Because of my fragile health, my best friend, Eva, kept me on a tight leash growing up. She always said the same thing whenever I wanted to try something new: “Leah, you can’t take risks.” For years, I mistook those words for love, right up until I watched her slide my wedding ring onto her finger while my fiancé smiled.
Chapter 1
It had started so gradually that I never thought to call it strange. When a new roller coaster opened at an amusement park, Eva said the drops might be dangerous for my heart, so David went with her to “test it.” When I booked a little inn overlooking the Atlantic for David and me, Eva decided the cold ocean air might trigger one of my fainting spells, so she spent the night there with him first.
Restaurants were tested. Hiking trails were tested. Hotel rooms were tested. Even desserts were tested.
Eva always returned with a thoughtful little frown. “Beautiful place, Leah, but honestly? It isn’t right for you.”
And David always backed her up.
“She’s only looking out for you.”
I had heard those words since I was sixteen.
That was the year I collapsed during a high school track event. I remembered very little of it—heat, dizziness, red track rushing toward my face—then waking in a hospital room with Eva holding one hand and David, then just a boy from school, sitting anxiously beside my bed.
Eva told me the doctors had said my heart was delicate.
She said I had nearly died.
From that day on, danger seemed to be everywhere.
Too much caffeine. Too much cold. Too much heat. High altitudes. Fast rides. Heavy exercise. Wine. Cinnamon. Long flights. Strong perfume. Seafood from unfamiliar restaurants.
By twenty-seven, I was living like an elderly invalid despite repeatedly being told during routine checkups that my heart looked healthy.
Six months before my wedding, a cardiologist finally said it plainly.
“Your tests are normal, Ms. Gray. Avoid extreme dehydration and use common sense, but medically, I see no reason you cannot live a normal life.”
I told Eva.
She dismissed him in thirty seconds.
“He didn’t see you collapse.”
Neither had the cardiologist who supposedly condemned me to a lifetime of restrictions, because I could never remember that doctor’s name.
I still did not question it enough.
Then came our fifth anniversary.
I had spent weeks arranging a dinner for David at a restaurant overlooking the Hudson. I ordered his favorite cake, reserved the best window table, and bought a white dress for myself that made me feel beautiful for the first time in months.
At six that evening, Eva called.
“The restaurant’s air-conditioning is freezing. You can’t risk it.”
She and David would test everything first, she said.
At 9:17, Eva posted a photograph.
She was wearing my white dress.
She sat in my chair beside the window.
My cake was on the table.
David’s hand rested near hers.
The caption read: Tested it for her first. Totally safe—and magical.
David commented beneath it.
You’re the best, Eva.
They came home close to eleven.
Eva entered first, glowing.
“Leah, you missed such a beautiful night. That window seat is incredible.”
She held up the restaurant bag.
“And the cake was safe. I tested it.”
David leaned against the doorway.
“You ate half a slice.”
“I was testing it thoroughly.”
They laughed together.
I sat on the couch watching them behave like two people returning from a date.
Because that was exactly what they were.
Eva finally noticed my expression.
“Are you upset?”
“What do you think?”
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
That was another talent of hers. Whenever I got angry, Eva became wounded before I could finish speaking.
“I know I’m overprotective,” she whispered. “But I watched you collapse, Leah. I thought you were dying. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
David stepped closer.
“She’s trying to protect you.”
I looked at him.
“You wore my anniversary reservation out with her.”
“It was only a test.”
“And my dress?”
Eva lowered her eyes.
“I wanted to see whether the fabric would bother your skin.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I asked David, “Are we still going to the jeweler tomorrow?”
His expression softened.
“Of course. We’re getting married in a month.”
I nodded.
One last chance.
That was what I told myself.
The following afternoon, I arrived at the jewelry boutique and found Eva already sitting beside David.
She waved cheerfully.
“Leah! We started without you.”
I stopped.
David explained, “Your skin is sensitive. I asked Eva to make sure the metal doesn’t irritate her.”
The saleswoman brought out my wedding band.
Inside it were two engraved names.
David & Leah.
Before I could touch it, Eva picked it up.
She slipped it onto her ring finger.
“Oh.”
She held up her hand.
“It fits perfectly.”
The saleswoman smiled without understanding anything.
“It certainly looks like it was made for you.”
Eva blushed.
David chuckled.
Nobody corrected her.
Eva turned the band beneath the light. “Honestly, Leah, this might be a little snug for you.”
I stared at my name inside a ring on another woman’s hand.
Then Eva tried to remove it.
It caught at her knuckle.
She tugged again.
David immediately took her hand.
“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
The saleswoman laughed nervously. “Some people say a ring that refuses to come off has found where it belongs.”
Eva’s cheeks turned pink.
David was still holding her hand.
And something inside me became perfectly quiet.
“Don’t bother taking it off.”
They both looked at me.
Eva whispered, “Leah?”
“It fits you.”
I picked up my purse.
“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t fit me at all.”
Then I walked out.
That night, I opened the closet and pulled out the suitcase I had hidden behind my winter coats.
Inside was an acceptance letter.
Six months earlier, Professor Alan Harlan had invited me to join a yearlong archival research fellowship in Switzerland. I had declined twice because David said international travel was irresponsible for someone with my health history.
Professor Harlan had written once more.
The position is still yours if you decide you are ready to live a little.
I had never answered.
Now I did.
I typed one sentence.
I’m ready.
