“Emmy.”
I glance up and find Tate leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing. Her scrubs are rumpled, hair half pulled loose, exhaustion clinging to her in the way it always does after a long day in maternity.
“There you are,” she says. “I thought you’d been swallowed by a ventilator.”
I smile faintly. “Tempting, but no.”
She studies me more closely now, gaze flicking from my face to my posture, lingering a beat too long. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say automatically.
Her eyebrow arches. “That was the fastest lie I’ve heard all day.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, turning back to the computer to log out. “I’m just tired.”
“Mmm,” she hums, unconvinced. “You’ve been tired all week. This is… different.”
I close the system and grab my bag. “You’re imagining things.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve been distracted. And jumpy. And you haven’t once commented on a hot dad in the waiting room, which tells me something’s very wrong.”
That gets a real smile out of me. “Tragic, I know.”
Tate’s expression softens, concern edging out the teasing. “Em.”
I sigh, shoulders slumping just a little. “I’m fine. I promise. Just… a lot on my mind.”
She doesn’t push. Tate knows me too well for that. Instead, she bumps her hip against mine. “You heading out now?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because I’m starving, and if you tell me you’re going home to eat ice cream for dinner again, I’m staging an intervention.”
I laugh quietly as we walk toward the exit together. “No ice cream tonight. Probably.”
We pass through the automatic doors, the smell of antiseptic giving way to cool evening air. The sky outside has deepened into indigo, the hospital lights casting long shadows across the car park.
Tate pauses beside her car and turns to me. “Text me when you get home.”
“I always do.”
She hesitates, eyes narrowing slightly as they flick past me, scanning the lot. “And maybe… don’t linger out here, yeah? I’ve got a weird feeling tonight.”
A chill creeps up my spine. “You too?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Probably just exhaustion.”
She frowns, clearly not convinced, then sighs. “Just be careful, Em.”
“I will.”
She squeezes my hand once before climbing into her car. I watch her drive away, taillights disappearing around the corner.
The car park feels too open once she’s gone.
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and start toward my car, keys already in my hand. The sound of my footsteps echoes faintly, and I tell myself I’m being ridiculous.
