He wanted to argue but changed his mind. Okay, call if you need anything. When Kyle left, Mom put her hand on my shoulder; don’t be too hard on him, Paula; he’s trying to help.
Now he’s trying, I smiled bitterly; and where was he all these years when his mother humiliated me and my family? Mom sighed. People can change, daughter; sometimes it takes a strong push to see yourself from the outside. I didn’t reply; didn’t want to argue with Mom, especially now when all our thoughts were about Dad.
The next two days were spent in the hospital walls; Dad’s condition gradually improved, though he was still in ICU. Doctors said the dynamics were positive, but we needed to be ready for surgery. Victor came every day, brought food, talked to doctors.
Thanks to his connections, Dad got a private room in ICU, with the best nurses assigned. Kyle came too, but briefly; he seemed to sense his presence was unwanted and didn’t impose. Valerie didn’t show up at all, only sent a huge basket of fruits with a note, “Get well, Nicholas.”
On the third day, Professor Levine said Dad could be transported to New York. Condition stable, he said; of course there’s risk, but in New York they’ll provide more qualified help. Victor organized everything in the shortest time.
Medical flight, team of doctors, ambulance meeting in New York. “You’ll fly with your father,” he told me. “Your mom can join later when Nicholas is hospitalized.”
I was grateful to my father-in-law for this help, though I didn’t understand what deserved such attention from him. “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know how we’ll repay you.” “No need for thanks,” he brushed it off; “just keep me updated on his condition.”
On the day of the flight, I packed a small bag with essentials. Mom was to stay home; she needed to handle some affairs before the trip to New York, and I flew with Dad and the medical team. Kyle came to take me to the airport.
We were silent the whole way. I looked out the window, thinking about the upcoming surgery, about how my life had changed in recent days. At the terminal entrance, Kyle suddenly took my hand.
“Paula,” he said seriously, “I want you to know, I’ll be waiting here as long as it takes.” I looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean? I know there’s a gulf between us now, and it’s my fault, but I want to fix it; give me a chance.”
I pulled my hand away. “This isn’t the time for this talk, Kyle; my father is on the brink of life and death. I understand; just know I’m here if needed.”
I nodded and went to the terminal without looking back. Now all my thoughts were only about Dad. The flight went without complications; the medical plane was equipped with everything necessary; doctors constantly monitored Dad’s condition; he was conscious but weak, hardly spoke.
In New York, an ambulance met us and took Dad straight to the cardiology center; there they immediately took him for examination, and I was asked to wait in a special room for relatives. An hour later, a doctor came out to me, a tall middle-aged man with tired but attentive eyes. “Relative of Nicholas?” he asked.
“Yes, his daughter. We did the initial exam; your father’s condition is stable, but he needs urgent surgery; he has three-vessel coronary artery disease; bypass is needed. When will the surgery be? Tomorrow morning; now he’s undergoing preoperative preparation.
Can I see him?” “Only for five minutes; he needs rest. I entered the intensive care unit; Dad lay on the bed surrounded by medical equipment; he looked so vulnerable, so fragile; I’d never seen him like this before. Dad, I took his hand; how do you feel?” He smiled weakly.
“Fine, daughter, don’t worry. Surgery tomorrow; everything will be okay; the doctors here are the best. I know; he squeezed my hand.
Paula, listen, if something happens, nothing will happen; I interrupted him; you’ll live long and happy. Paula, his voice was quiet but insistent. Listen to me; if something happens, I want you to know I’m proud of you; you’ve grown into a strong, smart woman, and I want you to be happy.
I felt tears welling up. Dad, don’t cry.” He smiled weakly.
“I just want you to think about your life, about whether you’re happy with Kyle, about what you really want.” I didn’t know what to answer. The recent events had overturned my perception of my own life, my marriage, the Harrington family.
“I’ll think, Dad, I promise.” “Good.” He closed his eyes.
“Now go rest; you need strength.” A nurse entered the room. “Visiting time is over,” she said.
“Your father needs rest before surgery.” I kissed Dad on the forehead and left the room. In the corridor, a hospital social worker was waiting for me.
“A room is booked for you at the hotel by the center,” she said. “It’s close, just five minutes walk; there you can rest.” I thanked her and went in the indicated direction.
The hotel was small but comfortable. The room had a bed, TV, small fridge stocked with water and juices. Only now did I feel how tired I was.
Three days without proper sleep, constant stress, worries; it all took its toll. I took a shower and literally collapsed onto the bed. I woke up to the phone ringing.
It was Mom; she had flown to New York and was already heading to the hospital. “How’s Dad?” she asked anxiously. “Stable.
