1 I was covering an extra shift for a colleague in the ER when I saw his chart. According to the electronic records, he had been admitted to the emergency room nearly a hundred times over the past year for acute cat dander allergies. Thirty-eight of those visits had ended with him in the respiratory ICU. “Don’t you know you have severe, life-threatening asthma?” I asked, keeping my voice low, almost a whisper. “Sustained exposure to cat dander is going to kill you.” He didn’t recognize me behind my surgical mask. Between a grueling twelve-hour shift and training the incoming residents the night before, my voice was completely shot, reduced to a dry rasp. He simply smiled, a gentle, patient expression on his face. “I don’t have much of a choice, Doc,” he explained softly. “My girlfriend’s clinical depression is incredibly severe. Having a cat is the only thing that keeps her grounded and brings her any joy. She hasn’t been doing well lately, so I’ve had to step in and care for the kitten myself. If a little suffering on my part makes her smile, it’s worth it.” I froze. The words struck me like a physical blow. Because of his allergies, I had personally given away my two cats—animals I had loved and raised for ten years. If he was doing all of this for his girlfriend… then who was the woman living in his apartment? Tears welled up in my eyes, completely bypassing my control and spilling over my cheeks. I quickly lowered my head, pulling the bridge of my mask higher to hide my face, but my sudden distress didn’t escape Carter Hayes’s notice. “Doctor… are you alright?” I waved my hand quickly, trying to dismiss his concern. “It’s nothing. Just… I’m just incredibly touched by your devotion. Mr. Hayes, you’re a remarkably good man.” Carter scratched his cheek, which was already red and slightly swollen from the allergic reaction, though a genuine warmth remained in his eyes. “Well, a man has to protect his partner. Life is hard enough for women; the least we can do is cherish them.” But that wasn’t what Carter had said when we first discussed moving in together in Boston. Back then, the mere presence of my two cats had sparked a screaming match that lasted for days. “Jasmine, you don’t love me! To you, those damn cats are more important than my actual survival!” “I love you, and I’d compromise on anything else, but I can’t compromise on this. This is my health, Jasmine. It’s a matter of life and death!” At that time, his allergy was mild—nothing more than seasonal rhinitis. Yet, for the sake of his health, and to build a future with him, I made the heartbreaking decision to send my ten-year-old cats away. Oliver and Barnaby had been with me since the day I graduated from college. I would never forget the quiet, confused whimpering from inside their carriers when the transport van drove away. Carter had been moved by my sacrifice, holding me tightly for a few minutes to comfort me. “My sweet girl, you’ve sacrificed so much for us,” he had whispered. “I know I chose the right partner. True love is all about mutual compromise.” I had believed him. I really had. But sitting in that sterile exam room, I finally realized the truth: true love meant he was indeed willing to endure anything, even the threat of suffocation, for the person he loved. Just not for me. Carter seemed to view me as a safe confidante. “You know, Doc, since you’re a woman, maybe you can help me understand. I want to make her feel better, but I’m at a loss. Aside from her medication and my constant presence, what else can I do for someone struggling with depression?” “Why don’t you…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice cracking. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about your story?” To my surprise, the usually reserved Carter opened up completely. From his detailed, affectionate descriptions, I easily identified the “girlfriend” in question. It was Paige Jenkins, the girl who grew up next door to him. The bitter irony was that whenever Carter spoke of Paige to me, his tone had been dripping with contempt. “That girl is a nightmare,” he’d say with a scoff. “She used to bully me when we were kids because she hit her growth spurt first. Now she’s grown up and developed this dramatic, self-indulgent ‘depression’ to get attention. It’s exhausting. I can’t stand women who are constantly falling apart. Jasmine, I’m so glad you’re an independent woman. You don’t drain my energy.” Suppressing the tremor in my hands, I leaned on my professional training to offer him standard clinical advice on supporting a partner with severe depressive episodes. Carter nodded along, taking notes on his phone. “Thank you, Doc. This helps a lot. It really takes a woman to understand a woman.” I felt entirely numb, as if my nervous system had simply shut down to protect itself. Suddenly, Carter reached out, his hand hovering near my face. “You know, Doctor… your voice, and even the shape of your eyes, they actually remind me a bit of my girlfriend.” Later, during a brief lull in the ER, I pulled up Paige’s social media on my phone. I covered the lower half of her face in her photos, comparing her to my own reflection in the staff restroom mirror. We didn’t look alike at all. And our voices were completely different. I couldn’t help but wonder: when Carter referred to his “girlfriend” in those quiet, tender moments, was he thinking of me, or was he already living in a reality where Paige had taken my place? When I finally returned to our apartment that night, I collapsed onto the sofa, unable to stop myself from scrolling through old videos of Oliver and Barnaby. When I first graduated and moved to Boston, I was entirely alone. The crushing pressure of my residency, the sleepless nights, and the overwhelming isolation would have broken me if not for those