Page 54 of Leon

Closing her bedroom door, she picked up her phone and sat on the edge of the bed, the device digging into her palm.

Taking several deep breaths, she pressed his number. He answered immediately, as if expecting her call. Of course he had been.

"How did he take it?"

"Not well."

"We expected that." She closed her eyes as his deep voice screamed over her ragged nerves. "He'll get over it."

"No." She shook her head wildly, the tears starting again. "He had a heart attack."

"What? Is he in the hospital?"

"No." She gripped the edge of the bed and felt her body start to tremble. "He took his pills and seems to be okay. He's sleeping. I'm going to have to check on him through the night."

"Call the doctor."

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"He's sleeping now."

"You said he had a heart attack. As far as I know, you're not a goddamned doctor. You don't need to be dealing with this."

There was silence for a few minutes that stretched her already worn nerves.

"What does this mean, Kadian?"

"I need more time—"

"How much more?"

"I don't know. Until he's stronger—"

"Ballpark it for me." His voice had turned ominous and distant.

"A few more months. I—"

"Take it. Take a year, several as a matter of fact. Take all the time you need. I'm finished."

She went still. It was as if everything inside her had gone to stone. Her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, and then it was roaring inside her ears and drowning out everything else.

"What?" she asked faintly, the sweat popping up on her forehead. She felt hot, then cold.

"I cannot do this anymore. I think we should get a divorce."

"I have to go." Hanging up the phone, she flung it from her and just made it to the bathroom on time. As soon as she slid to the floor and hung her head over the bowl, she was violently sick. By the time she was finished, her sweater was soaked to the skin, and her body was trembling. Propping herself up againstthe tiles, she closed her eyes and willed the queasiness inside her stomach to settle.

She was too weak to get up and just wanted to curl on the tiled floor and die. She could not bear it. It was too much.

She felt as if she was being torn into two pieces and had no idea what to do.

She pressed her palms to the cold, hard floor, letting the chill seep upward in a feeble attempt to anchor herself. Tears gathered and spilled, unchecked and silent, merging with the sweat that matted her hair to her forehead. It was impossible to tell where grief began and exhaustion ended.

Somewhere beyond the closed door, the world continued its rhythm—traffic sighing, the indifferent ticking of the hallway clock. But in the tiny, tiled room, time was stuck. Every breath was an effort, every thought bent under the weight of things unsaid and the sudden, gaping absence of hope.

After a while, she forced herself up onto her knees, knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the sink. In the mirror, her reflection was unrecognizable: eyes rimmed red, lips pressedinto a trembling line, an unfamiliar resolve flickering in the depths of her gaze. She splashed water on her face, not to wash away the pain—nothing could—but to remind herself she was still here, still present, still capable of something, even if it was just surviving the next moment.

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