I knock again, harder this time. "Mia?" My voice sounds as broken as I feel. "Mia, open the door."
Still nothing. Not even the sound of movement from inside. Panic claws its way up my throat, constricting my airway until each breath feels impossible. What if she's already gone? What if she's packed up and left, driven by the same impulsive energy that made her quit her job?
Pulling out my phone, I dial her number again as I press my ear to the door. One ring. Two. Three. Then, finally, I hear the faint melody of her ringtone coming from inside the apartment. She's in there. Relief floods my system for a half-second before new worry crashes in.
If she's home, why isn't she answering?
"Mia!" I pound the door with the flat of my hand, loud enough to disturb the neighbors. "I know you're in there. Please open the door."
Nothing.
I rest my forehead against the cool wood, my mind racing through possibilities. I could call the building manager. Could try to find another way in. Could wait her out. None of those options feel right. Not when I can still see her face crumpling in Cheryl's room, not when I can still feel her body shaking with sobs against mine.
"Please," I whisper, palm flat against the door. "I just need to know you're okay."
I'm about to knock again when I hear soft shuffling from inside. My heart leaps into my throat as the door opens just enough for me to see a slice of Mia's face peering through.
My breath catches.
She looks worse than when I last saw her at the hospital. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, skin blotchy from crying, those wild curls a tangled mess around her face.
"Go away, Sebastian." Her voice is raw, like she's been screaming or crying for hours. Probably both.
I wedge my foot in the door before she can close it. "No."
"Please." The word sounds torn from her throat. "I can't... I can't do this right now."
"Can't do what?" I press my palm against the door. "Talk to me? Let me help you?"
"All of it." Her voice cracks on the words. "Just go."
Instead of backing away, I gently push against the door. It gives slightly, widening the gap until I can see more of her face. Her lower lip trembles, tears welling in those green eyes that usually sparkle with mischief or determination.
"I'm not leaving you alone like this."
Something in my tone must get through to her because she stops pushing against the door. Shoulders slumping in defeat, she steps back.
I quickly move inside before she can change her mind. Books are scattered across the floor, a shattered mug lies in pieces by the wall like it was thrown. One of her plants has been knocked over, soil spilling across the hardwood.
Still in her scrubs from this morning, Mia stands in the middle of this chaos, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to physically hold herself together.
"Mia," I breathe, slowly moving toward her the way you might approach a wounded animal. "I was so worried."
She flinches as if my words physically hurt her. "Why are you here?"
"Because you disappeared." I take another step closer. "Because you quit your job without talking to me. Because I—" I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. "Because I care about you."
A sound escapes her that's half-laugh, half-sob. "You care about me." She shakes her head, hair falling into her face. "You shouldn't. I'm not... I'm not worth it."
The self-loathing in her voice slices through my chest. "What are you talking about?"
"I failed her." She finally looks up at me, eyes swimming with fresh tears. "Just like I failed my dad. I'm a terrible doctor. A terrible daughter. A terrible—"
I don't let her finish. In two quick strides, I close the distance between us and pull her into my chest. For a moment she stiffens, her body rigid against mine, and I think she might push me away. Then she collapses. Like a marionette with cut strings, her body crumples against me as a wrenching sob tears from her throat.
My arms tighten around her. One hand cradles the back of her head, fingers threading through those tangled curls, while the other wraps around her waist, holding her up when her legs seem ready to give out.
"Let it out," I murmur against her temple, feeling her tears soaking through my shirt. "I've got you."