two cats. They would press their warm, furry heads against my chin, purring until my breathing slowed down, rolling on their backs to make me smile. And yet, I had abandoned them. Even though Carter had paid for a high-end boarding facility, it didn’t change the fact that I had traded their loyalty for a lie. My hands began to shake—a physical symptom of anxiety I hadn’t experienced in years. In a sudden fit of self-loathing, I struck my own cheek, the sharp slap echoing in the empty room. “Jasmine! What are you doing?” Carter rushed forward, catching my wrists. He had taken a heavy dose of prescription antihistamines, and his face had mostly returned to normal, though his skin was still slightly flushed. His eyes fell on the video playing on my phone, and a brief flicker of guilt crossed his features. “Oh. You’re just missing Oliver and Barnaby.” He pulled me into his chest, rubbing my back. “If you miss them that much, we can go see them at the foster home. I’ll go with you. I’m just incredibly busy at the clinic this week, so let’s plan for a few days from now, okay?” He was wearing the same black wool sweater from earlier. Though he had carefully lint-rolled it, I could still spot a few stray white cat hairs clinging to the back of his shoulder. “Carter…” I gently pulled out of his embrace, looking up into his eyes. “I don’t want to just visit them anymore. I want to bring them back. I want them here.” The warmth in his eyes instantly vanished. “I promise I won’t let them near you,” I continued, my voice pleading. “I know you’re allergic. This apartment is spacious enough; I can set up a dedicated sunroom for them. I’ll deep-clean every single day, I promise. Not a single stray hair will get near you.” Carter looked at me with cold, thinly veiled irritation, as if he were explaining something simple to a difficult child. “Jasmine, we’ve settled this. Is your temporary mood really worth risking my actual physical survival?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Besides, your hospital schedule is insane. Who’s going to end up cleaning after them and feeding them? It always falls back on me.” Every argument I had prepared died in my throat. I wanted to scream, to demand why Paige’s mood was worth his life while mine wasn’t even worth a minor inconvenience. But the truth was already laid bare. There was no point in arguing with a man who had already made his choice. That night, we entered a silent, freezing cold war. “Jasmine, stop being so unreasonable,” he muttered before grabbing his pillow and sleeping in the guest room. I lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling until dawn, the gossip of my ER colleagues echoing in my ears: “What kind of love makes a man risk his actual life like that?” “She must have saved a universe in her past life to deserve a partner who loves her that much.” As the first light of morning filtered through the blinds, I unlocked my phone and opened a contact I hadn’t messaged in years. Is it too late if I come to Asheville now? Almost instantly, the status changed to typing… It’s never too late. A minute later, another message popped up. Jasmine… did something happen? Without a single drop of hesitation, I booked a one-way flight to North Carolina and drafted my resignation letter to the hospital. Standard protocol required a one-month transition period. The next afternoon, Carter ended up in my triage lane again. “I’m so sorry to keep bothering you, Doctor,” he said, offering a sheepish, apologetic smile as he sat down. He began recounting his symptoms with practiced ease. “I didn’t make it back to her place last night, and her anxiety flared up so badly she couldn’t even bring herself to groom the cat. She has very high expectations, you see—the kitten needs daily brushing, and because I wasn’t there…” I looked down at his lab results. His oxygen saturation levels were bordering on dangerous. “I try to understand,” he murmured, sighing. “She’s just so insecure. But last night was an unavoidable business obligation. I couldn’t get away.” I couldn’t take it anymore. With trembling hands, I reached behind my ears and pulled off my surgical mask. “So, being with me is what you call an ‘unavoidable business obligation’?” Carter froze, his eyes widening in sheer terror. “Carter,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Do you want to explain this to me? Honestly?” The pieces of the past year fell into place with terrifying clarity. The sudden “late-night shifts” at his clinic, the weekends spent “visiting his parents,” the wedding date that kept getting pushed back further and further. “Jasmine… let me explain. You’re misunderstanding this,” he stammered, reaching out to grab my hand, but I pulled away. “Paige and I… we grew up together. You know that. I’m only doing this out of obligation to our families. And when I called her my girlfriend to you… it was just a slip of the tongue. I meant a ‘girl friend’—a female friend.” The sheer audacity of his lie made me physically sick. Despite every code of professional ethics engraved in my mind, I couldn’t stop myself. