She pictures him driving on I-75, the air-conditioning blasting, listening to his favorite business podcast. She should call him and ask how they could have possibly gotten to a place so low. Or maybe she can drive to his office right now and surprise him. Be the spontaneous Suhani who once existed sometimes with Zack. Only with Zack. She pictures herself wearing black stilettos, a trench coat, and nothing else. They can play hooky, get a hotel room, order champagne and room service.

But he doesn’t want that. And she has to respect his desire for space.

Suhani studies her reflection in their bathroom mirror, still foggy from her long morning shower. The sole perk of being unable to sleep now is that she has plenty of time to do a hair mask, exfoliate, and shave her legs. Zack’s razor is on the counter.

After her shower, it only takes her ten minutes to apply primer, foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, and eye shadow. She puts on a crisp white shirtdress and slings gold Mejuri hoops through her ears. Her look is complete with one coat of red lipstick. A quick glance in the mirror confirms that she looks ready to take on the day, even if all she wants to do is curl into the fetal position on the floor.

Her gaze lingers on her platinum wedding band and three-carat engagement ring. The creepy stillness of the apartment makes her feel as though she’s suspended in a dream. Outside, the roads swell with morning rush-hour traffic. People are clutching iced coffees and crossing streets and putting in AirPods.

Work. She has to get to work. Natasha can take a terrible situation and inject humor into it. Take lemons and make a margarita. Mom can do that, too. But Suhani’s only way of coping is to put her head down and get shit done.

An hour later, she’s sitting across from Dr. Wilson. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course.”

“Look, I understand what you saw between Dr. Shah and me,” Suhani says. “We did know each other in medical school, but there’s nothing to be concerned about now. And it won’t have any impact on how I would be as a chief.”

If I still even have a chance, she considers adding but then decides not to.

“Suhani, I appreciate you sharing that, but we’ve already made our decisions.” Dr. Wilson twirls a Montblanc pen like it’s a mini baton. Suhani has an impulse to grab the pen out of his hand and yell, Tell me already! She needs to process the news and move on. Rip off the Band-Aid.

“All right, then,” Suhani prepares to leave. “That’s gr—”

“You are going to be one of our chiefs.”

“Wait, what?” Suhani asks. “I am?”

But what about what he and the other committee members saw? What about the e-mail?