Dr. Maggie Laurel
She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
The response came fifteen minutes later.
Dr. Laurel,
Yes! Absolutely. Are you considering a move? I’d love to set up a call. When works for you?
Jennifer
Maggie’s hands shook as she typed.
Tomorrow morning? 8 AM?
Perfect. I’ll send a calendar invite.
Maggie set the phone down and stared at it like it might explode.
She’d just taken the first step toward leaving Oakridge.
Toward leaving everything she’d rebuilt over five years.
Toward choosing Evie over safety.
The bedroom door was still closed. Evie was in there, probably crying herself to sleep, believing they were trapped in this impossible situation for four more months.
Maggie stood, turned off the kitchen light, and walked down the hallway.
She paused outside the bedroom door, hand on the knob.
Inside, she could hear Evie crying—quiet, muffled sobs she was trying to hide even now.
Maggie had two choices.
She could give Evie space. Let her process alone. Manage from a distance the way she’d always done.
Or she could choose presence over control.
She opened the door.
Evie was curled on her side, back to the door, shoulders shaking. She didn’t turn around when Maggie entered.
Maggie climbed into bed behind her, wrapping around her body, pulling her close.
Evie turned in her arms, burying her face against Maggie’s neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m just?—”
“You were honest,” Maggie interrupted. “And you were right. This is unsustainable.”
“But we agreed?—”
“I know what we agreed. But that was before I saw how much this is costing you. Costing us both.” Maggie stroked her hair. “So we’re going to figure something else out.”
“Like what?” Evie asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Maggie admitted. “But I promise you—we’re not doing this for four more months. I won’t let us break because I was too afraid to change the plan.”
Evie pulled back to look at her. “What are you saying?”