Surgery scheduled for tomorrow. I’ll be there in half an hour.” I got up, quickly dressed, and hurried back to the center….
Mom was already there, talking to the doctor. “The surgery is complex,” the doctor was saying, “but we have a lot of experience with such procedures. The chances are good.”
Mom nodded, clutching her bag tightly. Seeing me, she smiled weakly. “Paula, you look better.
Rested?” “Yes, a bit.” We were allowed to see Dad briefly. He was weak but conscious, recognized Mom, even joked about her worried look.
“Don’t look at me like that, Helen,” he said. “I’m not heading to the other side yet.” Mom smiled through tears.
“Of course not. You’ll be babysitting grandchildren yet.” We spent the whole day at the hospital, returning to the hotel only to eat and rest a bit.
In the evening, we were told Dad was being prepared for surgery and asked to come in the morning. At the hotel, Mom and I couldn’t sleep for a long time, though both understood we needed strength for tomorrow. “Do you think everything will be okay?” I asked, lying in the dark.
“It has to be,” Mom replied firmly, “your father is a strong man.” In the morning, we came to the hospital early. Dad was already being prepared for surgery.
We were allowed to see him for literally a minute before they took him to the operating room. “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to smile. “I’ll be back.”
Mom kissed him. “We’ll be waiting.” They took Dad away, and we were asked to wait in a special room.
The surgery was supposed to last several hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly. Mom and I sat side by side, hardly talking.
Sometimes one of us went out to buy tea or just walk the corridor to stretch our legs. On the third hour of waiting, Victor entered the room. I looked at my father-in-law in surprise; I didn’t expect to see him here in New York.
“Victor,” I stood up to meet him. “What are you doing here?” “Flew in on the morning flight,” he replied. Wanted to check on Nicholas.
He’s in surgery. Third hour already. My father-in-law nodded.
Professor Levine said the surgery could last up to six hours. That’s normal. He sat next to us, took out a thermos with coffee and sandwiches.
“You probably haven’t had breakfast; eat.” Mom gratefully took a sandwich. “Thank you, Victor; you’re very thoughtful.”
We sat together, waiting for news. Victor talked about similar surgeries done on his acquaintances, about the high success rate. About how quickly people recover after bypass.
In a month or two, Nicholas will be like new, he said confidently. Modern medicine works wonders. His presence strangely calmed me.
He exuded the confidence of a man used to solving problems and taking responsibility. On the fifth hour of surgery, the surgeon entered the room in green scrubs, mask lowered to his neck. His face was serious but not grim.
Relatives of Nicholas? Mom and I jumped up. Yes, that’s us. The surgery went successfully.
We performed triple bypass. The patient is stable; now they’re moving him to ICU. I felt my legs buckle from relief.
Mom next to me quietly cried. When can we see him? I asked. Not before six hours. He needs to come out of anesthesia.
But I repeat, everything went well; prognosis is favorable. The surgeon left, and we stood, not believing our luck. Victor approached us and unexpectedly hugged both.
See, he said with a smile. I told you everything would be fine. We left the hospital to walk a bit and grab a bite at a nearby cafe.
For the first time in these days, I felt I could breathe freely. Dad would live; everything else was solvable. When we returned to the hospital, we were told Dad had regained consciousness but was very weak.
We were allowed to see him through the ICU glass. He lay surrounded by equipment, with tubes coming out of his chest, IVs and monitors. But his eyes were open, and when he saw us, he smiled weakly.
He’ll recover, Victor said; now I’m sure of it. In the evening, I called Kyle to share the news. Thank God, he exhaled into the phone.
I was so worried; how are you? Fine. Tired, of course, but now the main thing is Dad.
Your father is a strong man; he’ll make it. Yes, I know. We were silent.
Strangely, talking to Kyle on the phone was always hard for me. As if without visual contact, we lost connection. “Paula,” he said finally, “Mom wants to talk to you.
She really regrets what happened.” I sighed. Kyle, now’s not the time for that.
I understand; just passing it on. Okay, I’ll call tomorrow, update on Dad. We said goodbye, and I returned to the hotel room where Mom was already sleeping, exhausted from worries and sleepless nights.
The following days were spent at the hospital. Dad’s condition improved; he was moved from ICU to a regular room. Doctors said recovery was going well, without complications.
Victor came to the hospital every day, brought fruits, juices, talked to doctors; he even hired a caregiver to ease Mom’s and my task. On the fifth day after surgery, when Dad could already sit and walk a bit around the room, I suddenly saw a familiar figure in the hospital corridor: Kyle; he stood by the window, looking at the hospital courtyard, and didn’t notice me. I approached him; Kyle, he turned, and his face lit up with a smile.
