**Diary Entry**
Paul didnt come back. His things were gone. The wardrobe was empty, just bare hangers. On the bedside table, a note scribbled on a scrap of paper: *Couldnt handle it. Sorry.*
When Katie fell ill, the world didnt collapseit just stopped breathing.
At first, it was fatigue and aching muscles. Then came the fever, stubborn against pills and injections. And then, the pain in her chestlike a hot iron rod twisting slowly inside. She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, 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 dresser, and without looking at her, asked:
*”Still lying about? The dishes arent done. The place is a mess.”*
*”Yes,”* she whispered. *”I cant get up.”*
He sighed, as if it were her faultbeing ill, lying there, ruining his evening.
*”Fine. Stay there, then. Im off for a shower.”*
No touch. No embrace.
She stayed silent. She didnt even have the energy to be hurt.
The next day, she was hospitalised. The diagnosis was grim: bilateral pneumonia, complicated by a viral infection, suspicion of an autoimmune component. The doctors spoke quickly, clinically, their eyes betraying what their voices wouldnt: *This might not end well.*
She asked a nurse for her phone to call Paul.
He didnt answer.
She tried again an hour later. And again. And again.
On the fourth attempt, he picked up. His voice was flat, as if shed woken him from something important.
*”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. A lump swelled in her throat.
*”Alright,”* she murmured. *”Sorry for bothering you.”*
He didnt reply. Just hung up.
**Day Three in Hospital**
Katie 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 ventilation.
She dialled Paul again. Ringing. Still ringing.
Then her ward mate spoke up:
*”Dont bother. Hes gone. Left his keys with me.”*
*”Gone? Where?”*
*”Didnt say. Just packed up 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.
**Day Seven**
Her mother arrived.
She burst into the ward with bags and a look that said shed tear the hospital down if anyone hurt her daughter.
*”That absolute coward!”* she hissed, seeing Katie. *”How could he?”*
Katie tried to smile. It came out weak.
*”Mum”*
*”Hush. Im here 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 whispered every morning. *”Youre not alone, Katie.”*
For the first time in ages, Katie believed it.
**Discharge**
Three weeks later, she was released. Weak, thinner, dark circles under her eyesbut alive.
At home, everything was as shed left it. Dust on the shelves, a stale smell. Dirty dishes in the sink. Paul hadnt returned. His things were gone. Just empty hangers. And on the bedside table, that same note:
*Couldnt handle it. Sorry.*
Katie stared at the words. Then crumpled the paper and threw it away.
Her mother helped her clean, wash the windows, air out the rooms.
*”Fresh start,”* she said.
Katie nodded.
**One Month Later**
She could barely walk. Breathing was hard. But each day, she managed ten more steps than the last. Then twenty. Then the balcony. Then the garden.
Work called. Asked when shed return.
*”Soon,”* she replied.
Though she didnt know if she ever would.
**Returning**
Six weeks later, she walked into the office. Colleagues glanced at her cautiouslylike she was a fragile vase they might shatter.
*”Were so glad youre back!”* her manager said, hugging her.
Katie smiled. For the first time in monthsa real one.
Work became her lifeline. It drowned out the pain, the emptiness, 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 losing breath.*
*Today, I ate a whole apple.*
*Today, I didnt think of him.*
**Autumn**
Leaves fell. Katie bought a new coatwarm, deep red. 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 horsecolourful, delicate.
She stopped.
As a child, shed dreamed of horses. A white mare with a cloud-like mane. Her parents had laughed: *”Weve got a garden, not a stable!”* But once, her father brought her a wooden figurinerough, but with kind eyes.
She 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 stayed silent.
*”I I didnt know it was that bad. Thought it was just a cold. Thenthen 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. Its something you earn. And you didnt even try.”*
He said nothing.
*”I miss you,”* he whispered.
*”I dont,”* she replied. *”I missed who you couldve been. But thats not who you are.”*
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 mother visited weekends. They drank tea, laughed, watched old films.
*”Youre glowing,”* her mother said once.
*”Am I?”*
*”Yes. Like someone lit a lamp inside you.”*
Katie smiled.
*”Maybe because Im not afraid of the dark anymore.”*
**Summer**
She went to the countrysideto a childhood friends. Fields, a river, a stable.
On the first day, she approached a chestnut horse with warm breath and soft eyes.
*”May 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 above.
Katie closed her eyes.
For the first time in so long, she didnt just feel aliveshe felt free.
**Epilogue**
A year passed.
Katie no longer thought of Paul. No hatred, no longingjust absence. He was a chapter. Painful, dark, but closed.
She wasnt looking for love. But she wasnt afraid of it, either.
She was living.
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 then you learn to stay for yourself.*
*And thatis enough.*
