Evie’s voice was careful. “I’m sorry you lost her.”
Maggie nodded once, then straightened, walls sliding back into place. “It was a long time ago.”
“Grief doesn’t work on a timeline,” Evie said quietly.
Maggie looked out the window for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes distant. When she spoke again, her voice was lower.
“You handle things better than most senior attendings I know.”
Evie blinked. “You don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“No,” Maggie agreed. “I don’t.”
Evie hesitated, then said gently, “You looked… rattled earlier.”
Maggie’s gaze snapped back to her. Sharp. Guarded.
“That’s not?—”
Evie held up a hand. “I’m not asking you to explain. I just… noticed.”
Silence stretched.
Most people would’ve filled it.
Maggie didn’t.
Finally, she said, “People notice too much.”
Evie smiled softly. “Only when they care.”
Maggie’s fingers tightened around her mug. “Care is dangerous.”
“So is distance,” Evie replied, evenly. Not accusing. Not pleading.
Maggie laughed quietly—once, humorless. “You don’t lack confidence.”
Evie met her gaze. “Neither do you. You just don’t let anyone close enough to test it.”
The words were bold.
Maggie should’ve shut that down.
Instead, she looked tired.
“Do you know why I asked you here?” Maggie said.
Evie shook her head.
“Because watching you with Daisy…” Maggie paused, choosing her words. “It reminded me of something I don’t let myself do anymore.”
Evie’s chest tightened. “Which is?”
“Stay,” Maggie said simply. “Without armor.”
Evie didn’t move. Didn’t reach. Didn’t push.
“That sounds lonely,” she said.
