Chapter 89 Bonus Chapter 17: But She Wanted To

Chapter 89 Bonus Chapter 17: But She Wanted To
2009 · Winter
Dawn left the country.
Three years in Germany, working at a research institute where the hallways smelled of disinfectant, coffee, and old heating pipes. German winters were colder than Chicago winters, or at least they felt that way to her. Snow fell heavily and without drama, often burying the whole city under white by morning.
She lived in a small apartment near the institute. Every morning, she walked through snow to work. Every night, she walked through snow back home.
She thought distance could make her forget.
In a way, it did.
She forgot the exact shape of Nathan’s expression. Forgot the sound of his voice. Forgot the way he spoke, quiet and precise, as if every unnecessary word had been removed before it reached his mouth.
She forgot how focused he looked while writing notes in the library.
Forgot the softness in his voice by the Detroit River when he said, But she wanted to.
Forgot the stubbornness in his face as he dialed the same number again and again from a hospital bed.
But she did not forget the feeling.
That feeling was a splinter lodged under skin. If she left it alone, she could pretend it was gone. Touch it, and the pain shot straight through her.
In Germany, she dated other men.
A German engineer who planned vacations six months in advance.
A French artist who smelled like turpentine and expensive cigarettes.
A Swiss banker who remembered her coffee order by the second date and made excellent dinner reservations.
They were all good men. Smart. Attractive. Stable in the ways people were supposed to be stable.
None of them were Nathan.
Eventually, Dawn admitted the truth.
It was not Nathan she could not let go of.
It was the way he loved.
That total devotion. That certainty of you or no one. That stubborn insistence that when one person was gone, the whole world stopped turning.
She had never seen that light in anyone else’s eyes.
Only in Nathan’s.
Only when he looked at Chloe.
Dawn wanted that light.
But it would never shine for her.
Never.
Three years later, she came back.
She told herself it was not because of Nathan.
It was work. A transfer. A better opportunity. A sensible professional decision with clean edges and no embarrassing emotional underbelly.
Then she heard Nathan had been injured, badly, with a serious head wound, and she nearly ran to the hospital.
He had lost so much weight.
There was no color in his face. His cheekbones stood out sharply. His eyes were sunken, his lips pale. He lay in the hospital bed with his eyes closed, thinner than she remembered, diminished in a way that made the room feel too large around him.
His hair had been cut short. White bandages wrapped around his head, layer after layer, like the remains of some ancient ritual no one had survived willingly.
Tubes ran from his arm. An IV bag hung beside the bed, clear liquid falling drop by drop.
Dawn stood in the doorway and looked at his face.
All at once, the back of her nose burned.
She walked in and sat down slowly beside the bed. The mattress made a faint sound under the movement. She set her purse down and pulled the chair a little closer to him.
His eyes opened.
When he saw her, he looked faintly surprised.
“Dawn?”
“Yeah.” She forced a small smile. “I’m back.”
“Weren’t you in Germany?”
“Work transfer.”
Nathan gave a slight nod and said nothing else.
The room settled into quiet. Only the heart monitor beeped softly, keeping time with the occasional sound of cars passing outside. Sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtains and drew a thin gold line across the bedsheet.
Dawn peeled an apple for him.
She did it carefully. The skin came off in one long, thin spiral, curling over her hand without breaking. She cut the apple into small pieces, arranged them on a plate, and handed it to him.
“Eat something.”
“Thank you.”
He ate a few pieces, then stopped.
The plate sat on the nightstand. The apple slowly oxidized in the air, its clean white edges turning pale brown.
Dawn sat there with nothing to say.
Outside, the clouds shifted. The sunlight brightened, dimmed, brightened again, as if someone were turning the knob on a lamp.
After a long time, she said softly, “Nathan, I still like you.”
Nathan did not look at her.
His gaze stayed on the window, though she could not tell what he was looking at. Maybe the clouds. Maybe the roof of the building across the street. Maybe nothing at all.
“You know the answer.”
“I know.” Dawn lowered her head. “I just… wanted to say it.”
The room stayed quiet for so long she could hear her own heartbeat.
It tangled with the monitor’s steady beep, two rhythms refusing to become one.
Finally, Dawn stood and picked up her purse.
“I’ll go. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
She had almost reached the door when Nathan spoke behind her.
“Don’t come.”
Dawn’s hand stopped on the doorknob.
The metal was cold beneath her fingers.
“I’ve already given you my answer,” he said. “Coming again won’t change anything.”
Dawn stood with her back to him.
She could feel his gaze on her.
Not gentle.
Not cruel.
Calm.
Like a man who had made a decision and would not look back.
Her eyes reddened.
Her voice did not shake.
“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”
She opened the door and walked out.
The corridor stretched ahead of her, long and too bright under the fluorescent lights. Her heels struck the floor with crisp, lonely sounds, each step carrying her farther away from his room.
She did not look back.
Because she knew she would come again.
Even though he had told her not to.
She would come anyway.
Because she could not stop herself.
Because, in the end, they were the same kind of person.
They were simply waiting for different people.