Ethan assumed the always positive and perky Noelle would have wandered down for lunch after she showered.

There was no evidence she’d eaten breakfast.

She hadn’t retrieved her guitar.

And Cheddar was nowhere to be found.

The old familiar feeling of guilt came to visit. Some days he wished the feeling of inadequacy would take a permanent vacation. He told her the truth about what a failure he’d been. A failure as a husband, father, friend, but she hadn’t wanted honesty—or his version, anyway. The only thing he’d ever been good at was being a doctor, and he was a helluva good one.

Then again, maybe the truth was like fear. Both got in the way.

Just after six o’clock, he exhaled a long, gusty sigh and climbed the stairs of shame to knock on her door.

He waited. Listening.

He raised his hand to knock again, but hesitated.

His breathing stalled.

“Come in.” The fragile voice was tucked behind the door.

Relief pushed the gloom of guilt aside. He opened the door slowly. Noelle sat on her bed with a book in her lap and Cheddar curled by her side. The optimistic, buoyant, passionate Noelle had disappeared. Only sadness remained. She’d been crying. The tissue shrapnel scattered on the bedside table spun his moral compass and landed on guilt.

Even though she was hurting, Noelle’s eyes were still kind. She probably had no idea how to be cold-hearted and heartless like him.

“I came to see if you want some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry. Thanks anyway.”

He stared at the planks in the wooden floor, disgusted with himself for ruining her birthday. He should go, leave her alone, yet he found himself walking into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Please.” Her gentle tone increased the angst. “You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have pushed. You loved your wife. Anyone who sees you would be blind not to notice.”

“We were both so much alike. Driven. Focused. She had a passion for medicine.” He rubbed at the palm of his hand. “My dad always wanted me to be a doctor. To be honest, being a doctor wasn't a profession I would have chosen for myself. It wasn't until I met Brigitte that I fell in love with being a doctor. When she died, the passion disappeared.”

“Then you not only lost your wife and your child, but you also lost direction.” She blinked as she processed the additional information. “I can understand why you withdrew and took time out to find your way again.”

“After they were gone I felt like I stopped breathing.”

“You were right. I have no idea what losing a loved one feels like. To be loved completely, unconditionally must have been amazing.”

Brigitte and Callie had loved him, yet he didn’t see it. “I didn’t realize how much I loved them until they were gone.”

She tipped her head to the side to see his face. “She loved you. How could she not?”

“Brigitte loved everyone, and gave everything she had to everyone else.” That’s why I never truly believed she loved me. It was just what she did for everyone. “As a doctor, we take an oath to heal the sick, to take care of human life. Those simple words come with a burden. The drive to heal leaves very little room for anything else in our lives. Brigitte gave everything she had to her profession, and to Callie and me.”

“But, she—” Noelle traced a finger around the design on the bedspread. “You must have been proud of her.”

He reached for the box of journals he’d lugged up the stairs. “You asked me to tell you about my marriage. I think you will find what you need in here.” He lifted the lid off the box. “A couple of months after the accident I was angry and eaten alive with hate. I couldn’t focus. I had all these thoughts running around in my head, and I needed to make them stop, so I committed to writing down all the things I could remember.”

Noelle reached for the lid and placed it back on the box. “I can tell you don’t want to read the journals.” The gentle notes in her voice only amplified her compassion. “I’m sorry I’ve pushed. You will read them when the time is right.”

“But what about your song?”

“You mean your song?” She leaned forward to touch his chest. “You’re holding the song safe, in here. It will reveal itself when it’s ready.”

Placing a hand on top of hers, he let her warmth seep into his hand. He wanted to feel the connection. Embrace the affection that hadn’t been there before.

For the first time, he wanted to crack open the bottle holding his hurt and let out the pain.

He opened the box again and lifted one of the journals to turn to the first page.

Brigitte, love.

I miss you. I miss feeling your warmth next to me when I wake up. I miss having someone who understands and pushes me past being a realist. I miss holding you in my arms. I’m not sure you ever realized how much.

You touched so many lives with your healing hands.

The best days we had were working side by side, problem-solving, working to find treatments and cures. There was nothing more special than watching you and Callie curled together sleeping. Each moment is a snapshot in time, to be saved and preserved. I mourn the day you were ripped from my life.

You would laugh at me and call me foolish for thinking such a thing, for you were always one to live your life to its fullest. I live alone with memories of you and Callie, my loves. Tell Callie I love her, and I’m glad you are together, and please know I’m so, so sorry.

Ethan

A cocktail of emotions mixed and stirred. He shifted uneasily. “Maybe I shouldn’t have read you that one.” He closed the book.

