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Mila nods, her expression neutral. “As physical therapists, we took an oath to help all patients, regardless of personal feelings. There’s not a specific code that expressly forbids you from treating a family member. This guy is not related to you.”
“We have a history,” I state, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“You were friends. According to what I read long ago, he was your sister’s fiancé. I would think that because of the relationship, you’d want to help him recover.”
I clench my jaw. She doesn’t understand. She can’t possibly know the full extent of pain he caused. And sadly, I can’t say a word.
“It’s different,” I reply tightly. I can’t exactly say that after everything he took from me that it’s hard for me to want to help him.
I take a breath to calm myself. “What if I do this and end up losing my license?” I’m grasping at straws, I’m desperate for something. I’m just not sure what.
Mila gives me a sympathetic look. “I know you’re conflicted, Sera. This is an impossible situation. But ethically, there’s no regulation prohibiting you from being his therapist. I can’t make this decision for you . . .”
She’s looking at me as if waiting to hear more, but I won’t say what happened after the accident. I just can’t speak of it. It makes me sick, sad, and angry all at the same time and yet I can’t regret it.
“After everything he did, everything he took from me . . . how can I help him get better?” The anger that’s been simmering below the surface for years now boils over.
“What did he take from you?” Mila asks gently, placing a hand on my arm.
I press my lips together, staring down at my lap. I regret what I just said because I can’t tell her anything.
“You have every right to feel conflicted,” she continues kindly. “Your brother and sister died, and he’s alive. That’s something you have to work on in therapy, forgive the survivors and be grateful they’re among us. I hope this man doesn’t carry survivor’s guilt, that’s devastating. And maybe helping an old friend might bring some light back to both of you.”
“Tragic doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I reply bitterly, old grief swelling up to mix with my anger.
She means well, but she’ll never truly understand. How can I explain that the man who destroyed my family is now someone I’m supposed to mend? It’s an impossible situation, and one I’m not sure my heart can withstand.
“He doesn’t deserve my help. Not after he stole my family’s life.” I bite my lip, hating the tears that spring up.
Mila squeezes my arm. “You have a kind heart, Sera. I know you’ll make the right decision.” She pauses. “I sense you haven’t fully processed the loss of your siblings and parents. Those tragedies, one after the other, must weigh heavily.”
She reaches for a pen and paper, then scrolls through her phone before scribbling down a number. “This is a wonderful grief counselor. I really think you should contact her. She could help you work through the bitterness in your heart. Everyone around you will benefit. This could even affect Aria and Ewan in the long run, think about it.”
I sigh, staring down at the paper. Can I even tell a counselor the full truth? That I’m furious Brahms got away with murder? That he should be in jail, not recovering in my care?
But all I say is, “Thank you.” I tuck the paper into my purse.
I head out to my car, pulling my phone out of my bag as I slide into the driver’s seat.
“Hey Evita, how’s everything going?” I ask brightly, trying to sound upbeat as I turn the key in the ignition.
“All is well, as usual. Let me guess, you’re calling to say you’ll be late?” she replies knowingly.
“Not exactly, but I have a situation and want to know if you can cover overnight shifts for the next couple weeks,” I inquire, not knowing what I’ll do after that time is over.
I pull out of my parking spot and merge onto the street, keeping one hand on the wheel.
“Sorry, Seraphina. I really wish I could help but I just can’t make it work this time.” She sounds genuinely sorry.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, anxiety swirling in my gut. I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off on my own. But I force myself to take a deep breath. I’ll have to make other calls, find some way to make it all work.
Chapter Twelve
Brahms
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s from Seraphina. I stare down at the name on the screen, conflicted emotions swirling within me. Part of me is eager she’s reaching out. I don’t like that she’s handling everything with Ellington and not me. Another part remains wary, wondering if she’s still trying to find a way to avoid me while still making sure that I don’t leave.
Honestly, if I had to leave, I would make sure the place is funded. I hate knowing that she’s been dealing with financial problems. If only things had been different, I would be here, by her side supporting her. But I have to work with what I’m given and I’ll stick around for as long as I can.
