"It is," Sophie says. "And it's incredible. You should be proud."
"But?"
"But you can build again." She reaches across the table, takes my hand. "Can you rebuild what you're walking away from with him?"
I can't finish my coffee. Can't look at either of them.
Three days of telling myself I made the right choice. That I was justified. That Dean was wrong to assume.
Three days of missing him so badly I can barely breathe.
"I don't know how to do this," I whisper. "Trust someone that much. Bet everything on someone staying."
Sophie squeezes my hand. "I know, babe. But staying safe isn't the same as being happy."
Maggie shows up at the clinic at four-thirty with a pie.
Not just any pie. A full, perfect cherry pie with a lattice crust that probably took hours. The kind of pie that saysI'm here to meddle but I'm going to be nice about it.
"Intervention pie," I say as she walks through the door.
"Thought you might need some." She sets it on Linda's desk with the kind of authority that makes Linda immediately produce plates and forks. "Got a minute?"
Linda points toward my office. "Exam rooms are clean. Last appointment just left. You're officially off the clock, Doc."
Traitor.
Maggie settles into the chair across from my desk like she owns it, cutting two generous slices of pie and sliding one my way. "Heard you've been having a rough week."
"Let me guess. Sophie called you."
"Sophie texted. Carla called. Your receptionist sent up a flare." She takes a bite of pie, chews thoughtfully. "Whole town's worried about you, honey."
"The whole town needs a hobby."
"You are the hobby." Maggie's smile is gentle. "That's what happens when you live somewhere people actually give a damn."
I stab my fork into the pie. It's perfect, of course. Tart and sweet and exactly what I need even though I didn't ask for it.
"I made the right choice," I say. Not a question. A statement I'm trying to make true through repetition.
"Probably." Maggie cuts another bite. "Question is, are you happy about it?"
"I don't know."
"That's honest, at least." She sets down her fork. "Can I tell you something?"
I nod, because arguing with Maggie feels pointless. She's going to tell me regardless.
"My husband---Sean---he was career Army. Met him when I was twenty-two, married him six months later. Everyone said I was crazy. Said I'd be a widow before I was thirty, that loving a soldier meant learning to grieve." She's quiet for a moment, and there's something raw in her expression. "They were right. Lost him in Afghanistan when I was thirty-four. Twelve years we had together. Twelve years of deployments and missed birthdays and not knowing if he was safe."
"Maggie---"
"But here's the thing." She looks at me. "I wouldn't trade a single day. Not one. Even knowing how it ended. Because those twelve years? Being loved by that man? That was everything."
I can't swallow past the lump in my throat.
"Safe isn't the same as happy, honey." Maggie's voice is gentle. "And you haven't lost anything yet. You're just scared you might."