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t touch me, Carter. You make me sick.” The confrontation spilled out of the exam room, escalating into a bitter, public spectacle in the hospital corridor. By the time security intervened, Carter’s face was marked with red scratches, and he had resorted to viciously tearing down my character to protect his pride. “Fine! I care about Paige, so what?!” he yelled, ignoring the stares of the staff. “If you hadn’t been so paranoid, if you weren’t constantly buried in your residency and canceling our plans, would I have needed to look elsewhere for emotional support? You chose your career over us, Jasmine!” My fingers clamped tightly around the printout of an experimental research file tucked inside my white coat. Carter had a rare, complex immune profile that made him highly sensitive to multiple environmental allergens, not just cats. My mentor had told me it was nearly impossible to treat effectively. But I hadn’t given up. For the past three years, I had spent every spare hour in the university lab, developing a targeted immunotherapy protocol specifically tailored to his genetic markers. The final clinical trials had just concluded successfully, and the drug was close to approval. I had planned to present it to him as a wedding gift. Not so I could bring my cats back, but so he could finally walk through a park in the spring without struggling to breathe. In an instant, the anger left me, replaced by a profound, empty exhaustion. “Let’s end this, Carter. We’re done.” After that day, Carter made no attempt to contact me. I threw myself into my final weeks of hospital duty, focusing entirely on wrapping up my research and preparing for my departure. Meanwhile, my phone kept buzzing with updates from Asheville. I looked at a few houses with large yards today. Let me know if any of these layouts work for the sanctuary. I’ve already spoken to the local zoning board about the permits. Here are the documents. Jasmine, I’m here. Whenever you’re ready. My heart ached with a complex mix of grief and relief. Just as I was about to lock my phone, a string of messages arrived from an unknown number. Babe, Barnaby threw up another hairball. Come over and clean it up. Oliver has diarrhea again. It’s so disgusting. The sender was Paige. Attached were two short videos. A gorgeous Ragdoll and a large Golden Shaded British Shorthair. It was Oliver and Barnaby. In the videos, both cats looked neglected. Their eyes were dull and weeping, their coats matted, and their bodies visibly thinner than the last time I had seen them in the boarding facility photos. I sat in my car, staring at the screen for two minutes, my breathing shallow. Then, Paige quickly deleted the messages. Oh, my god, I am so sorry! Wrong chat. Please don’t misunderstand, Jasmine—that was meant for my boyfriend. A cold, dark fury took hold of me. I turned the key in the ignition and drove straight to the address I had found on Paige’s public profile. When she opened the door, a smug, mocking smile was already plastered on her face. “Oh, hi, Jasmine. Are you here because you think my cats are cute?” “Give me Oliver and Barnaby. Now.” I pushed past her, ignoring her dramatic gasps of protest. The moment I stepped into the living room, the two cats let out low, plaintive meows and scrambled out from under the couch, throwing themselves against my ankles, burying their faces in my shins as if pleading not to be left behind again. I scooped them both into my arms, ignoring Paige’s screeching behind me, and walked out. Safely back in my car, I texted Luke. Change my ticket. I want to leave tonight. His reply came three seconds later. I’ll handle it. Back at the apartment, I packed my bags in a quiet frenzy, my tears blurring my vision. When we had first leased this place, it was a run-down, empty shell. Carter had spent weekends painting the walls, installing custom shelving, and organizing every corner to match my exact aesthetic, spending several months’ worth of his salary to make it perfect. I had told him it was too much effort for a temporary rental. He had held my hands and said, “The apartment is temporary, Jasmine, but my devotion to you isn’t. I want to build a real home with you.” Looking at those beautiful, hand-carved shelves now, the memories felt like a cruel joke. I decided to leave everything behind. I didn’t want a single reminder of the life we had planned. I only wanted my cats and my freedom. But as I reached for the doorknob with my suitcases, the door swung open, revealing an infuriated Carter. He lunged forward, his hand raised as if to strike me, though he stopped himself at the last second, his chest heaving. “Are you out of your mind? Who gave you permission to assault Paige in her own home?” he screamed. “I told you, she has severe clinical depression! Caring for those cats was the only thing keeping her stable!” When I didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone and shoved a blurry, poorly edited photo in my face. “Look at this! Because you violently dragged those cats away, Paige tried to cut her wrists! If anything happens to her, Jasmine, I swear to God I will make your life a living hell!” The depth of my disappointment was so absolute that I didn’t even have the energy to argue. I looked at him with complete indifference and gently pushed his hand away from my face. “Oliver and Barnaby belong to me. Now, please step aside. The movers are on their way.” Only then did Carter notice the suitcases lined up near the door. “Oh, I see,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “You’re running away now? Just because I’ve been trying to save a girl’s life, you’re going to throw a tantrum and pack your bags? Who are you trying to scare, Jasmine?” I shook my head slowly. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Carter.” “We’re done.” His face twisted in frustration. “Jasmine, stop acting like a child! Paige is literally suicidal right now because she lost those cats, and I don’t have time for your jealousy! Give them back to me!” He lunged forward to grab the cat carriers. When I stepped in front of them, he shoved me hard, sending me crashing against the entryway table. “Jasmine!” Before Carter could reach for the carriers again, a tall figure burst through the open doorway, slamming into Carter and throwing him back against the wall. A deep, furious voice echoed through the hallway. “Get your hands off her.”
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