“I think she’s turning the corner,” he said softly, watching the now-regular rise and fall of the tiny chest.
Lynda nodded. She looked tired but happy. “She’s a fighter.”
They carefully transferred Star back to the incubator, keeping her chest slightly elevated to help her breathe more easily. Matt adjusted the monitoring equipment to alert them to any changes in her condition.
He looked at Lynda. “You must be exhausted. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Lynda replied, checking the remaining puppies one more time before following him.
As Matt made two mugs of coffee, he thought about the last few hours. Looking after a litter of wolfdog pups was the lastthing he thought he’d be doing, but that was life when you lived in a small town.
He poured coffee into two mugs and handed one of them to Lynda. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Lynda held the mug carefully in her hands. “Thanks. It smells delicious.”
“I bought the blend from Sweet Treats,” Matt told her as he searched another cupboard for his secret stash of cookies. “Brooke got a new shipment in last week.” When he found the shortbread cookies, he filled a plate with them and sat beside Lynda. “If you hadn’t caught the change in Star’s breathing when you did...”
“We would have lost her,” Lynda finished quietly.
Matt pushed the plate of cookies closer to Lynda. “Try these. Mrs. Pemberton makes the best shortbread I’ve ever tasted. I’m hoping she’ll share her recipe with me, but she said it’s a family secret.”
Lynda chose a cookie and sighed as she bit into it. “It reminds me of the shortbread my nana used to make. She used to send a small box of cookies to Denver each week.”
“She sounds like a nice person.”
Lynda nodded. “She was the best.”
Matt chose a cookie for himself and bit into the gritty shortbread. “Why did you stay in Denver after your divorce?” he asked, the question emerging before he’d fully formed it in his mind. “Was it for your practice?”
Lynda looked surprised by the sudden change in topic but not offended. She stared into her coffee for a long moment before answering.
“Partly,” she admitted. “The practice was successful, and I’d built relationships with clients over decades. But honestly? I stayed because I refused to be the one who left.” Her voice hardened slightly. “Ray wanted everything to be easy. Hewanted me to quietly disappear so he could move Melissa—his receptionist—into our house without any messiness.”
“How long had it been going on?” Matt asked gently.
“The affair? Almost a year when I discovered it.” Lynda’s laugh held no humor. “And I only found out by accident. I saw a text preview on his phone. If I hadn’t walked into my office at that exact moment, I might still be married to him, blissfully unaware that he was sleeping with someone half my age.”
Matt winced. “That’s rough.”
“The worst part wasn’t even the affair,” Lynda continued, her eyes distant. “It was realizing that I’d been completely blind to it. We ate dinner together most nights. We still went on vacations. I thought we were happy, or at least as happy as most couples our age.” She shook her head. “Finding out I’d been so wrong about my marriage made me question everything—my judgment, my perceptions, my worth.”
“He’s the one who should have questioned his worth,” Matt said, surprising himself with how upset he was. “Cheating isn’t a reflection on you. It’s a reflection on him.”
Lynda looked up, meeting his eyes. “That’s what my therapist said. It took me a long time to believe it.” She sighed. “After the divorce, I threw myself into work. I built a shell around myself that kept everyone at a safe distance. That way, there was no risk of being hurt if I never let anyone close enough to matter.”
The honesty of her confession touched something in Matt. “I know something about building shells,” he said quietly. “After Maria died, I did the same thing. I focused on my daughter and the clinic. It was easier than facing the emptiness of the house every night.”
“How did you manage?” Lynda asked. “With a child to raise alone and your grief?”
Matt considered the question. “One day at a time,” he said finally. “Some days were just about surviving—getting Stephanieto school, seeing patients, making dinner. Other days were better. Stephanie helped—children have this way of pulling you back into life whether you’re ready or not.”
He took a sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts. “The hardest part was learning to sleep alone. From the day we were married, I always fell asleep with Maria beside me. After she was gone, the bed seemed enormous, impossibly empty.” He looked down at his hands. “I slept on the couch for almost six months.”
Lynda’s expression held no judgment, only understanding. “I rearranged all the furniture in my bedroom. I bought a new bed, new sheets, new everything. I couldn’t bear to sleep in the same space where Ray had been lying to me for so long.”
“Did it help?” Matt asked.
“Not really,” Lynda admitted with a small smile. “But it gave me something to do with all that anger.”