“Paula, I didn’t know you were here. And where else should I be? No, I mean at this moment, in this corridor. Got it; how long have you been here? This morning; wanted to check on your father, and… see you.”
I nodded. “Dad’s better; doctors say he might be discharged in a week. That’s great news; can I see him?
He’s having procedures now; maybe later.” We stood in the corridor, not knowing what to talk about next. Strangely, the man I’d lived with for eight years suddenly seemed almost a stranger.
“Paula,” Kyle said, looking into my eyes, “I want to apologize. For everything. For not protecting you from Mom, for laughing at her toast, for being so… blind.”..
I was silent, not knowing what to say. Part of me wanted to forgive him; another part screamed about betrayal. “Kyle,” I said finally, “let’s not talk about this now.
I need time. I understand; just know I’ve changed. What happened to your father made me reevaluate a lot.
People tend to change when thunder strikes. These aren’t just words, Paula; I’ve really changed, and I want to prove it to you.” I sighed.
“We’ll see.” At that moment, a nurse approached; Paula, your father is asking for you. “Coming,” I turned to Kyle, “I need to go.
Of course. I’ll wait.” When I entered the room, Dad was sitting on the bed, leaning on pillows.
He looked better, though still weak. “Dad, you wanted something?” “Yes,” he patted the bed next to him. “Sit; let’s talk.”
I sat, taking his hand. “How do you feel?” “Better,” he smiled weakly. Doctors say I’m on the mend.
“That’s true. They’ll discharge you soon.” Dad was silent, looking at me attentively.
“Paula, I want to talk to you about Kyle.” I looked at him in surprise. “You saw him?” “Yes,” he came by.
“While you were at the cafe; apologized for what happened at your birthday. And what did you tell him?” “That I accept his apology.” “But as for your marriage, that’s your business.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Dad.” Everything’s so tangled.
“I won’t give you advice, daughter. You’re an adult, smart woman, and you know what’s best for you. Just remember, life is too short to waste on people who don’t make you happy.”
I nodded, feeling tears in my eyes. “I know, Dad.” And one more thing; he squeezed my hand.
“Whatever you decide, Mom and I will always be on your side.” I hugged him, careful not to disturb the stitches on his chest. “Thanks, Dad; I love you.”
“I love you, daughter. Now go; your husband is waiting.” I left the room with a heavy heart.
Kyle was sitting in the corridor, flipping through a magazine. Seeing me, he stood. “How’s your father?” “Good.”
“He says you visited him.” “Yes.” Kyle looked embarrassed; wanted to apologize.
“And did it work?” “I think so.” “Your father is an amazing person.” He listened to me without interrupting, then said life is too short for grudges.
I smiled. That was so like Dad: wise, forgiving. “Paula,” Kyle took my hand; let’s take a walk.
I want to tell you something.” We left the hospital and walked along the path leading to a small park. “I’ve reevaluated a lot these days,” Kyle began.
“How I lived, how I treated you, your parents, how I let Mom say all those awful things.” I was silent, not interrupting. You know, I was always a mama’s boy,” he continued with a bitter smirk.
“Did what she wanted, said what she wanted to hear. Even married you partly because she didn’t object. What? I stopped, struck by his words.
No, not like that; he winced. I loved you, really loved, but Mom approved my choice, and that was important to me. She saw in you a girl who could be formatted to our lifestyle.
Formatted. I felt anger boiling inside. Yes, that’s how she put it.
She’ll make a good Harrington if raised properly. I didn’t pay attention to those words then, but I should have. We continued walking, now in silence.
I was digesting what I heard, trying to reconcile the image of Kyle I loved with the man standing next to me now. “Why are you telling me this now?” I asked finally. “Because I want to be honest, because I’m tired of living in the shell my mother created for me, because, because I still love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”
I looked at him in surprise. In his eyes was sincerity I hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Paula,” he stopped and turned to me; “I know I caused you pain, know I betrayed you by laughing with my mother, and I’m not asking for forgiveness; I don’t deserve it; I’m only asking for a chance to prove I can be different, that I’m already changing.”
I was silent, not knowing what to answer. There was too much hurt, too much pain. “I need time, Kyle,” I said finally.
“Time to understand what I really want.” He nodded. “I understand, and I’ll wait as long as needed.”
We returned to the hospital; Kyle said goodbye to Dad and Mom and left back to our city, and I stayed with my parents. In the following days, I thought a lot about our conversation, about my marriage. About what I really wanted from life, whether I was happy with Kyle, whether I still loved him, whether I could forgive the betrayal.
