Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

With every word Nathan said, my face burned hotter, humiliation rising. He had lives in his hands—literally. I knew that. But why did his colleague’s fear matter more than mine? Was my near-death terror less real, less important?

"She’s afraid of surgery. I was on a plane that almost crashed—I was afraid too. I threw up, Nathan. I wrote a will," I muttered, voice shaking. "You can comfort her, take time for her. Why won’t you comfort me?"

Nathan sighed, exasperated, and pulled me into a stiff embrace, like he was soothing a child. "Alright, don’t cry. I’ll comfort you now, okay? There, there. After this busy stretch, after the conference, I’ll take you somewhere to relax. Maybe Napa Valley."

After four years, I knew this routine by heart. "Once I finish residency, we’ll go on vacation." "After my fellowship, we’ll spend more time together." "After the boards, we’ll go to Hawaii…" But there was always something new. A new paper, a new responsibility, a new reason to wait.

I’d always told myself it was enough that he intended to try, that the thought counted. But were empty promises really necessary? Or were they just pretty lies?

I couldn’t even blame him—he was a doctor, saving lives. Who was I to compete with that?

Eventually, I escaped to the bathroom, dignity in tatters. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, but I was suddenly exhausted. I washed up and collapsed into bed, still in my travel clothes.

Sleep came fast but was restless. In my dreams, I was back on that plane, oxygen masks swinging like hanged men. I woke in a sweat, throat raw, heart pounding. Nathan slept peacefully beside me. I grabbed my phone, desperate for distraction—Candy Crush, Instagram, anything. But I found myself scrolling through our WhatsApp thread.

Even in our long-distance relationship, the chat logs were mostly me. Photos, memes, long stories—me trying to fill the silence. Nathan’s replies were sparse: "Mm, I know." "Okay." "Busy." "You decide." I’d gotten used to it, telling myself I didn’t need his response to every detail. But when I needed him most, he still wasn’t there.

I almost woke him to ask if he even loved me anymore. But I remembered the surgery he’d mentioned, and let it go. I drifted in and out of sleep, replaying every moment of our relationship.

When morning came, Nathan was gone—his side of the bed cold. I FaceTimed my parents, telling them I’d hit turbulence, but played it off as no big deal. With Emma, my best friend, I told the whole story, maybe even embellishing a little. She listened, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, that freaks me out. I’m getting secondhand trauma just hearing it. I’m never flying again—maybe I’ll just drive to Florida instead. Babe, you should take fewer flights too. This long-distance thing is killing you."

I laughed it off, but her words stuck with me. Then, a cold realization hit.