Chapter 2: The Comfort I Needed Most

The man I’d been longing for was finally right in front of me, but I felt lonelier than ever—like I was standing on the frozen surface of Lake Michigan in January. I sank into Nathan’s sofa, the city lights glittering outside, my phone’s glow the only warmth in the room.

I opened my notes app, rereading the lines I’d written mid-panic, my fingers still trembling so badly I could barely type: "Dear Mom and Dad, I love you. If there’s a next life, I’ll come back to repay your kindness. Tell Dad I’m sorry I never learned to change my own oil like he wanted." "Dear Nathan, I love you. If I survive this time, let’s get married. Let’s not wait anymore."

I’d been about to write more, about how I thought of him in what I believed were my final moments. This note could have been my last words to anyone. But Nathan had shut me down so easily, like flipping the channel. Because he needed to read research papers on minimally invasive cardiac procedures.

Sure, his work was important, maybe even life-saving. But did it have to be tonight? Couldn’t it wait a few hours? I didn’t believe he couldn’t see how rattled I was—my hands still trembling. As a doctor, he could comfort patients with a few gentle words, but for me? Nothing. Was he truly oblivious, or did he just not care enough to bother?

I knew the stats—flying was safer than driving, and I was physically unharmed. But I was still scared, still shaken to my core. I didn’t need Dr. Pierce; I needed Nathan, my boyfriend. When I thought I might die, what I couldn’t bear to leave behind was him. Didn’t I deserve a few words of comfort? Was that so much to ask?

Nathan could calm screaming patients, but he couldn’t manage a hug, a kind word, a cup of tea for me? I was so easy to comfort—why couldn’t he try? With that frustration burning, I pushed open his study door, ready to demand he say something—anything—human.

Instead, Nathan was on the phone, his voice softer than I’d heard in months. A woman’s voice—clear, sweet, and trembling—came through the speaker: "Dr. Pierce, I’m scared. What if I mess up?"

Nathan replied, "Don’t be afraid, Sophia. I’m here. We’ll go through the procedure together. Don’t be afraid. I’m here."

The words I needed most from him were the ones he saved for someone else.

My chest tightened, breath coming fast, ears ringing. I rushed over and snatched the phone, my voice shrill. "Who are you telling not to be afraid? Who’s Sophia?"

Nathan didn’t even look up from his tablet. "It’s not a big deal." He stepped back, hung up, and looked at me with those clinical, calm eyes.

Tears streamed down my face. "Why are you telling her what you couldn’t say to me?"

Nathan rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "Rachel, don’t make a scene. You’re being irrational. I have a complex surgery next week—a triple bypass. My partner’s new, first time as primary assist. She’s been crying all night, calling everyone. As the lead, it’s my job to calm her down. If she’s anxious and messes up, it’s the patient who suffers."