It’s the life I was building there.The person I was becoming.The way Brant looked at me like I was more than just the chief's daughter.
I came to New York to chase a dream.But I think I might have left my heart three hours south.
Chapter 35
Regan
“Hervitalsarestable,and she’s had her meds,” the nurse says.
“Thanks.I’ll go in and do the final check,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Dr.Thomas.Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do.”
Her name is Laney, I think.Or maybe it’s Miri.Every time I’ve introduced myself and learned a nurse’s name, I don’t see them again the next day.It’s been like that since I started.At Pulse Point, I grew close to the nurses.They included me in their prank wars, asked about my day like they actually cared.It made the work so much lighter because we were laughing between the heaviness, feeling like we were in it together.
Here, I just feel flat.Like I’m ticking boxes off a list.
I head into the room and muster up a smile for the sweet thirteen-year-old who tried to impress a boy by doing a flip on her bike and ended up with a broken wrist instead.She’s touch-and-go because we’re trying to let it heal on its own rather than adding pins or plates.
I ask the standard questions, tapping notes as I go.
“Looks like you’re all set to go,” I say, keeping my tone light and professional.“I’ll let discharge know.Unless you have any questions?”
The girl shakes her head, but her mom speaks up.“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m good.Thanks for asking.”I smile and nod, walking out with my back straight and my expression neutral.But her question follows me.Are you okay?
I don’t know why it rattles me so much.Maybe because she saw something I’ve been trying to hide, and I don’t have a good answer.
That night, lying in the apartment with the city buzzing outside my window, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I haven’t lost my love for the job—I love what I do—But somewhere along the way, I’ve lost the spark.
The part of me that lit up when I walked into work.The part that laughed with coworkers and felt alive in the chaos.And I don’t know how to get it back.
I’m at the kitchen counter, mindlessly stirring my coffee.
Mom appears next to me in her robe, studying me with a look that she gets when she’s trying to read me.I can sense her attention to detail; she’s noticing I’m wearing the same pajamas as yesterday, that my hair’s unwashed and pulled into a messy bun, and I’m stirring my coffee, watching it get cold.
“Okay.”She taps her hand on the counter.“That’s enough.”
I look up at her.“Of what?”
“This.”She waves her hand over me.“You’re not yourself.I know you, and this… isn’tyou.”
“I’m just quiet,” I insist.“Trying to adjust, that’s all.”
She gives me a long look as she pours herself a coffee, like she’s trying to see past my words.But she doesn’t push.
“Let’s get dressed.We’re going out.”
“Mom, really, I’m—”
“Fine, yes, I heard you the first time.But come and hang out with your mother.”
I want to protest, but sitting with my thoughts isn’t going to help.