The answers didn’t come easily; part of me wanted to forget everything, return to the old life, give Kyle a chance to improve. Another part screamed about self-respect, that some things can’t be forgiven. Ten days after the surgery, Dad was discharged from the hospital; doctors were pleased with his condition, talked about quick recovery; he was prescribed medications, diet, light exercises.
We decided my parents would stay in New York for a while with Mom’s sister, and I’d return home to handle my affairs. At the airport, saying goodbye to my parents, I hugged Dad, careful not to hurt him. Take care of yourself, Dad, and follow the doctors.
Definitely, he smiled, and don’t forget what we talked about; life is too short. I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat, and Paula, he added quieter; whatever you decide, remember you deserve the best. I flew home with a heavy heart; I didn’t warn Kyle about my return.
Wanted to be alone, gather my thoughts before the inevitable conversation. The taxi dropped me off at our house late in the evening. I went up the elevator, opened the door with my key, and froze on the threshold.
The apartment looked different. Some paintings were gone from the walls, the vase Valerie loved so much, the chairs in the corner of the living room. In their place, new things appeared: simple but stylish.
Bookshelves I’d always wanted but Kyle considered too ordinary. Photos: mine with parents, with friends. I walked through the rooms, amazed at the changes.
In the bedroom on the bed lay a note. “Paula, if you’re reading this, you’ve returned. I’m living with my parents; didn’t want to bother you.
I changed the apartment a bit, removed Mom’s gifts you always said weren’t your taste. Hope you like it. Call when you’re ready to talk.
Kyle.” I sat on the bed, rereading the note. Kyle was really trying to change.
He remembered all my complaints about the tasteless but expensive things Valerie had filled our apartment with. Remembered and fixed. But was that enough? Could a remodel compensate for years of neglect, mockery, humiliation? I took a shower and went to bed, deciding to postpone all decisions until morning.
But sleep didn’t come. I tossed in bed, thinking about Kyle, our marriage, what Dad said. In the morning, I called Kyle.
“Hi,” he said, and I heard hope in his voice. “You’re back?” “Yes, last night. Thanks for the remodel; it looks different.
Do you like it?” “Yes, I do.” We were silent. The conversation wasn’t flowing, as if we were strangers.
“Kyle,” I said finally, “we need to talk.” “I know.” “When?” “Tonight.”..
“Come home at seven.” “Okay, I’ll be there.” All day I prepared for this conversation.
Walked around the apartment, mentally playing different scenarios. Deep down, I already knew what I’d decided, but admitting it to myself was scary. At exactly seven, the doorbell rang.
Kyle stood on the threshold with a bouquet of my favorite lilies. “Hi,” he said, handing the flowers. “May I come in?” “Of course,” I took the bouquet.
“This is your home too.” “Our home,” he corrected, entering the living room. We sat in armchairs facing each other.
Kyle looked tense but determined. “How’s your father?” he asked. “Good.”
“Recovering faster than doctors expected.” “Glad to hear. Send him my regards.”
I nodded. We fell silent again. Finally, I resolved.
Kyle, I’ve thought a lot about us, our marriage, what happened at my birthday, and after. He leaned forward, listening attentively. I’ve come to the conclusion we can’t continue living like before.
Too much has changed. I understand, he nodded. I think so too.
We need to start over. Start over? Yes. Without my parents’ influence, without their money, without their expectations.
Just you and me, like in the beginning. I shook my head. Kyle, you don’t understand.
It’s not just about your parents. It’s about us. About what we’ve become.
We can change, Paula. I’m already changing. Changing? In two weeks? After eight years of marriage where you let your mother humiliate me and my family? He lowered his head.
I know I deserve your anger. But I’m asking for one thing – give me a chance to prove I can be different. I looked at him: the man I once loved more than life.
Whom I trusted, with whom I dreamed of growing old. And realized I no longer felt anything for him but weary pity. Sorry, Kyle, but I can’t.
I don’t love you anymore. And I’m not sure I could ever love again after everything that’s happened. He paled.
You, you want a divorce? Yes, I want a divorce. Kyle leaned back in the chair as if slapped. Paula, please, think again.
Don’t make hasty decisions. This isn’t hasty. I’ve been thinking about it all these last days.
And realized I deserve more. Deserve a person who will respect me and my family. Who won’t laugh when his mother calls me a silly girl from a poor family.
He flinched as if from a slap. I know I acted horribly, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But does one mistake erase eight years together? It’s not one mistake, Kyle.
It’s years of neglect, years when you put your mother’s wishes above mine. Years when you lied to me about your work, your successes, your independence. You know; he looked struck.
Yes, I know. Know you get money from your father, not earn it yourself. Know all your projects are dummies.
