“Busy with client meetings.”
“He’ll be thrilled when he hears.”
What I don’t mention: I shut the door in his face three days ago. I’ve ignored his texts. I have no idea where we stand or if we’re anything at all.
Dr. Martinez taps her plastic spoon against her cup for attention. The room quiets, everyone turning toward her. She stands taller today, her eyes bright with joy instead of exhaustion and worry.
“Thank you all for being here,” she says, her accent thickening with emotion. “Months ago, I believed it was over.After so many years, I thought we’d have to close our doors forever.”
My throat constricts. I can still see her at her desk that terrible day, holding the rent increase notice with shaking hands.
“But I was wrong,” she continues. “This clinic isn’t just a building. It’s sanctuary. For animals, yes, but also for the people who love them.” She raises her cup. “Here’s to everyone who fought to save this place. Especially Sophie and her brilliant lawyer.”
Every face turns toward me. Heat crawls up my neck as they lift their cups in salute. I attempt a smile but it feels fake. My pulse kicks up so violently I’m certain they can hear it over the clinking glasses.
“Speech!” someone shouts from the back. Others pick up the chant.
I shake my head frantically, but Dr. Martinez pulls me forward anyway. The room tilts as I face all those expectant faces. Words desert me completely.
“I…” My voice emerges barely audible. I clear my throat and try again. “I only did what anyone would do for a place they love.”
But I know that’s not entirely true. Not everyone would spend weeks looking through moldy archives. Not everyone would fight this relentlessly. Not everyone would…
Not everyone would refuse their dream job twice and choose to stay and fight for a small-town veterinary clinic.
The thought hits me so hard I lose my train of thought completely. I mumble something generic about teamwork and community support before retreating into the crowd, pulse hammering. People resume their conversations as someone cranks the music louder.
I slip into the hallway, desperate for solitude. Saving the clinic feels monumental yet somehow incomplete. Like finishing a novel with the final chapter missing. We saved the building. We won the battle. But standing here in the corridor, listening to celebration sounds drift past, all I can think about is how Zayn isn’t here—and how victory tastes like ashes when you have no one to share it with.
I extract my phone and pull up his contact. My finger trembles as it hovers over the call button. I want to hear his voice, but I’m terrified. Before I can decide, Sara pokes her head around the corner.
“Dr. Martinez needs you,” she says. “The Gazette photographer wants a group shot of all the staff.”
I pocket my phone. “Coming,” I say, ignoring the pain spreading through my chest. Everyone’s still celebrating. I paste on my brightest smile and rejoin them, even though inside I feel like I’m breaking.
The party winds down as patients start coming in for their afternoon appointments. I’m collecting empty cups from the reception desk when someone touches my shoulder. Dr. Martinez stands beside me, her expression caught between joy over our victory and something more serious. She’s holding a cream-colored envelope with my name written across it in a familiar handwriting.
“He wanted me to give you this,” she says quietly, pressing the envelope into my hands. Her fingers linger on mine for a moment. “I don’t know what’s happening between you two, butthat man genuinely cares about this place.” She pauses, meeting my eyes directly. “And he’s absolutely crazy about you.”
My hands tremble slightly as I accept the envelope. It feels heavier than paper should.
“When did he?—”
“He stopped by this morning,” she says before I can finish. “Before we received the news.” She squeezes my hand gently. “He looked exhausted, mija. Like he hasn’t slept in days.”
Tears prick my eyes. I remember how he looked at my apartment door three nights ago—wrinkled shirt, hollow eyes, but so fierce when he told me he’d refused New York.
“Thanks,” I manage, slipping the envelope into my pocket. It feels warm against my thigh, like it might burn straight through the fabric.
Dr. Martinez nods toward the hallway. “Take your break. I’ve got the front covered.”
I mumble my thanks and escape down the corridor, past exam rooms where appointments have resumed, past Sara prepping a cat for X-rays, until I reach the break room at the far end.
The door closes behind me with a soft click. The room sits empty and quiet except for the refrigerator’s hum and muffled voices from reception. Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating dust motes suspended in the air. I sink into a chair at the round table and take out the envelope.
I stare at it for a full minute, pulse hammering. What if this is goodbye? What if he’s leaving for New York after all? What if?—
Enough,I think.Just open it.
