him. His wife.
She had seemed to admire his devotion to his work, until the day they married. Then she’d said he was too involved, that his lab took all his time and energy, leaving neither for her. They had argued. In the end, what she said had proved to be true—she wasn’t his passion. When she left, he barely noticed.
Her leaving hadn’t been more than a ripple in his life. He had his research and Linda. Always Linda. While there had never been anything romantic between them, she was the one constant he could count on. She was always there, looking after him, encouraging him, making sure he ate right and slept. She understood what the breakthroughs meant, how he got discouraged when there was no progress. She believed in him. He couldn’t imagine life without her.
He stiffened. No. That wasn’t possible. She was a convenience, like a coffeemaker, nothing more. Except…except…
He missed her. Missed the sound of her footsteps, her calm voice, the way she organized his desk, brought him lunch and listened while he talked about his work. She understood what he was trying to do and always had suggestions and encouragement.
He missed talking to her. He missed her quirky movie reviews, her attempts to be a vegetarian thatalways failed within twenty-four hours, the way they did Sudoku together over coffee.
Which meant what? That he had feelings for her? For Linda?
Abram considered the possibility and knew, while he might have great affection for her, what bothered him the most was losing her respect. Because she had always believed in him, he had been able to believe in himself, even through the dark times. He could probably recover from her leaving, but knowing she did so while thinking less of him was impossible to bear.
Fifteen minutes later he parked in front of her small house and hurried to the front door. He opened it without knocking, knowing she rarely locked it no matter how he lectured her on her personal safety.
He heard noises coming from the rear of the house and walked down the hall, only to stop in shock as he saw open boxes scattered around the room. Boxes she was filling with her belongings.
“You’re leaving me,” he said, his voice low and harsh.
She didn’t bother looking up as she emptied her dresser. “You were right. I should always remember to lock my front door. You never know who is going to break in.”
“Linda, no.”
She ignored him. After finishing with the dresser, she started on her nightstands. Item after item was tossed in the boxes.
When his wife had left him, he’d come home to an empty house and had barely noticed. She had been right—their marriage had been a mistake and he had never loved her. But Linda was different. Linda mattered.
He wanted to physically reach out and stop her. To unpack the boxes himself.
“You can’t leave,” he told her. “I need you.”
“Ask me if I care.”
He’d never seen her like this. Distant and cold. His chest tightened.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll open the lab, hire the scientists. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”
She straightened and stared at him. “Not good enough, Abram. You can’t do this for me. You have to do it for yourself—because you believe—and for the children, because they deserve a chance.”
“I’ll do it because it’s what I’m meant for,” he said slowly, praying the words were enough. “Because I’ve been blessed and because it’s both my responsibility and my passion.”
She stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. Disbelief thinned her mouth.
“Please,” he said, begging for the first time in his life. “Please.”
He took a step toward her and gently removed the T-shirt from her hand.
“We will find a cure,” he said. “For Cody. For the other children. Together. I will do it, Linda. Even ifyou leave, I will move forward with this work.” He meant the words, even if he wasn’t sure how he would work without her at his side. “But I’ll work
She had seemed to admire his devotion to his work, until the day they married. Then she’d said he was too involved, that his lab took all his time and energy, leaving neither for her. They had argued. In the end, what she said had proved to be true—she wasn’t his passion. When she left, he barely noticed.
Her leaving hadn’t been more than a ripple in his life. He had his research and Linda. Always Linda. While there had never been anything romantic between them, she was the one constant he could count on. She was always there, looking after him, encouraging him, making sure he ate right and slept. She understood what the breakthroughs meant, how he got discouraged when there was no progress. She believed in him. He couldn’t imagine life without her.
He stiffened. No. That wasn’t possible. She was a convenience, like a coffeemaker, nothing more. Except…except…
He missed her. Missed the sound of her footsteps, her calm voice, the way she organized his desk, brought him lunch and listened while he talked about his work. She understood what he was trying to do and always had suggestions and encouragement.
He missed talking to her. He missed her quirky movie reviews, her attempts to be a vegetarian thatalways failed within twenty-four hours, the way they did Sudoku together over coffee.
Which meant what? That he had feelings for her? For Linda?
Abram considered the possibility and knew, while he might have great affection for her, what bothered him the most was losing her respect. Because she had always believed in him, he had been able to believe in himself, even through the dark times. He could probably recover from her leaving, but knowing she did so while thinking less of him was impossible to bear.
Fifteen minutes later he parked in front of her small house and hurried to the front door. He opened it without knocking, knowing she rarely locked it no matter how he lectured her on her personal safety.
He heard noises coming from the rear of the house and walked down the hall, only to stop in shock as he saw open boxes scattered around the room. Boxes she was filling with her belongings.
“You’re leaving me,” he said, his voice low and harsh.
She didn’t bother looking up as she emptied her dresser. “You were right. I should always remember to lock my front door. You never know who is going to break in.”
“Linda, no.”
She ignored him. After finishing with the dresser, she started on her nightstands. Item after item was tossed in the boxes.
When his wife had left him, he’d come home to an empty house and had barely noticed. She had been right—their marriage had been a mistake and he had never loved her. But Linda was different. Linda mattered.
He wanted to physically reach out and stop her. To unpack the boxes himself.
“You can’t leave,” he told her. “I need you.”
“Ask me if I care.”
He’d never seen her like this. Distant and cold. His chest tightened.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll open the lab, hire the scientists. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”
She straightened and stared at him. “Not good enough, Abram. You can’t do this for me. You have to do it for yourself—because you believe—and for the children, because they deserve a chance.”
“I’ll do it because it’s what I’m meant for,” he said slowly, praying the words were enough. “Because I’ve been blessed and because it’s both my responsibility and my passion.”
She stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. Disbelief thinned her mouth.
“Please,” he said, begging for the first time in his life. “Please.”
He took a step toward her and gently removed the T-shirt from her hand.
“We will find a cure,” he said. “For Cody. For the other children. Together. I will do it, Linda. Even ifyou leave, I will move forward with this work.” He meant the words, even if he wasn’t sure how he would work without her at his side. “But I’ll work
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