It felt like truth.
Even if she had no idea what to do with it.
6
EVIE
Evie woke to the quiet.
Not the gentle quiet of sleep, but the suspended stillness of a hospital between alarms—the kind that never lasted.
The on-call room lights were dimmed, casting soft shadows across the ceiling. For a moment, she didn’t move. She lay still, breathing, listening, orienting herself to the weight of what had happened.
Maggie was beside her.
Not touching her now—but close enough that Evie could feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets, the solid presence of her like an anchor. Maggie lay on her back, one arm folded across her stomach, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Awake.
Evie shifted slightly. The movement was enough.
Maggie’s breath changed—slow, deliberate. Controlled.
That told Evie more than words would have.
“You didn’t sleep,” Evie said quietly.
“No,” Maggie replied.
It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t curt.
Just honest.
Evie pushed herself up onto one elbow, the sheet slipping down her shoulder. She didn’t try to cover herself again. This wasn’t about modesty. It was about staying present.
“You okay?” she asked.
Maggie turned her head then, meeting Evie’s eyes. There was no panic there. No regret.
But there was something else.
Distance.
“I am,” Maggie said carefully. “But we need to be clear.”
Evie felt her chest tighten—not with shock, but recognition. She’d known this moment was coming. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt anyway.
“Okay,” Evie said. “Clear how? Things felt pretty clear not long ago.”
Maggie sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The physical separation felt deliberate—not cold, but necessary. She didn’t hear Evie’s humour.
“What happened tonight,” Maggie said, choosing her words with surgical precision, “doesn’t get to bleed into the rest of this.”
Evie watched her closely. “You don’t mean the hospital.”
Maggie didn’t look back at her. “I mean everything.”
That stung more than Evie expected.
