Prescription For Love

Elena’s POV “I never thought it would end like this.” I didn’t say it to anyone in particular. Just the cold silence of Nathan’s apartment, the echo of my own voice bouncing off the walls as I stood there, fingers trembling around the handle of my cane. He looked up from the couch, his expression frozen, caught like a deer in headlights. “Elena…” I took a step inside. The city buzzed outside the windows, a dull hum beneath the tightness in my chest. My throat burned. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted this to be some misunderstanding. But then I heard it again, soft laughter. It was Rachel's. I closed my eyes. “Tell me I’m hallucinating,” I said, trying to force calm into my voice. “Tell me I didn’t just hear her.” “Elena, I—” “Don’t.” My hand tightened on the cane. “Don’t start with whatever excuse you’ve been rehearsing in your head. Just tell me the truth.” His jaw clenched. “It’s not what you think.” I laughed. A dry, humorless sound. It's uncanny how when a cheater gets caught they always say "It's not what you think." “Then tell me, Nathan, what exactly is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like what I think.” Rachel appeared behind him then, barefoot, wearing his T-shirt like it belonged to her. Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Elena… I didn’t know you were—” “You should leave,” I cut her off. My voice was steel. “Now.” “Elena,” Nathan said, stepping toward me, “don’t do this.” “I’m not the one who did anything, Nathan. You did this.” Rachel hesitated, then grabbed her purse and disappeared into the hallway without another word. The door clicked shut behind her. Silence settled like dust. I turned back to him. “Six years,” I whispered. “Six years, Nathan.” “I know.” “Then why?” He looked down at the floor like the answer might be written in the hardwood. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan it. It just… happened.” “It just happened?” I repeated. “Like tripping over a curb or forgetting your keys? That’s how you explain cheating on me?” “It wasn’t like that. Rachel and I—” I held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say her name like it’s some kind of justification.” He exhaled. “You don’t understand what it’s been like.” “Oh no, Nathan. I don’t understand? I'm the one losing my sight. The one trying to hold us together while everything was falling apart.” “I tried—” “When?” I snapped. “When did you try, Nathan? When I was learning to navigate with a cane? When I asked you to read my emails because I couldn’t anymore? Or when I cried myself to sleep thinking I was a burden and you didn’t even notice?” He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. I stepped closer, my voice low. “How long has it been going on?” He hesitated. “Don’t lie to me. Please, don’t make this worse.” He swallowed hard. “Three months.” My breath caught. “Three months?” I laughed bitterly. “You started sleeping with my friend while I was going blind.” “She was there. You were… distant.” “Distant,” I repeated slowly. “Because I was trying to cope with losing my sight. Because I was scared and you—” I stopped myself, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.” “I didn’t mean to fall for her.” “No,” I said. “You just didn’t mean to get caught.” He looked away, and that hurt almost more than anything else. He couldn’t even face me. I backed up a step. “You know what’s funny? I used to picture how you’d propose. I imagined the way you’d look at me, the ring, the moment. I was so damn sure.” “Elena…” “I planned the whole thing in my head. And now all I can think about is how blind I was in every possible way.” He reached out, but I pulled away. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said again, weaker this time, like the words were losing their meaning. “But you did.” My voice cracked. “You hurt me in a way I didn’t think was possible. And the worst part is that you didn’t even try to stop me from finding out. You let me walk into this.” “I thought it would be better if—” “Better for who?” I snapped. “For you? Because you didn’t have to be the bad guy? Because you didn’t have to sit me down and say, ‘Hey Elena, I found someone new while you were trying to learn how to live in the dark’?” He was silent. “Say it,” I said. “What?” “Say the real reason.” “Elena—” “Say it,” I insisted. “Tell me it’s because I’m blind. Tell me you didn’t want to be with someone who couldn’t see you anymore.” His silence was louder than any answer. Tears blurred what little light I could still make out. “You know what?” I said. “I don’t even care anymore.” I turned toward the door, the tip of my cane tapping softly against the floor. “Elena, wait.” “No.” I paused, my back to him. “You made your choice. I’m just finally seeing it.” He didn’t stop me. He didn’t call after me, didn’t chase me down the hall. Nothing. The door closed behind me with a soft click. Just like that, six years of love, memories, and promises vanished. I stood in the hallway, the weight of it all crashing down at once. I had thought I’d be angry. That I’d scream, maybe even throw something. But I wasn’t angry. I was shattered. My apartment was too quiet when I got back. The city lights filtered in through the windows, blurred and soft. I didn’t turn on the lights. There was no point. I sat on the couch, my laptop on my lap, the screen open to the last manuscript I’d been working on. The blinking cursor mocked me. How could I write about love now? How could I string together pretty words about soulmates and happily ever afters when I’d just watched mine walk away without a backward glance? The phone buzzed. I didn’t want to look, but I did. Rachel: I’m so sorry, Elena. I never meant for it to happen this way. I love him. I just thought— I deleted the message before she could finish her thought. No apology was going to undo this. No explanation would ever be good enough. Hours passed. I didn’t know how many. I sat curled on the couch, hugging a blanket to my chest like it could hold me together. The silence was too loud, so I turned on some music. Something soft. Sad. I wasn’t ready for silence. I wasn’t ready for anything. Every few minutes, I thought about calling someone. My sister. My editor. Anyone. But I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to hear the pity in their voices. I picked up my laptop again. The manuscript glowed dimly. My main character, Clara, had just been swept off her feet by a man who looked suspiciously like Nathan. I hadn’t even realized I’d written him into the story, so I deleted the scene. Then decided to delete the chapter. I stared at the blank screen, heart pounding. What now? What happens when your entire life was wrapped around someone, and they just… leave? How do you start over when you can’t even see where you’re going? There was a knock at the door. I flinched. Then again. “Elena?” It was my neighbor, Sarah. I wiped my face quickly. “Coming,” I said, my voice hoarse. She stepped inside, took one look at me, and wrapped her arms around me without saying a word. “I heard you come in,” she said softly. “You okay?” I didn’t answer. She pulled back and looked at me. “What happened?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out, instead, I broke. I sobbed. It was ugly, raw, shaking sobs, and she just held me. Hours later, after tea and too many tissues, Sarah finally left. I thanked her, though the words felt hollow. I sat alone again. But I wasn’t crying anymore. Something in me had shifted. The pain was still there, deep and sharp, but beneath it, something new was starting to stir. Not strength. Not yet. But maybe… maybe survival. I opened the laptop again. The page was still blank. I placed my fingers on the keys and took a breath. Not for Nathan. Not for anyone else. This time, I would write for me.