He stood then, crossed the small space, and sat in the chair beside mine. He didn't touch me, not yet, but his presence was solid and warm in a way that felt like shelter.
"I don't know what we would have done without you these past weeks." his voice was rough. "I don't know what I would have done today if you hadn't been there."
"You would have managed," I whispered. "You always manage."
"Maybe." He paused. "But I wouldn't have wanted to."
Our words stuck together; I couldn’t speak, and I suspected neither did he, because both of us could find words to describe what we felt. I was excellent at self-blame, Olympic-level, really. But sitting here with him, I felt something else pushing through the guilt. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
His hand moved then, covering mine where it rested on the arm of the chair. His skin was warm, his grip firm and real. An anchor.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Not while she needs me."
"Just while she needs you?"
The question was quiet, loaded. I met his eyes, and what I saw there made my breath catch. This wasn't gratitude. This wasn't professional appreciation. This was something deeper, something that scared me almost as much as it drew me in.
"Nathaniel..." I didn't know what I was going to say. Didn't know how to name the thing growing between us without making it real, without making it dangerous.
"I know." He squeezed my hand gently. "Wrong time. Wrong circumstances. I know." An almost smile graced my lips. "But when this is over, when she's safe, and Victoria's gone, I'd like to have a different conversation."
My heart was doing something complicated; I wasn’t trying to stop it anymore. "I'd like that too."
We sat there for a long moment, hands linked; we both knew we just silently committed to something. It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't a promise. But it was something, a door cracked open, light spilling through.
Then his phone buzzed, and the moment shifted back into crisis mode.
"Miles sent the address for the office," he said, releasing my hand. "We should go sign those affidavits, then get back to Millie."
"Okay."
The drive to Miles's office was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I signed my statement in the elegant conference room, my hand trembling as I wrote out the cold, factual account of what I'd witnessed. Victoria accelerating. Millie's body. The screaming.
When it was done, Nathaniel touched my shoulder briefly. "Thank you. For all of it."
"Don't thank me yet," I said, attempting lightness. "You haven't gotten my invoice for emotional damages."
The joke fell flat, but he almost smiled anyway. "I'll add it to the legal fees."
We drove back toward the hospital, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windshield. I was staring out the window, trying to quiet my brain, when my phone buzzed in my purse.
I pulled it out, expecting spam or a message from Eleanor checking in.
The words on the screen stopped my heart.
Unknown Number.
Testify against Victoria, and your sealed therapy records go public. Every self-destructive relationship, every diagnosis, every weakness… it'll all be used to paint you as an unstable gold-digger obsessed with her employer. Back off if you know what's good for you. Tell Nathaniel, and it gets worse.
My hand started shaking. Actually shaking, like I was freezing, except I wasn't cold, I was burning, my face flushing with a fear that felt like illness.
"Everything okay?" Nathaniel glanced over.
I locked the screen so fast I almost dropped the phone. "Fine. Just spam."
The lie tasted like copper. Like blood.
"You sure?" He was watching me now, concern dancing around in his eyes. "You went pale."
