“Frank just called. He’s got the flu.”
My stomach drops. Frank’s scheduled for tonight’s emergency clinic shift. Without him, Amy will need backup.
“I’ll cover it.” The words come automatically.
“Sebastian, you’ve already worked?—”
“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. Nothing is fine. But at least at work, I know what I’m doing. At work, fixing things doesn’t drive people away.
The emergency clinic is exactly what I need—controlled chaos that leaves no room for thinking about Flick’s face as she walked away. A dog hit by a car arrives within minutes, requiring immediate surgery. Then a cat who ate an entire box of chocolates. Then another cat who somehow swallowed a whole sock.
By the time I extract the sock—the third surgery of the night—exhaustion has become a living thing. I’m not sure how I’m still standing.
“That’s enough,” Rach says when I finally emerge. She stayed late without being asked, knowing I’d need help. “We’re closing early.”
“We’re open until two?—”
“And it’s one-fifteen on a Tuesday night. Pine Island’s pets will survive until tomorrow.” She’s already flipping the sign and locking the door. “Go home, Sebastian. Get some sleep.”
The drive home is a blur. My house sits dark and empty, no warm light in the windows, no signs of life. Just rooms that echo with each footstep. I reheat takeout that might be three days old, eating standing at the counter because sitting at the table alone feels too pathetic.
My phone buzzes. A text from Ben:
Haven’t heard from you. You okay?
Not really.
Want to talk?
Yeah.
My phone rings a couple minutes later and Ben dives right in.
“What happened?” No preamble, no small talk. That’s Ben.
“Flick ended things. Said I was trying to manage her life instead of supporting her.”
“Were you?”
Sighing, I close my eyes. “Yes.”
“Just like with Jessica?”
The parallel I’ve been avoiding slams home. Different woman, same mistakes. “Yes.”
“Sebastian.” His voice gentles. “You know I love you, right? But you’ve got to stop using work and helping as armor. It’s been five years since the divorce. At some point, you need to figure out who you are when you’re not fixing something.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Then maybe it’s time to learn. Look, I know the sanctuary is important to you. But what’s the point of saving every animal on the island if you can’t save yourself?”
After we hang up, I sit in the darkness of my too-big house, finally facing the truth. I don’t know who I am outside of work. Don’t know how to love someone without trying to fix them. Don’t know how to be still with someone else’s pain without immediately reaching for solutions.
Flick saw through all of it. Saw how I use helpfulness as a shield, activity as armor. And instead of letting me fix my way out of it, she did the one thing I can’t work around: she asked for space.
My phone shows one unread text from her, sent hours ago:
I’m sorry. This is hard for me too.
