The Sick Wife, Lost Loretta [top 10 motivational books .TXT] 📗

The man brought me chicken soup, for God’s sake.

And he’s here. He’s actually standing here in my kitchen. I have no idea why or how, because I don’t remember even inviting him—but he actually just wanted to be here. He wanted to be nice and loving and come over to take care of me. And it was easy. There was nothing stopping him from it—no woman to disappoint, no one to get in trouble with if he makes a phone call. He’s just free to do whatever he chooses to do.

He didn’t even ask for anything in return—he’s actually been a perfect gentleman.

He hasn’t tried to sit too close to me on the couch or to lean in for a kiss. He’s been completely and perfectly respectful. Professional, even, with just a bit more warmth than before. He’s been patient and sensitive, offering me compassion when I needed it most… even if I couldn’t always appreciate it. Even if I was totally blind and impervious to it for a long time. His kindness is wearing me down.

Did I mention that he makes a damn good cup of coffee? Maybe that’s all you really need in life, to be happy. He has placed a steaming cappuccino in front of me, in a customized mug that Veronica got me for Christmas: I was a nurse during the COVID-19 pandemic. What wars have you fought in? He has designed a heart in the foam. I kid you not. Lifting it, I sip with my eyes closed. Oh my god. It’s so good. I sigh with appreciation.

“This coffee is better than an orgasm,” I say without thinking. Then I open my eyes, afraid I’ve been inappropriate.

But he’s chuckling. “Not the orgasms I give.”

Oh, my. I smile at that, too. A genuine smile. We’re flirting! Yes, I’m fixed. I’m capable of flirting! “I’m not sure why your wife would ever leave you, if you made her coffee like this every morning,” I say, lifting the mug to the sky wistfully, with both hands, as if it’s the holy grail. I take a few more long, satisfying sips.

“Well, I’ll be honest,” he says softly. “These last few years… I am not very proud of the way I acted. I didn’t prioritize my wife. I put my work first, always. And then when Covid hit… it was like placing our relationship under a microscope. We were suddenly trapped in the house together, and we were so uncomfortable. Like we didn’t even know each other anymore.”

“That sounds awful.”

He takes a long swig of his own coffee. “I didn’t even realize that she had been cheating on me for years. She didn’t even have to pack—she had most of her belongings at his place already. She had been living there part of the time, I guess, and I didn’t even notice she was gone. Because I was always at the hospital.”

“I’m so sorry, Mike.”

He shrugs, as if to undermine the pain. “Now here I am. In my mid-40s with no children. No family. An empty house and hardly any friends. Isn’t it funny how life just leaves you with nothing sometimes? After you’ve given people everything—given them all your years and all your love and devotion, and they just walk away?”

I don’t know what to say. He’s been through so much more pain than I have, and I never saw him falling apart. He lost so much, and he remained strong and kept working diligently. I just reach out and place my hand over his, in what I hope is a comforting squeeze. “The job is hard… people don’t understand how much we work. You deserved better than the way your wife treated you.”

“She just needed more of me. More love and attention… I was never there. I can’t blame her.” He drinks from his mug; a bigger mouthful now that it’s cooling off. It’s another novelty nurse gift that a coworker got me, which says Some Heroes Wear Scrubs. “I should have made her coffee every morning… like you said. Instead of racing out the door without a kiss. Without even saying a word to her, like she didn’t exist. There were a thousand things I should have done better, and maybe she would have stayed.”

“You learned from it—you’ll do better next time,” I tell him.

“I’m trying to do better right now,” he says with conviction. He squeezes my hand back in return… and holds onto it for a few seconds. He plays with my fingers lightly, interlacing them with his.

“Oh,” I answer with surprise, blinking. I guess it’s pretty obvious from the roses, chicken soup, and cappuccino with a heart in the foam. The daily questions about my ring. He’s into me.

“Do you want to have kids, Milla?” he asks me softly.

“Yes, of course. At least a few,” I answer. Then I smile sadly. “My ex-fiancé and I always talked about having seven.”

“Then let’s have eight,” Mike suggests. “How about it? Screw your ex-fiancé and his false promises. He doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

I laugh lightly. “What? Mike…”

“I know it’s crazy and fast to be suggesting that, when we’ve both just gotten out of failed relationships. And we’ve never been on a proper date. But you and I have known each other for years. Let’s be honest—I’ve probably spent more time with you than I have with my wife throughout my entire marriage. I mean—my waking hours.”

“That’s… probably true,” I respond. “Especially lately, with Covid…”

“You know the strangest thing?” Mike asks. “It somehow felt more uncomfortable and strange when you weren’t there at the hospital every day… than when my wife wasn’t there at home every day. I guess it taught me a lesson about who I really can’t live without.”

Whoa. Those are intense words. I find my forehead knitted up in confusion, as I stare at him hard. Does he really mean that? I grab my coffee and take a big, deep drink.

“I have a suggestion,”