“She will be. It’s just dehydration and exhaustion. Nothing permanent.” I picked up another container. “I offered her a job.”
Emma's chopsticks froze halfway to her mouth. "What kind of job?"
“You need supervision from someone with medical training, just in case complications appear during your recovery.” I kept my tone clinical and detached. “She’s an RNFA. Fully qualified. The guest suite is empty, and the position would be part-time.”
"That makes sense," Emma said slowly, studying me with unsettling intensity. "What did she say?"
“She refused.”
Emma blinked. “Why?”
"Pride. She thinks accepting help is the same as admitting failure." I met her eyes. "She'd rather struggle than feel indebted."
Her expression softened. “You’re talking about yourself.”
“I’m talking about her,” I said firmly.
"Sure." A small smile played on her lips. "But you understand her because youwereher. After Dad died, you refused help too. From everyone."
I stayed silent. There was nothing to argue with there.
“Do you like her?” Emma asked suddenly.
The question caught me completely off guard. “What?”
“The nurse,” she clarified. “Do you like her?”
“She’s competent and does her job well.”
"That's not what I asked."
“She’s a colleague. Nothing more.”
Emma leaned back with a knowing smile. “You don't offer housing and a job to just any colleague, Riv.”
“I did it because you need supervision and she meets the qualifications.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Her smile widened. "But for what it's worth, I think offering was the right thing to do. Even if she said no."
We finished eating in comfortable silence. Emma started talking about a fantasy book she was reading, full of magic and politics and dragons. I listened with half my attention, the other half stuck on Mireya’s refusal and the way she looked at me like I was setting some kind of trap.
After Emma went to bed, I stood alone in my study, staring out at the glittering city skyline.
My phone sat silent on the desk.
She wouldn't call.
I knew that. And yet some irrational part of me kept checking anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
MIREYA
The IV drip measuredmy remaining hours of safety. I’d been watching it for nearly two hours now, counting each one as it slid down the tubing. Every drop brought me closer to discharge and closer to the moment I would have to leave this hospital with nowhere to go.
The nurses had checked my vitals earlier, telling me I could leave in the morning once the fluids finished and everything stayed stable.
Morning felt like a cruel joke.
