on the lunch bag.
“Arnold.”
He swallowed.
“He’s leaving, Chelsea.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Leaving who?”
His expression changed instantly.
“No. Chelsea, no. I meant the hospital.”
Relief hit me so hard I had to grab the counter. Then confusion followed.
“What are you talking about?”
“He accepted another position.”
I waited.
“Where?”
“Oregon.”
The relief vanished.
“What job in Oregon?”
Arnold closed his eyes.
He had worked beside Ben for years. He’d eaten at our table often enough that I knew exactly what his silence meant.
“You’re crying because he’s leaving,” I said quietly.
He wiped his cheek.
“He’s my best friend, Chelsea. I thought you knew.”
Eleven Years of Sharing Ben With the Hospital
Ben and I had been married for eleven years, and I had spent every one of them sharing him with that hospital.
He was a gifted surgeon, and I was
