When they finally hung up, Maggie felt more settled. Four days apart wasn’t going to kill her. And at the end of it, Evie would come home.
To their home.
Because somewhere in the past month, Maggie had stopped thinking of this apartment as just hers. It was theirs now—Evie’s coffee mug on the counter, her jacket on the chair, her presence woven into every room.
Maggie opened her laptop and pulled up her therapy notes.
Things I’m learning:
Separation doesn’t equal abandonment
Evie can leave and still come back
I can be alone without falling apart
Love doesn’t require constant proximity
Trust is a choice I make every day
She saved the document and closed the laptop, feeling something that might have been progress.
December arrived with unseasonable warmth and the hospital’s annual holiday party.
Maggie stood in the staff lounge, nursing a glass of wine she didn’t want, watching residents and attendings mingle with forced cheerfulness. These events were always awkward—too formal to be fun, too casual to be purely professional.
Across the room, Evie was talking to Dr. Patel and some other residents. She looked beautiful in dark jeans and a deep green sweater, her hair down, laughing at something Dr. Amin said.
Maggie forced herself to look away.
“You’re staring,” Doctor Chen said quietly, appearing at her elbow.
Maggie startled. “I’m not?—”
“You are,” Chen said, but there was no judgment in her voice. “Subtly. But you are.”
Maggie took a sip of wine, buying herself time. “How are things going, in your opinion?”
“With the restriction? Better than expected. You’ve both been professional. No incidents. No complaints.” Chen paused. “The committee will be satisfied.”
