"Thank you for trying," she whispered.
And then they were gone.
I stood there for a long moment, my hands shaking with unused adrenaline. Chloe was staring at me with wide eyes.
"What just happened?" she asked.
I forced my voice back to professional calm. "Domestic violence case. Sometimes they leave anyway."
"But you... you were ready to fight him."
"Sometimes that's what it takes." I looked at her, saw the questions in her eyes. "Chloe, you're going to see this again. Patients who are being hurt by people who claim to love them. And sometimes, no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, they go back to their abusers. It doesn't mean we stop trying."
She nodded slowly. "What do we do now?"
"We document everything. We call the police and file a report. We hope that next time, she'll be ready to accept help." I started toward the computer to begin the incident report. "And we don't let it stop us from fighting for the next one."
But as I sat down to type, my hands were still shaking. Because I knew, with terrible certainty, that Lisa was driving home to face the consequences of our intervention. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
After they left, I called the police from the nurses' station. The officer who answered was sympathetic but firm.
"Look, we get it," he said. "We see these cases all the time. But without the victim asking for help, without her pressing charges or asking for protection, there's not much we can do. We can do a welfare check, but if she answers the door and says she's fine..."
"Even with the threats to hospital staff?"
"You can file a report about that, and we'll document it. But the domestic situation? Our hands are tied until she's ready to ask for help."
I hung up feeling hollower than before. Somewhere across the city, Lisa was facing the consequences of our intervention, and the system that was supposed to protect her was as helpless as I was.
The text from Izzy about dinner felt like it came from another lifetime. I stared at it for a long moment, then put my phone away without responding.
Some battles, you just couldn't win.
chapter
fifteen
I walkedout of the fire station at 7 a.m. with a smile on my face, which was unusual enough that it took me a moment to remember why. Then it all came flooding back — Jimmy's text about his days off, my bold move asking him to dinner, his response that he'd like it "a lot."
For the first time in years, I had butterflies about a date. Actual, honest-to-God butterflies, like I was sixteen again instead of a twenty-eight-year-old fire lieutenant who could dismantle a car engine or coordinate a multi-agency rescue without breaking a sweat.
I walked into my apartment and headed to the kitchen to make coffee, my phone in hand, expecting to see his response to my question about restaurant preferences. Nothing. Well, he was probably just getting off right now too — night shift schedules were brutal that way.
By nine a.m., I was standing in front of my closet, actually considering my options. When was the last time I'd cared what I wore on a date? Derek had always wanted me in dresses, the more feminine the better. Marcus had preferred tight workout clothes that showed off what he called my "athletic assets." But with Jimmy... I just wanted to look like myself. Maybe thegreen sweater he'd complimented, or the dark jeans that actually fit well.
I checked my phone again. Still nothing.
By noon, the butterflies had died and been replaced by something colder. I'd sent the restaurant question twelve hours ago. Jimmy had been quick to respond to every other text, sometimes within seconds. The silence was starting to feel deliberate.
I sat on my couch, staring at my phone like it might spontaneously generate a message. Had I misread everything? The dinner at his place, the way he'd looked at me at the hospital, the easy conversation, that moment when our eyes had met across the ER — had I imagined the connection?
Maybe you came on too strong,the voice in my head whispered.Maybe "I'm taking you to dinner" was too aggressive. Maybe he likes the chase and you took that away from him.
The optimistic buzz from our date began to curdle into a familiar, sour dread, as the ghosts of past failures began whispering in my ear.
“You’re never here anymore,”Derek’s voice echoed in my head.
“You need to soften up,”Marcus had complained.
