For My Broken Heart - short stories

Guilt

"Sir, we know that this is stressful, but I'm going to need you to calm down and tell me everything if we're going to help her." 

Who's talking? I try to open my eyes, but there's only blinding whiteness, and I reel. 

"She… her chest… hurting," I only retain snippets of the sentence, and I can't quite tell who the speaker is, but it sounds like...

"Collapsed…" 

Rhys. My husband. 

My heart beats fast. I can hear it relaying back to me through a mechanical beep. 

I try to hold onto consciousness. I need to get Rhys out of here. He can't be here, he might find out what I've done. 

"We're going to do everything we can."

I slip under. 

-

When I come to, it becomes immediately and uncomfortably clear that I've been hospitalized. My throat is dry and sore, the evidence of a trachea tube recently removed. 

Amongst other things, I'm hooked up to a catheter, an artery line and IV. Several machines beep and display numbers that I don't understand.

There's a call button attached to my bed rail. I push it and wait, laying back into the pillows painfully. The nurse doesn't take long. 

"You're awake!" she exclaims. She's a thinly framed blonde sporting black glasses. "How are you feeling?" 

"Like shit," I say sitting up. "What happened?"

Her face falls. "Sweetie, I don't -" 

"Just give it to me straight," I demand. She heaves a heavy sigh. 

"The doctor diagnosed you with a nearly fatal case of guilt. The only way to save you was to access your memories, with the consent of your emergency contact, and remove the item that was causing your guilt." 

"You removed my memories?" 

"I assure you it was a very successful procedure," she says. "You are stable and will be back home likely by this evening." 

She was right. It was a bit of a wait for my blood work results, but I was in a cab home by 7pm with a bag of my leftover possessions and a stack of medical information. As I unlock the door to my apartment, everything seems normal. It really doesn't feel like memories are missing. I remember my address, my name, where I work, that I have a chihuahua named Firefly who wears a yellow collar. 

Most of all, I don't feel *remorseful.* There is no guilt anywhere inside of me to suggest I would've taken an emergency trip to the hospital. 

Needing a real breather, I make myself a cup of coffee and sit down at my kitchen table so I can sort through my possessions. 

I empty the bag onto the table. I find a set of car keys, my phone, the charger, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a coin purse and my license. I stuff these things into their appropriate pockets. 

I start to stand up from the table, but then I notice a glint that I didn't pick up. I grab it and roll it between my fingers. 

It's a wedding band. 

It's a wedding band, but… I'm not married.