I Spent Ten Days In The ICU And My Fiancé Didn't Visit Once — When I Was Finally Discharged And Stepped Into Our Apartment, I Froze In The Doorway

Brandon was arrested on a Thursday.

I wasn't there when it happened.

Reyes called me while I was helping Lily with her homework at my mother's kitchen table — long division, which Lily found deeply unreasonable — and I stepped into the hallway to take it.

"The warrant was executed this morning," Reyes said.

"Brandon is in custody.

Marcus Teller signed a full cooperation agreement yesterday evening.

He's confirmed Brandon's involvement in planning the accident."

I leaned against the hallway wall.

"What are the charges?"

"Conspiracy to commit murder.

Solicitation.

Insurance fraud." A pause.

"There may be additional charges as the financial investigation develops.

His attorney is already filing motions, but the phone your sister brought in — the messages are solid.

Combined with Teller's statement, the DA is confident."

"Okay," I said.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." I thought about it.

"Yes, I think I actually am."

"There's one more thing.

Before the arrest, Brandon attempted to contact you.

We intercepted a voicemail he left on your phone this morning.

I need to play it for you, for the record.

Can you come in tomorrow?"

"I'll be there."

I went back to the kitchen.

Lily looked up from her worksheet.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"Someone from work," I said.

I sat back down across from her.

"Where were we?"

"Forty-seven divided by three." She pointed at the paper with her pencil.

"It doesn't come out even."

"That's okay.

Some things don't come out even.

You write the remainder."

She considered this with the gravity of someone encountering a fundamental injustice.

"That seems like a cheat."

"It's not a cheat.

It's just what's left over after you've done everything you can."

She wrote it down, unconvinced.

I listened to the voicemail the next morning, sitting across from Reyes in her office.

Brandon's voice was careful.

Controlled.

The voice of a man who knew, or suspected, that someone might be listening.

*Nicole.

I know things have been bad between us and I take responsibility for that.

I want you to know that whatever you've heard, whatever anyone has told you, I love you.

I have always loved you.

I think if we could just sit down and talk, without other people involved, we could work through this.

Please call me back.

Please.*

Reyes stopped the recording.

I sat with it for a moment.

"He loves me," I said.

"That's what he said."

"He loves me, and he told a man named Marcus Teller that the timing was good when a car h*t me in an intersection."

Reyes didn't respond to that.

She didn't need to.

I looked at the recorder on her desk.

"Is that everything you need from me today?"

"For now.

We'll need you available as the case moves forward.

There will likely be a preliminary hearing within the next few weeks."

"I'll be there." I stood and picked up my coat.

"Detective.

The person who tipped Brandon off — that he was being looked at.

Did you find out who it was?"

Reyes was quiet for a moment.

"That's an internal matter."

"I know.

I'm asking anyway."

She looked at me.

"It's being handled."

It wasn't the answer I wanted.

It was the only one she was going to give me.

I nodded and left.

Outside the precinct, the morning was cold and bright.

I stood on the steps for a moment and let the air move through me.

I thought about the last time I had stood outside in the open air before the accident — the ordinary Tuesday evening, the crosswalk, the light turning green.

The way I had stepped off the curb without thinking about it because why would I.

I thought about Lily doing long division at the kitchen table.

The remainder.

What's left over after you've done everything you can.

I went to my car.

I had a doctor's appointment at eleven — a follow-up on my ribs, a check on my lung.

Normal things.

The kind of appointment you keep because you are alive and intend to stay that way.

I drove across the city in the ordinary morning traffic, and I did not think about Brandon's voice on that recording, careful and controlled, saying *I love you* to a woman he had tried to have k*lled.

I thought about Lily.

I thought about my mother's kitchen.

I thought about yellow curtains that had never been changed.

I thought about what kind of apartment I wanted to find — something with a yard, maybe, or at least a good window.