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Bo

It’s not until I’m in the waiting room of the office that I realize I’m not sure exactly what eye doctors do.

I mean, check your eyes, obviously.

But what does that involve?

Shining a light in them?

Will the doctor touch my eye?

I shiver at the thought and blink rapidly as my eyes water in protest at the idea.

I’ve worked myself halfway into a panic when a woman wearing scrubs and a kind smile opens the door next to reception and calls out my name.

“Here,” I grunt, pushing to my feet and bowing my shoulders when I notice her gaze widening at my stature.

At least she doesn’t flinch away from me.

“I’ll take you on back then.”

She guides me into a dimly lit office and proceeds to have me read letters on a wall chart while I cover each of my eyes.

That’s easy enough, no matter how small they’re printed, but when she hands me a laminated sheet to read off of, I feel my cheeks heating while I struggle, and that familiar ache starts in my skull.

“That’s quite all right,” she coos, accepting the sheet back when it’s clear I can’t get through it.

“The doctor will be in shortly, and he’ll take a closer look.”

While I wait in the chair, I do my best to ignore the odd machine covered in round gears and study the motivational poster on the wall that says, When life gets blurry, adjust your focus .

Then my eyes catch on a framed photo, and my stomach bottoms out.

There, sitting next to a plastic model of an eye, is a beautiful wedding photo of a man with his arms wrapped around Georgiana.

Oh shit ? —

The door opens, and a slightly older man from the image steps in with a nod and a smile.

“Hello, Bo. I’m Dr. Stormwind.”

My eye doctor is Georgiana’s husband.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for him to say something cutting or dismissive.

Wait for a warning to stay away from his wife or maybe even a threat.

But he just nudges a rolling stool closer to me, perches himself on the seat, and flips through the sheets on his clipboard.

“So, you made this appointment because you’ve been having headaches when you read?” he asks, oblivious to my mounting nerves.

“Would you say this is a newer development?”

I have to clear my throat twice before I can get the words out.

“Um … uh … no. I don’t think so. I, uh … I’ve never been a good reader.” I wince at the admission, suddenly certain he’ll use the information to emotionally gut me.

But he only hums in the back of his throat before setting down his clipboard.

“Well, let’s see if we can help you with that.”

Dr. Stormwind spends the next ten minutes giving my eyes a more thorough examination—which does involve some light shining, but not as terrible as I expected—and by the end, I’m convinced he has absolutely no idea who I am other than a new patient.

Georgiana must not have told him about me.

At least not using my name.

There’s a melancholy in my chest at the thought, and as Dr. Stormwind makes notes on his chart, I examine the feeling.

Am I jealous? Resentful?

No , I realize.

I’m just sad.

For a stretch of time, Georgiana meant the world to me.

But I didn’t even mean enough to her for her to mention me to her husband.

Or maybe she didn’t want to share her secret mistakes with the doctor she’d married.

Whatever the reason, I find I don’t have any ill will toward this man.

If anything, I wish him luck, dealing with a partner who might never share all of herself.

“What we’ve got here is a common enough problem,” Dr. Stormwind announces.

“You’re farsighted. You can see things far away perfectly well, but up close, your eyes can’t properly focus. You trying to force them to is likely causing strain and headaches. We’ll get you set up with some glasses, and I bet you’ll be reading fine in no time. No more squinting. No more pain.”

He offers me an encouraging smile, and I realize I’m returning one of my own.

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yes, sir. They can help you pick out frames up front and get a set ordered with your new prescription.” He holds up his clipboard as if any of the numbers written on it will make sense to me.

“I’ll see you back in a year to check if anything has changed. You should be good to go.”

“I … thank you.” My throat is suddenly thick.

How would my life have been different if I’d found out about this years ago?

Would I have stayed in school?

I just needed a little help.

Just needed someone to see I was struggling and realize why that might be.

Turns out, I just needed a clever witch.