“She left about a minute after you went into the exam room,” Brenda says.
Valeria’s shoulders sag, and a wave of disappointment washes over her—not at Brooke, but at herself. She knew it might upset Brooke, and she still did it. She exhales slowly, wishing she could take it back, wishing she had chosen differently because she doesn’t know what will happen now.
Fuck.
The second Valeria walks into her apartment, she collapses onto the couch. She’s called Brooke so many times her chest feels tight with panic. Her phone is warm in her hand as she stares at the screen.
“One more time,” she whispers, hitting the call button again, hoping, desperately, that Brooke will answer.
She holds her breath as the line rings. By the sixth ring, she exhales, thumb hovering over the screen, ready to give up. Just then, Brooke picks up, and relief floods her so fast that Valeria’s shoulders sag.
“Hello,” Brooke says flatly. Void of her usual warmth, but she answered. Valeria will take it.
“Babe, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so?—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Brooke cuts in, and Valeria’s heart drops straight into her stomach. “You always do this, Val. I had the whole night figured out, and you didn’t even bother to check with me.”
“Baby, it’s my job,” Valeria says, even though she knows this is a tired argument, one she’ll never win.
“You were off, Valeria,” Brooke snaps. “Meaning whatever happens at that clinic once you clock out isn’t your problem.”
Valeria doesn’t respond. Logically, Brooke is right. Of course she is, but Valeria doesn’t work some neat, clock-out corporate job where caring can be shut off at five. Not when pain has a heartbeat. Not when terrified eyes are staring up at her, asking for help.
“I can’t just ignore it when an animal needs me,” she says quietly. “It didn’t take more than ten minutes. I didn’t think?—”
“Yeah, you didn’t.” Brooke lets out a soft laugh that teeters on a scoff. “You always have a reason, don’t you? There’s always someone who needs you more than I do.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? I spent hours putting together something nice for you, because you texted me fifty times about how stressful your day was. So I’m sorryif, when I show up to take you home, I expect you not to take another patient. You didn’t talk to me about it, you just left me standing in the middle of the fucking reception area.”
“Brooke, that’s not?—”
She cuts Valeria off again. “I’m not asking for much, Valeria, but maybe I am. Maybe I care more than I should, huh?”
“Brooke,” Valeria says, voice cracking. She swallows hard, fingers twisting together. “I said I’m sorry.”
A heavy pause settles in, squeezing at her lungs.
“I know,” Brooke replies, her tone softening, and it somehow hurts more. “You always are, but tell me, when has that ever changed anything? You can’t even promise you won’t do it again because we both know that would be a lie.”
The silence stretches, tightening until it feels suffocating. Valeria pulls the phone from her ear, convinced Brooke must have hung up, but she hasn’t.
After a few more seconds of unbearable silence, Brooke lets out a sigh and speaks. “Just ... don’t call me again tonight, okay? I need a minute. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The line goes dead before Valeria can say another word.
She stares at her phone as Brooke’s words loop through her mind, twisting tighter and tighter until Valeria starts to believe that she shouldn’t have stayed. That she shouldn’t have cared about the tiny creature in the woman’s arms. They could have gotten help elsewhere. It didn’thaveto be her.
By the end of the night, Valeria decides that Brooke is right and that she needs to learn to say no at the clinic. Something Valeria never thought she’d concede to.
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILA
It’s been a few days since she took the cat in for surgery. In that time, she turned countless names over in her mind until one stuck: Miso. She isn’t entirely sure why, only that it felt right. She wanted something different—nothing like the usual black cat names like Midnight or Loki.
When Camila receives the call that Miso is ready for pickup, she all but flies out of her house and into her car. An hour later, she’s back at the emergency clinic. The few moments alone in the exam room are agony. Camila clasps her hands in her lap, fingers worrying at an invisible thread. The moment the doors swing open, and she sees Miso, something in her chest loosens, then knots again when she notices Miso’s shaved belly and the tight pink line of stitches—the entire left hind leg is gone.
