Chapter 4

The next morning, Brianna called, her voice bubbling with excitement. "They're letting me out today! Can you believe it? Can you come get me?"

Dock was in the shower, the hot water doing little to soothe the pounding in his head. "Today? I thought you said next week."

"Dr. Wilson said I'm doing so well, there's no reason to keep me. I'm free!"

He leaned his head against the cool tile. He wasn't ready. The house was still... hers. Her ghost was in every room.

"Dock? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I have patients this morning. I can be there around noon."

"Perfect! I'll be all packed and ready. Our new life starts today!"

He hung up, a wave of nausea rolling through him. His head throbbed. He stumbled out of the shower and into the master bathroom, fumbling through the medicine cabinet for the stomach pills Gladys always kept stocked for his stress-induced gastritis. The bottle was empty.

He cursed under his breath. Of course. He was about to slam the cabinet door when he saw it. A new, unopened bottle tucked in the back. And next to it, a small, yellow sticky note.

'You're almost out. Bought you a new one. Remember to take it with food! -G'

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bottle. The note was from last week. She was always one step ahead, always taking care of him, even when he barely noticed. He dry-swallowed two pills, the simple act of her foresight a sudden, sharp pang in his chest.

He got dressed, the silence of the apartment pressing in on him. He decided to call her. Just to see where she was. To tell her to come get the rest of her things. It was a practical call, he told himself.

The phone rang once, twice, then went straight to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Gladys. Please leave a message." Her voice was warm and cheerful, a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation. He hung up without leaving a message.

He arrived at the hospital at noon, plastering a smile on his face as he walked into Brianna' s room. She was practically vibrating with energy, dressed in jeans and a bright pink sweater, a stark difference from the pale, fragile girl she had been for so long.

"You're here!" She threw her arms around his neck.

"Let's get you home," he said, gently prying her off him and taking her bags. He was careful with her, guiding her through the hospital corridors, his hand on the small of her back, shielding her from the bustling crowds.

"I can't believe I'm walking out of here," she said, taking a deep breath of the outside air. "It smells like freedom."

He settled her into the car, making sure her seatbelt was secure. She chattered the whole way home, talking about redecorating the apartment, the places they would travel, the life they would finally have. He just nodded, his own apartment feeling less like a home and more like a stage for a play he was no longer sure he wanted to be in.

They decided to go out for a celebratory lunch. A fancy place downtown that Gladys had always wanted to try, but he' d always said was too expensive.

They were seated at a quiet corner table. He ordered for her, making sure everything was compliant with her post-transplant diet. She picked at her food, her fork scraping against the plate.

"This fish is a little dry," she complained with a pout.

"It's good for you," he said, his patience wearing thin.

"I know, I know," she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just so happy."

He was about to respond when a sharp voice cut through the restaurant's quiet murmur.

"You son of a bitch."