After a long day at the hospital, Zane trudged home and collapsed onto the sofa.
He’d been in surgery all day, and his temples throbbed
a familiar migraine. For
a
fleeting moment, he missed the gentle
press of Clara’s fingers.
“Clara?” he called out. No answer.
Only silence responded. Zane sat up.
He switched on the light and saw the dining table was bare. Normally, Clara would have dinner waiting for him when he got
home.
Zane pulled out his phone to call her, but it went straight to a cold, automated message: the phone was off.
It was only then that he realized Clara hadn’t been home for three days.
Zane frowned, and found himself thinking back on his relationship with Clara.
It was mostly Clara talking, with him rarely responding.
When he did, it was usually a curt, “I’m busy.”
The last message was from Clara, a week ago: [Dinner’s in the fridge. Remember to heat it up.]
He hadn’t replied.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly spent any quality time together.
Zane started to think back on his relationship with Clara.
He’d met her when she was just starting her first novel, and he was a resident. Hailey had been her “assistant,” though in
reality, she mostly just fetched coffee and complained about deadlines.
Clara could spend twelve hours straight at her desk, wrestling with a single chapter until it was perfect, her focus absolute.
She saw writing as a craft, a discipline.
But when an editor’s feedback was harsh or a beta reader was critical, it was always Hailey who would come to him, crying. ”
The criticism is just destroying her, Zane,” she’d sob, even though Clara was already calmly working on the revisions.
At the time, he’d seen Clara’s resilience as coldness, a lack of passion. He’d been drawn to Hailey’s dramatic empathy, her perceived sensitivity. It sparked a protective instinct in him.
But Clara never broke. Not in front of me, anyway. No matter how demanding the agent or how brutal the review, she’d just
calmly analyze the feedback and start revising.
Back then, Zane thought Clara was too detached, while Hailey seemed more human, more vulnerable.
Now, looking back, he saw it for what it was. Clara wasn’t cold; she was a professional. And Hailey’s tears? They were just another story she was writing.
Zane tossed his phone aside and closed his eyes.
She’d probably be back in a few days. This was her home, after all.
He vaguely remembered Clara mentioning her mom was involved in a major research project. Maybe she’d gone to see her?
