Silent Departure

Ever since I saw that unsent draft on his Moments in Julian Sterling’s phone, I had become a completely different person.

When he worked night shifts until dawn, there was no longer a light left on waiting for him at home.

When he worked over ten consecutive hours in the operating room, I no longer texted to ask if he was tired.

The unfamiliar perfume that occasionally lingered on his shirt—I no longer probed or questioned it either.

Even when a flare-up of acute gastroenteritis struck in the middle of the night, and I forced myself to drive to the ER alone, the nurse asked gently, "Is…