Noelle touched his shaky fingers. “You don’t have to backspace or edit your life for me, or anyone. You get to choose what you share, how you feel, what you do.”

Not always. He didn’t get to choose when he was young, and so he’d chosen to shut out the world. Live inside himself, where life was safe.

“I always felt like I was walking on eggshells with Brigitte. She always wanted more from me, but I never could figure out what she wanted.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe all she wanted was you? Not the brilliant doctor. Just you. The man.”

“What if I don’t know who the man is? What if I’m only the doctor?”

“Being a doctor is only part of who you are. You care about people. You want to protect them. My guess is you’ve learned to block out their pain by protecting them. You’ve become so good at avoiding emotional involvement that when it comes to your personal life, you don’t know how to reengage.”

She was right. Instinctively he knew her point was solid, but it went way beyond just being a doctor. “I never thought of it that way.”

“She gave you Callie, and you can’t tell me you didn’t love that little girl with everything you had.”

“Callie.” His daughter’s name grew wings and floated into the room.

An ache as pure and resonant as crystal ran from his head to his toes.

How could she possibly have known how he felt? It was like she could read his emotions and thoughts. The heat of her hand warmed him, and he couldn’t accept the sympathetic warmth. He paced to the window, pressing that same hand against the cold pane.

“For months I blamed myself for Callie’s death.” And for my unborn child’s. “If I had only been there.”

“Oh, Ethan. If you had been there, you might have been killed as well.”

“That might have been easier,” he uttered softly, hoping she didn’t hear his truth.

Noelle’s face appeared as a reflection in the glass. She stood behind him, her arms outstretched. His fingers tightened on the window frame. The guilt of being with Noelle gnawed at him, but he didn’t want to feel guilty anymore. He'd felt guilt. Remorse. Bitterness. And he was damn tired of feeling angry, so he’d worked hard to feel nothing.

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for me. I need to blame myself. Who else is there to blame?”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “Ethan, it doesn't do any good to place blame. All those negative feelings can do is prevent you from being happy.”

“I deserve to be unhappy. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have taken the call.” She gasped, but he continued. “I've gone over and over and over everything that happened. Every word. Every action. Every excuse. Brigitte begged me not to go. Like an intricate surgery, I assessed each stitch, each gesture, trying to figure out if I could have done anything different. Searching for anything I could've changed so both of them would still be alive.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Their death is not your fault.” Her body pressed against his. “Is this why you bury yourself in your work, to make amends for something you think is your fault?”

“Yes. Can’t you see? I don’t deserve a second chance. I had it all, and I blew it.” He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your fairy tale. As I said, love hurts.”

“I have to believe love can heal and be good.”

“Why do you need to believe?”

“If love doesn’t exist, what are we here for?”

Some of us aren’t really living—just working hard. “I thought you were an idealist.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather be an idealist than just going through the motions. There has to be more to life than the daily grind.” Cheddar rubbed his head against her shin.

“It’s time for dinner,” Ethan said, for lack of anything else to say, trying to find a way to wade out of the deep, suffocating waters. “And I think someone else is hungry too.”

She ran a hand down the cat’s back and up its tail. “He didn’t get his supper.”

“I made Pilau if you’re hungry. I left it to simmer.”

“What is Pee-lah?”

“Pilau. It’s a rice dish, although I’ve added meat. Maggie would have cooked up a special meal for your birthday, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“You cooked me dinner for my birthday?”

“And I have apple pie for dessert. Don’t be impressed. It’s one of those frozen jobbers.”

Jackpot. There it was. The little flicker of joy that started at her mouth and swarmed upward until the light flashed in her eyes and made her whole face light up.

“I’ll be down in a minute to help. If you’re cooking me dinner for my birthday, I want to change.”

A thrill of excitement zinged up his arms and down the length of his body. “Great. The table is already set. Come down as soon as you’re ready.”

“Okay.”

When he looked at her this time, he didn’t see any similarity to Brigitte.

He’d been wrong.

Noelle wasn’t anything like Brigitte. Sure, she had the same inner strength, but she connected with people in a very different way. Noelle gave people around her a soft place to land. She didn’t push a person to be what she believed was their best selves, and that’s what made people feel safe with her.

He stared after her, admiring the slim curves of her hips, and swing of her hair before she disappeared into the dark hall heading for the shared bathroom.

He rubbed at his chest. The chronic ache didn't feel all-consuming today. Maybe her healing warmth had melted the crack in his heart.

Yet he was still broken.

He had to learn to stop caring about Noelle.

She was fun and bright and happy, and the last thing he wanted to do was extinguish her light.