“Of course!” I smiled because I could feel it, the way the universe was already showing me what needed to happen. “You have important work to do. People who need you.”
He blinked, clearly not expecting this level of understanding.
“Right. Yes. Important work.”
“I’ll probably explore the city a bit. Get a feel for the energy here.”
“That sounds... reasonable.”
“Very reasonable.”
“Surprisingly reasonable.”
“I can be reasonable, Julien.”
He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite figure out how.
“Okay then,” he said finally, grabbing his briefcase and his coat. “I’ll be back this evening. We can... talk. About everything.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He hesitated at the door, and for just a moment, I saw it. The vulnerability underneath all that control, the part of him thatwas scared and overwhelmed and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit grateful that he wasn’t facing this alone.
“Athena—”
“Go,” I said gently. “Your patients need you.”
He nodded, still looking uncertain, and then he was gone.
I waited exactly thirty seconds. Counting them out loud because the universe appreciated precision too, just in different ways, and then I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
Because yes, Julien’s patients needed him.
But Julien needed me.
And the universe had just shown me exactly where I needed to be.
The clinic was called Clinically Approved, which I loved immediately because it was both professional and slightly playful, like someone had a sense of humor about the whole medical establishment thing, and when I walked through the doors, I was hit with this wave of warmth. Not physical warmth, though the heating was very nice, butenergywarmth, the kind that said, “People care here. People heal here. This is a good place.”
The waiting room was beautiful in an understated way. The soft gray walls had touches of blue, and there were plants in the corners—the real ones, not plastic, which was a very good sign—and comfortable chairs arranged in small clusters instead of rigid rows, and natural light streaming through large windows that made everything feel open and welcoming instead of clinical and cold.
Julien works here,I thought, looking around.This is where he spends his days, helping people, fixing things that are broken, being brilliant and precise, and probably terrifying to his staff.
No wonder he’s so tired.
Behind the reception desk sat a woman who made me stop and stare. Not because she was beautiful, though she absolutely was, but because her energy was sointeresting—all organized and efficient on the surface but with these little sparks of warmth underneath, like she was someone who had built walls around herself but hadn’t quite managed to seal all the cracks.
She had blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, bright blue eyes behind stylish glasses, and she was wearing a cream-colored blouse that was perfectly pressed and professional, and when she looked up at me, her smile was polite but genuine.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice warm and welcoming. “Welcome to Clinically Approved. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’m actually—” I walked up to the desk, already feeling that pull, that cosmic certainty that said, “Pay attention. This person matters.” “I’m here to see Dr. Darcy. Julien Darcy.”
Her smile brightened. “Oh! Are you a colleague? Or—”
“I’m his wife.”
I said it simply, matter-of-factly, and watched her eyes widen just slightly before her professional composure snapped back into place.
