Chapter 1Fever Broke and So Did We

After a brutal day at work, I dragged my exhausted, soaking-wet body home through a torrential downpour. My fever had spiked to 102, leaving me too weak to even think about making dinner.

Mason, who had told me he’d be out late at a business dinner, suddenly rushed through the front door.

He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, pulled out the Tylenol, and without even looking up at me, said, "Sadie caught a cold in the rain today. Make her some warm chicken broth. I’m heading over to drop off the medicine, and I’ll take the soup to her."

Right then, my phone buzzed. A viral post on my feed caught my eye: At what exact moment did you realize they didn’t love you anymore?

I glanced at Mason’s hurried back, then typed a reply in the comments:

Right now. But luckily, I don't love him anymore either.

* * *

My comment instantly drew a flurry of replies. Everyone was asking why.

Mason didn't notice how flushed my face was, or how miserably I was shivering on the sofa. He went into the bedroom, grabbed a fresh change of clothes, and called out, "She can't take care of herself when she's sick. I won't be back tonight."

"Once you finish the broth, make sure to lock the windows and doors. Get some rest."

My fever-addled brain felt like a crashed, obsolete computer, taking several seconds to process his words.

"I don't feel well," I croaked. "If you want something for her, make it yourself."

Each breath felt like fire scraping against my lungs. I was burning up, but I forced my eyes open, trying to find the strength to stand, find my own medicine, and go to bed.

Mason turned, giving me a cold, dismissive look.

"Sadie’s sick, and now suddenly you're sick too?" he scoffed. "Norah, you really will say anything to get my attention, won't you?"

That morning, I’d had a critical client presentation. I hadn’t had time to clear the kitchen and had asked him to help out. He’d sat at the dining table, barely glancing at me, and said with cool indifference, "You know I hate being in the kitchen. Just because we have nothing in common lately, you don't need to pick fights to get my attention."

I’d stood there, stunned for a few seconds, but with no time to argue, I’d rushed out the door.

I’d assumed that no matter how annoyed he was, he’d at least handle that small chore.

But when I walked in tonight, those same dirty dishes were still sitting in the sink, soaking in greasy water. The laundry basket was overflowing, untouched. Even the bag of trash I’d forgotten to take out in my rush was still sitting quietly in the corner of the entryway.

Normally, I would have lost my temper. We would have had a screaming match.

But tonight, I didn't have the strength. And honestly, I no longer cared enough to try.

"Norah, why are you sitting there acting so brooding?" Mason grumbled, his irritation mounting. "You come home and you can't even clean up the place? Go look at other people's girlfriends. Who else is as lazy as you? Asking you to make a simple broth is like asking for your kidney."

His words felt like a serrated blade slicing into the deepest, most vulnerable part of my chest. It physically hurt to breathe.

"Mason, I told you, I'm actually—"

Before I could finish, his phone rang. He didn't look at me again. He turned his back to me to answer it, and Sadie's bright, slightly congested voice echoed into the room.

"Hey, Boss! I finally picked out the car I want. The dealer said if I'm serious, I can pick it up tomorrow... cough, cough..."

"I get it. Stop talking," Mason’s voice softened instantly, thick with concern. "Don't worry about anything while you're sick. Just tell my assistant which model you want, and I'll have him handle the paperwork."

He grabbed the entire first-aid kit from the shelf, not even bothering to look inside for what he actually needed, and headed for the door.

"Mason..."

My throat was so dry, so raw. Every word felt like glass tearing at my vocal cords, and hot tears spilled over my cheeks. "Leave... leave me some medicine."

He paused at the door, his hand on the knob.

"Norah, stop acting out," he said without turning around. "Sadie has a hundred and point four fever. If she doesn't get medicine right now, it could turn into something serious. You can't take responsibility for that."

The door clicked shut behind him.

He left, completely unaware of the comment I had just posted under that viral thread:

Because when I came home soaking wet, burning up with a 102-degree fever, he took all his warmth and all the medicine to go care for another woman.

In that single second, I realized that loving or not loving... it doesn't even matter anymore.