Part 3: What She Kept
She stared at me.
“What?”
“There’s no diagnosis. No treatment.”
For a moment, relief flickered across her face.
“The doctors made a mistake?”
I shook my head.
“I made it up.”
She pulled her hand away.
“Made what up?”
“All of it. I wanted to know whether you’d stay if I couldn’t afford treatment.”
Her gaze fell to the documents.
“You let me ask strangers how to keep you alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I spent five days learning how not to leave you alone. And you spent those same five days deciding I’d abandoned you.”
I reached toward the recipe box.
Skyla pulled it out of my reach.
“Don’t.”
She gathered up the papers, put the old card back, and shut the lid.
“Why would you do this to me?”
“My parents and friends kept saying you wanted my money.”
“And you believed them?”
“I started wondering.”
She picked up her bag.
“Two years, Archie.”
I couldn’t respond.
“You could’ve asked me anything.”
“I know… babe… I’m…”
“No. You don’t.”
She walked out carrying the box.
I didn’t go after her.
The next morning, I sent one message apologizing and offering to reimburse her travel costs and lost wages.
She wrote back that she’d cover her own expenses and needed space.
I honored her wishes.
Then I confessed everything to my parents.
Mom started with, “Well, at least you know she wasn’t after your money.”
“She spent five days trying to save my life. I spent five days deciding she wanted my money.”
Dad insisted I’d only been protecting myself.
“I could’ve been cautious without lying to her.”
Neither of them argued.
I started seeing a counselor.
Weeks went by before Skyla finally reached out.
Coffee? Our old diner. Saturday.
She looked well when she walked in.
We talked about her classes and about Meryl before she eventually put down her cup.
“Do you still think I’d have left if you really were sick?”
“No.”
She watched me closely.
“But that’s not why I was wrong,” I continued. “I frightened you because I wanted proof. You never agreed to be tested.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
“I understand.”
She finished her coffee.
“Maybe we could meet again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
We began rebuilding what we had, one slow step at a time.
Several months later, Skyla invited me over for dinner.
She was making her grandmother’s chicken soup.
While I chopped vegetables, she rummaged through the wooden recipe box.
Then she handed me a newer card.
FOR THE PERSON I LOVE.
On the back was a list she’d written before leaving for Meryl’s house.
The final instruction read:
Don’t let him forget he’s still Archie, even when he’s frightened.
I read it twice.
My eyes filled with tears.
Skyla gently took the card and slid it back into place.
“I almost threw that one away,” she said. “I’m glad I waited.”
“Thank you for letting me come back.”
“Then keep giving me reasons to trust you.”
I nodded.
All of a sudden, an odd smell drifted through the kitchen.
Skyla turned toward the stove.
“Archie. You’re burning it.”
I grabbed the wooden spoon.
She stepped aside, letting me reach the pan.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
