Too Late 10

Chapter 10 

The sheets were warm. The room smelled like mint tea and lavender. I could feel a soft hand brushing my hair back, a cool cloth pressed against my forehead. 

“Allison,” he whispered. “You’re burning up. Just rest, okay? I’m here.” 

River. 

It was a memory. 

We had been married for three months when I first got sick. Fever, chills, barely able to lift my head. I thought he’d ignore me like he always did with most things. But he didn’t. 

He stayed beside me for two straight days. Cancelled meetings. Made soup. Tucked me in with this strange mix of care and authority. At one point, he even read to me-something from my favorite book, though I was too out of it to remember which one. 

That was the first time I thought, maybe this man loves me. 

And after that… it became routine. Every time I got sick, he was there. Quiet but present. Always gentle. Always knowing exactly what I needed before I could ask. 

One time, I joked, “You’d make a better nurse than a CEO.” 

He smiled. “Don’t tell the board.” 

And I fell deeper. 

River made me tea when I was tired. Brought home rare art books. Took me to bookstores ucked in corners of cities we visited. Built me a small studio in the guest room because I said >nce-just once-that I missed painting. 

thought those things meant something. 

thought I meant something. 

Until Candice came back. 

Until I learned the truth. 

All of it-all of it-had been done for her first. The studio? She once wanted one. The books? Her 

avorite author. The trips? Her dream destinations. Even the tea-her preferred blend. 

had been a stand-in. A replica. A placeholder molded from his grief and ego. 

And I never even saw it. 

My chest constricted as the memory twisted cruelly. River’s voice faded, and suddenly, I was cold. Alone. The warmth of the dream drained, and I snapped awake, gasping. 

Tears clung to my cheeks. 

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. 

The room was unfamiliar-white walls, wooden floors, a single lamp casting a soft glow. 

I bolted upright. 

Where am I? 

My heart pounded. Panic clawed at my throat. I opened my mouth to scream- 

“Allison.” 

The voice stopped me. 

I turned. 

Standing near the doorway, holding a glass of water, was a man. Familiar. Brown eyes, slightly older, but still… him. 

“Joseph?” I whispered. 

He smiled. “Yeah. It’s me.” 

I stared. My brain tried to process it. My childhood friend-the Joseph I used to sneak snacks with under the school bleachers, the boy who once carved our initials into a tree-was standing n front of me, fully grown, calm, and somehow… here. 

‘I-I don’t understand,” I stammered. “How are you-where am I?” 

‘You fainted on the sidewalk,” he said gently, setting the glass on the bedside table. “Outside the hospital. I was coming out from my shift when I saw you collapse. Brought you here.” 

Here?” I echoed. 

My apartment,” he said, sitting in the chair by the bed. “It was closer than the hospital, and I lidn’t want to waste time. You had a fever.”” 

blinked. “You’re a doctor now?” 

He nodded. “Moved to Switzerland during high school. My family runs the hospital here now. I nanage it. And work there full-time.” 

shook my head, amazed. “You? Dr. Joseph, who once glued his hand to a frog in science 

lass?” 

He laughed. “That was once. I’ve matured. Mostly.” 

Despite the confusion, I smiled. It was surreal. Like the universe had taken pity on me and hrown me a soft landing. 

Wow,” I murmured. “This is a lot.” 

Yeah,” he said, eyes warm. “Kind of feels like destiny’s playing games, huh?” 

We both laughed-awkward but genuine. And for the first time since I arrived here, I didn’t feel entirely alone. 

n the days that followed, Joseph helped me recover. He cooked. Told me stories about the hospital. Laughed at my jokes, even the bad ones. We talked about old times-our treehouse plans, summer fairs, how I always beat him at chess. 

And slowly, I felt okay again. 

returned to my art classes, still weak but lighter in spirit. The canvas didn’t feel so heavy anymore. The colors came easier. The silence in my apartment wasn’t as deafening. 

Joseph and I met for lunch twice that week. Nothing romantic-just familiar comfort, shared memories. He was like a tether to the version of myself that existed before River. Before I gave everything away. 

thought I was finally moving forward. 

Until I got the message. 

It was from Denver. 

“Allison, are you okay? I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. River came to the bar. Thought I was your affair. He punched me. We got into a fight. He’s demanding to know where you are.” 

My stomach dropped. 

I stared at the screen, pulse hammering in my ears. 

River had actually tracked Denver down. Attacked him. All because of that one message. The 

one I didn’t correct. 

I felt sick. 

‘I’m so sorry,” I replied, my fingers shaking. “Please don’t tell him where I am. I don’t want to se him. I just want peace.” 

Denver’s reply came quickly. 

‘Don’t worry. I won’t. But be careful, Allison. He’s not stable. He looked… desperate.” 

locked my phone and held it to my chest. 

For a moment, fear crept in again. That old, familiar dread. 

I was supposed to be sketching.