The thought of him seeing Sage again — really seeing her — made something flicker low in my gut. Pride, maybe. Or the quiet hope that she’d still look at me the same way when the night started again.
I pictured it without trying.
The bar lights.
The music.
Her smile when she spotted me across the room like it hadn’t been an accident at all.
I checked my watch.
Plenty of time.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I frowned, let it go to voicemail, turned back to my screen.
Then the voicemail notification popped up almost immediately.
Something about that — the speed of it — tightened my chest.
I listened.
“Ethan, this is Dr. McKenna’s office. We’re calling about your mother.”
Everything inside me went still.
I stood so fast my chair scraped back into the cubicle wall, drawing a few glances I didn’t notice. My sandwich sat untouched on the desk, the bread already curling at the edges.
I called back with shaking fingers.
By the time the nurse picked up, I was already halfway out of my skin.
“She fainted at work,” she said gently. “Dehydration. Exhaustion. We ran tests. She’s stable. But she can’t keep doing what she’s been doing.”
I closed my eyes.
“She cleans offices at night,” I said.
There was a pause on the line.
Then, quieter: “That needs to stop.”
The office around me blurred — keyboards clacking, phones ringing, life continuing like nothing had happened.
“I’m on my way,” I said, already reaching for my keys.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.
Just grabbed my jacket, nodded once at Beth as I passed her desk. She opened her mouth, probably to ask about tonight.
“Rain check,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite land.
She watched me go, concern already replacing curiosity.
By the time I hit the highway, the city was fading in my rearview mirror — glass and steel shrinking behind me as the road stretched north.
