Divorce? You weren't married," Lee said, confused.

"It's symbolic, I guess," Dock muttered. "Her way of making a statement."

"Well, good," Lee said, signaling the bartender for another round. "Sign them, send them back, and it's over. Clean break. You can focus on Brianna now. She's the one you love, right?"

"Of course," Dock said, his voice flat. He repeated it to himself, a mantra he'd been chanting for years. I love Brianna. I'm doing this for Brianna.

But for the first time, a sliver of doubt crept in. He thought of Gladys's face last night, the way the light had drained from her eyes when he' d told her the truth. He thought of her quiet strength, her unwavering loyalty, the way she'd held his hand for hours after his own father had died, not saying a word, just being there.

"You okay, man?" Lee asked, nudging him. "You look a million miles away."

"Just tired," Dock said, draining his second beer. "Long day."

They drank for hours, Lee talking about work, women, sports-all the usual bullshit. Dock just nodded along, his mind replaying the last 24 hours. Her face. The letter. The empty house.

When Lee finally clapped him on the shoulder to leave, it was well past midnight. "Seriously, man, congratulations. You're free. Don't screw it up."

Dock drove home, the alcohol making his head spin. He stumbled into the dark house, the silence screaming at him. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Gladys's contact. He wanted to call. To yell at her for being so dramatic. To ask her where she was. To hear her voice.

He stopped himself. No. This was what he wanted. Clean break.

He went into the bedroom and fell onto the bed, fully clothed. He rolled onto his side, facing the empty space next to him. A faint, sweet scent hung in the air. Her shampoo. Vanilla and something floral.

A strange, sharp ache pierced through the alcoholic haze. It wasn't just irritation anymore. It felt like loss. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the feeling away.

She'd be back. She had to be.