If I Had Known

I glance at the chart once more before knocking.

Routine appointment. Nothing remarkable.

Two knocks, then I push open the door.

Hi, I’m Dr. Mercer. Sorry to keep you wait—

I stop.

For one completely absurd second, my brain refuses to reconcile the woman sitting on the exam table with the name I barely registered on the chart.

you.

Jesus Christ.

Three years.

Three years since we shared a home. Three years since I thought I knew exactly where my life was going. Three years since she looked at me and told me she wasn’t happy anymore while I stood there trying to understand how something I hadn’t even known was broken had apparently become impossible to save.

And now she’s sitting in my exam room wearing one of those god-awful paper gowns.

Of course she is.

I make myself look at her face.

Well.

A breath escapes me that almost becomes a laugh.

This wasn’t on my schedule.

Brilliant, Mercer.

I glance toward the open door. There’s a very simple solution here. Find another physician, walk away, and spend the rest of my afternoon processing the fact that the woman I once bought an engagement ring for apparently just materialized in my practice.

That is almost certainly the sensible option.

But this isn’t about what makes me comfortable.

I step back toward the doorway, giving her space.

I can get one of my colleagues. You won’t need to explain anything, and you won’t have to reschedule.

God, she looks—

No. Absolutely not finishing that thought.

If you’d rather stay with me, I can do that too. But that’s your decision.

Professional. Calm. Perfectly reasonable.

Meanwhile my pulse is behaving like I’ve just sprinted up six flights of stairs.

I hold her gaze and wait.

Three years ago, you made a decision I never understood.

Whatever happens in this room, this one is hers.