“She works in the arts,” I say
He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Ah.”
That’s it. Just that sound. But it carries something with it. Everyone seems to know Juliette, or at least her family name. I thought coming to work in London would sort of move us away from that. I was sorely mistaken.
After that, it happens more often. Little comments. Little looks. People notice the car when she drops me off. The way she dresses when she comes by. The way she says my name without hesitation, without lowering her voice.
I hear the assumptions before anyone says them out loud.
That I’m lucky.
That I’m cushioned.
That I don’t work hard.
No one asks how many shifts I pick up. How many nights I come home so tired my hands shake. How long I learned to survive without anyone at all. I don’t bother correcting anyone because Iunderstand. I’m dating one of the richest people in this country. Her name carries this aura which only entices hate in some people. I used to be one of those people too.
Today is particularly brutal.
Fourteen hours in, my brain feels like it’s wading through glue. I’ve had one coffee and half a biscuit someone left in the doctors’ room. My pager has gone off so many times I swear I still feel it vibrating even when it’s silent. I finally get a brief lull mid-afternoon. Brief enough that I sit down without trusting it.
I’m leaning against the counter, staring blankly at the whiteboard, when I hear a voice that absolutely does not belong here.
“Hi. Sorry. I’m looking for Dr. Emery.”
I look up so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
Juliette stands in the doorway.
She’s wearing a long coat, hair loose, eyes bright in a way that feels almost obscene against the sterile white of the room. She’s holding a paper bag and a coffee cup like they’re contraband. For a second, I forget where I am.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, already smiling despite myself.
She grins. “You forgot lunch.”
“I did not forget,” I say automatically. “I deprioritised.”
She clicks her tongue. “Terrible prioritisation.”
She steps inside like she owns the place. A couple of people glance over.
“That your partner?” a junior doctor asks, although he clearly already knows.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Juliette beams. “Hi.” This is the first time she’s spent longer than two minutes here. She sets the bag down and starts unpacking the food.
“You didn’t have to come,” I murmur, though my body is already leaning toward her.
“I know,” she says lightly. “I wanted to.”
Someone mutters, “Must be nice.”
Juliette hears it. She doesn’t react immediately. She just looks at me, eyes softening, like the room has disappeared.
“Eat,” she says quietly.
I do.
