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I sigh heavily before opening the message.
Sephie: Can we negotiate my stay in the old house?
Brahms: Staying in the den with me versus your old room?
Sephie: No, that’s not why I’m reaching out to you. I already made enough concessions by letting you be there. I can’t just drop everything to be with you at night, too. I need my evenings open as well.
I frown, annoyance prickling. Doesn’t she understand I need her help specifically?
Brahms: Figure out your current situation and make it work.
I wince after hitting send.
Fuck, I sound like an ass, but this might be the only way she’ll give me the extra concessions that I need from her.
Sephie: You don’t need me at night.
Brahms: Actually, I need you in my room—with me. Where is the extra bed we used to have here for you?
Sephie: I’m not going to sleep in the same bedroom as you.
I exhale slowly, trying to be patient. Pushing too far might lose me what she’s given me so far.
Brahms: Something tells me that you’re not looking at the big picture. I can’t move well. I need someone next to me.
Sephie: You’ll have nurses around the clock for that.
I rub my temple in frustration. Why must she fight me on this?
Brahms: I want you instead. You know me better. Please, I need your help.
I type the last part through gritted teeth. Appealing to her sympathy may be my only option at this point. I await her response nervously, hoping she’ll eventually agree to my request.
Sephie: Nope. I’m a physical therapist. Which means I’m not trained to do everything the nurse has to do.
“Fuck, Seraphina,” I growl loudly, the sound echoing through the empty rehab room. Why does she have to fight me so hard on this?
I run an agitated hand through my hair. I’m not even asking her to love me anymore, just to give me a chance to . . . what do I want from this? To let me back into her life and try to make amends. Is that so much to ask after everything we once meant to each other?
My chest aches with a deep sense of loss for what we used to share. I wish I could turn back time and do things differently. But the past can’t be undone.
Taking a long breath to calm myself, I respond:
Brahms: That didn’t stop you the last time.
Sephie: I was young and stupid. Now I know better. If I do something wrong, you might sue me for malpractice. I have to be careful.
Stung, I type back angrily before I can think twice.
Brahms: THIS ISN’T WHAT I REQUESTED.
Her response only twists the knife deeper.
Sephie:Shouty caps aren’t going to get you what you think you need. I’m trying hard to accommodate you. But there are things that I can’t do, and you have to understand it. In fact, I’m still not sure if I can give you therapy.
Brahms: Why not?
Sephie: We have a history. It’s unethical.
