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Then Allen had laid me out on his kitchen island and licked frosting off my breasts and belly button, but I wasn’t going to share that part. We might be in our forties, but even after four months together we could scarcely keep our hands off each other.

That was another great way we both relieved our work stress. Vigorous, creative, and frequent sexual activity. And maybe just for a little while longer, I could enjoy it.

A few days before Christmas I received an envelope via registered mail. I recognized the logo from Doctors in Disasters and my heart sunk. I knew what this was about. The investigation.

After making sure that Allen wasn’t planning on coming over that night, I poured myself a glass of wine and opened the envelope.

Dr. Bownton,

The purpose of this letter is to update you on the status of the investigation into the attack in Kyiv. After reviewing witness statements and police reports, we have confirmed that the death of Yuri Pachinko was justifiable self-defense. This matter is now closed. We thank you for your patience as we worked with local authorities to conduct a complete investigation.

Understanding that you voluntarily terminated your employment with us, Doctors in Disasters is pleased to extend an offer to resume your employment status with us if you choose to do so. The board of directors is grateful for your many years of service and would be pleased to have you on our team again. If you are interested in re-engaging with us, please contact me at your earliest convenience.

In closing, I’d like to say once again that we are deeply saddened by the events in Kyiv and the trauma that this no doubt has caused you.

Sincerely, Abraham Xavier, Executive Director

At the bottom of the letter was a handwritten note from my former boss.

Clara, I hope you’re doing okay and have recovered from your injuries. Sorry this took so long to close up, with everything going on in Ukraine it’s not been the highest priority for the locals. I miss working with you and hope you’ll consider putting this horrible tragedy behind you and coming back to us. Abe

I read the letter three more times before carefully folding it up and tucking it into a lockbox where I kept all my important papers. My hands were shaking. I collapsed on a chair, my eyes closing as I relived the events of that day six months ago like it was movie.

***

Four Russian soldiers storming the makeshift hospital we’d set up in a school gymnasium, all looking impossibly young as they barked orders at us. The restrained violence in their gaze as they gestured for us to obey. The ensuing firefight with armed civilians. The burning of a bullet going through my arm when I threw myself to the floor, using my body to shield two young children. My hand reaching for a gun that had fallen to the floor nearby from a soldier who’d been shot. The young soldier pointing a gun at my head, gesturing for me to hand over the children with a look of desperation in his eyes. The click as he pulled back the hammer, preparing to shoot me. The look of shock in the soldier’s eyes as I drew my gun and shot him first. Watching as he crumpled to the ground. And the sobbing, so much sobbing...

***

I wasn’t surprised by the results of the investigation. I knew that I’d done what I had to do to protect the kids and myself. If I hadn’t shot him, the soldier would have killed me and done something terrible to the children. I didn’t have any other choice. But that didn’t help with the guilt.

I took several deep, calming breaths and went to find my running clothes. A good hard run would push the memories back to where they belonged: in the past.

The next few days I threw myself into my work, staying at the hospital for long hours, doing what I could to block everything else out of my mind. Allen had been out of town, assigned to a multi-jurisdictional case with the Texas Rangers, and I welcomed the distance. It was easier to hide my melancholy mood when I didn’t have to see him face-to-face.

He showed up at my house Friday night, looking rumpled, exhausted, and a little bit shell-shocked.

“Hey, you’re back. Did we have plans?” I asked when I opened the door.

Allen shook his head.

“I meant to call but...I just got back to town and wanted to see you.”

I recognized that look on his face. It was the look of someone who’d had several very terrible days. I couldn’t help but let him in. He stepped inside, his arms sliding around my waist as he pulled me against him for a long hug.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, my voice hoarse. I felt an overpowering urge to take care of him, to make everything better. “I’ve got some stew.”

“I might could eat.”

I took his hand and led him to the kitchen, settling him into a chair while I heated up some stew for him and made a couple of pieces of toast. He sat there staring into space, not speaking. The look on his face broke my heart. I opened two beers and handed him one.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.

“I can’t.”

I didn’t ask if that was because it was confidential, or if whatever had happened was just too terrible to discuss. Instead, I fed him leftovers, helped him undress, and put him to bed. He fell asleep immediately, clearly exhausted, his arms gripping me like I was a child’s teddy bear.

As I settled my head onto his chest, I listened to his deep, even breathing and wondered if I should break up with him before we both got hurt.