Which meant maybe there was still a chance.
If she could figure out how to be brave enough to deserve it.
She closed her laptop. Gathered her things. Walked out of Oakridge Hospital into the gray Los Angeles evening, thirty days of forced stillness stretching ahead of her.
Thirty days to figure out who she wanted to be.
Thirty days to decide if survival was still enough.
Thirty days to learn how to live.
10
EVIE
OCTOBER 17TH – FIRST DAY OF MAGGIE’S SUSPENSION
Evie woke to the alarm she’d set out of habit, then stared at the ceiling for ten minutes before she could convince herself to move.
First day without Maggie at Oakridge.
The thought sat in her chest like a stone.
She rolled over, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with notifications—hospital schedule updates, lab results, a reminder about grand rounds—but her eyes caught on the text thread with Maggie.
Last message:I’m glad you’re not fired. But sorry isn’t enough. Not yet.
Sent at 4:52 PM yesterday. No response since.
Evie locked the phone without reading the rest. She didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to parse whether Maggie’s silencemeant respect for boundaries or just more distance. Either way, it hurt the same.
She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water beat against her shoulders until the mirror fogged completely. When she finally dressed—scrubs that felt heavier than usual, white coat that smelled faintly of hospital antiseptic—she caught her reflection and barely recognized the woman staring back.
Tired. Angry. Sad.
But still here.
She made coffee, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door before she could talk herself into calling in sick.
The drive to Oakridge felt longer than it should have.
Los Angeles traffic crawled forward with its usual apathy, brake lights bleeding red into the bright October morning. Evie gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, her mind replaying the last real conversation she’d had with Maggie.
“You don’t get to hurt me and call it protection.”
She’d meant every word. Still did.
But God, she missed her anyway.
When she finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, muscle memory carried her to the usual spot—third row, near the east entrance. She parked, killed the engine, and sat for a moment in the quiet.
Three spaces down, Maggie’s usual spot sat empty.
Evie’s chest tightened.
Stop it,she told herself.You don’t get to fall apart. Not here. Not now.
She grabbed her bag, locked the car, and walked toward the entrance with her shoulders squared and her jaw set. If people were going to talk—and they would—she’d give them nothing to work with. No tears. No visible cracks.
