Maggie:I’m sorry. I never wanted that for you.
Evie:I know. But it’s happening anyway.
Maggie:Are you okay?
Evie stared at the question. Was she okay? No. But she would be.
Evie:No. But I will be.
Maggie:I wish I could fix this.
Evie:You can’t. We just have to live through it.
Maggie:I’m sorry. For all of it.
Evie:I know. But sorry doesn’t change anything.
She set the phone down, not waiting for a response.
A minute later, it buzzed.
Maggie:It could. If you let it.
Evie picked up the phone, read the message three times, and felt something crack in her chest.
She didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
Because if she started typing what she really felt, she wouldn’t stop. And she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
Instead, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the day.
Doctor Patel’s kindness that felt like pity.
Morrison’s implications that she hadn’t earned her place.
Daisy’s words:Don’t waste time being angry.
And Maggie’s text:It could. If you let it.
Evie wasn’t angry anymore.
That was the problem.
Anger had clarity. Anger had edges. Anger gave her something to push against.
This—this exhausting, aching sadness—was just fog.
And maybe that was worse.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, knowing that when she woke up tomorrow, she’d have to do it all over again.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
11
