Paul didnt come back. His things were gone. The wardrobe held empty hangers. On the nightstand, a note scribbled on a scrap of paper: *Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
When Katie fell ill, the world didnt collapseit just stopped breathing.
First came the fatigue and the dull ache in her limbs, then the fever that wouldnt break, no matter how many pills she took. Then the pain in her chest, sharp and twisting, like someone had pressed a red-hot iron against her ribs and turned it slowly. She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a duvet, staring at the ceiling, wondering: *Is this just the flu? Or something worse?*
That evening, Paul came home late. He shrugged off his coat, tossed his keys onto 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 ill, being weak, ruining his evening.
Fine. Stay there. Im having a shower.
No hug. No comfort.
She stayed silent. She didnt even have the strength to be angry.
The next day, she was admitted to the hospital. The diagnosis hit like a punchbilateral pneumonia, complicated by a viral infection, possible autoimmune involvement. The doctors spoke fast, clinical, detachedbut in their eyes, Katie saw it: *This could go badly.*
She asked a nurse for her phone to call Paul.
The nurse brought it. Katie dialled. He didnt answer.
She tried again an hour later. Then again. And again.
On the fourth try, he picked up. His voice was flat, like shed dragged him out of some deep, important sleep.
What?
Paul Im in hospital. Its serious. I need
He cut her off.
Im at work, Katie. 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 went quiet. The lump in her throat felt solid.
Alright, she said softly. Sorry for bothering you.
He didnt reply. Just hung up.
Third day in hospital.
Katie lay with an IV in her arm, staring out the window. Grey sky, wet pavement, the odd passerby in a raincoat. The ward was silent except for the ticking clock and the hum of the ventilation.
She called Paul again. Ringing. Still ringing.
Then her ward mate turned to her and said, Stop calling. Hes gone. Left his keys with me.
Gone? Where?
Didnt say. Just packed his things and left.
Katie shut her eyes. Something inside her snapped. Not her heartsomething invisible, fragile, the thread that had tied her to him for years.
She didnt cry. She didnt even have the strength for that.
On the seventh day, her mum arrived.
She burst into the ward with bags and a look like shed tear the hospital down if anyone so much as glanced at her daughter wrong.
That absolute *cad*! she hissed, seeing Katie. How *could* he?
Katie tried to smile, but it barely held.
Mum
Hush. Im here now. Youre not alone.
Her mum stayed. Slept on the fold-out chair by the bed, brought homemade chicken broth in a thermos, argued with the doctors for the best meds, snapped at nurses if they didnt measure up.
Youre not alone, she repeated every morning. You hear me, Katie?
And for the first time in so long, Katie believed it.
Discharge.
Three weeks later, she was sent home. Weak, thinner, dark circles under her eyesbut alive.
The flat was exactly as shed left it. Just dust on the shelves and a stale smell. Dirty dishes. Paul hadnt come back. His things were gone. Empty hangers in the wardrobe. On the nightstand, the same note:
*Couldnt take it. Sorry.*
Katie stared at the words. Then crumpled the paper and threw it away.
Her mum helped her clean, wash the windows, air out the rooms.
Fresh start, she said.
Katie nodded.
First month after.
She could barely walk. Breathing still hurt. But every day, she managed ten more steps than the day before. Then twenty. Then the balcony. Then the street.
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. Her colleagues looked at her carefullylike she was a delicate vase they might shatter by accident.
Were so glad youre back! her manager said, hugging her.
Katie smiled. For the first time in months, it was real.
Work became her lifeline. She forgot the pain, the hollow ache in her chest, the man whod left her in the worst moment of her life.
In the 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. Katie bought herself a new coatdeep red, warm. The colour of life, not sickness.
She started yoga. Then a photography course. Saturdays at the library.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was hers.
One evening, walking home, she saw a small stained-glass horse figurine in a shop window.
She stopped.
As a kid, shed dreamed of horses. A snow-white mare with a mane like clouds. Her parents had laughed: Weve got a garden, not a ranch! But once, her dad had brought her a wooden carvingrough, but with kind eyes.
Katie went in and bought the glass horse.
Its a symbol, the shopkeeper said. Freedom. Strength. Survival.
I know, Katie smiled.
Winter.
Paul called in December.
Katie can we talk?
She said nothing.
I I didnt realise it was so bad. Thought it was just a cold. Then I was ashamed. Didnt know how to come back.
She looked out the window. Snow, lamplight, silence.
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.
He was quiet.
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.
Katie sold the old furniture, bought new. Adopted a black cat with green eyes. Named her Blossom.
She started writing storiesabout illness, about horses, about 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 switched a light on inside you.
Katie smiled.
Maybe because Im not afraid of the dark anymore.
Summer.
She went to the countrysideto an old childhood friend. 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.
Katie closed her eyes.
And for the first time in so long, she didnt just feel aliveshe felt free.
Epilogue.
A year passed.
Katie didnt think about Paul. No hate, 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 was her real victory.
*Sometimes people leave not because youre unworthy of love,
but because they dont know how to stay when it matters.
So you learn to stay for yourself.
And thatthats enough.*
