“But since you’re taking a break, Dr. Hollis,” he adds, “may I have a word?”
Serena and Ellie straighten, professionalism snapping back into place. They murmur quick excuses, gathering their bags and the last of my homemade bars as they slip past him and disappear down the hall.
I pick up my container and follow him into the corridor. The air feels colder out here, emptier.
“You know how much I value your work here,” he says, turning slightly, enough to meet my eyes. “The data from the new trial arm is expanding faster than anticipated. I’d like you to reconsider a minor shift in your time allocation.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the plastic lid. “I’m looking to eventually work exclusively with patients, Dr. Raymond.” I keep my voice even, but my pulse is ticking higher in my throat.
“It wouldn’t be a drastic change,” he says calmly. “Forty–sixty instead of your current thirty–seventy. Still primarily patient-facing.” Silence stretches before he continues, “I really believe you’d thrive in research if you gave it an honest shot.”
The hum of refrigeration fills the space between us. I look back through the glass panel at the lab—the order, the control, the certainty of it, then down at my hands still faintly sticky with sugar.
“I’ll consider it. But I must say, Doctor, working directly with patients is personal to me.”
He gives a single, satisfied nod. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me in the corridor, mango and coconut faintly clinging to my skin.
And for the first time, I ask myself if maybe I’ve been missing the forest for the trees, again. If I’ve been so focused on wanting my work with patients that I’ve failed to see the difference a good researcher could make.
It’s beenover a week since I came back from Chicago, and the blur of routine makes it feel somehow longer and shorter at once. I keep catching Nate at his window when the curtains are open, the interior light turning him into a shadowed silhouette—broader, more solid than he ever seemed when he was the Nate I knew. I swear his gaze tracks me as I walk to my car for this casual group hangout I somehow got roped into.
I slide into the driver’s seat and sit there for a second, gloveless fingers resting on the steering wheel, palms chilled from the night air. Glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I recognize a spark in my eyes that I haven’t seen in a while. The blue in my irises looks steadier than I feel, but the weariness in them is subtler now. I loosen my low bun and tug out two face-framing strands. This is a version of myself I remember.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my coat.
Julian:Happy Saturday from this guy.
Attached is a photo of a furious Milo frozen mid-scream, tiny fists clenched in protest of whichever crime his parents dared commit.
Julian:Have fun tonight.
A sigh slips out of me as I shift in the seat, thumb tappingon the letters as the glow of the screen reflects off the windshield.
Me:I miss you guys. Say hi to Quinn for me.
Three dots appear, disappear then appear again.
Julian:You have to really do your part on the orgasm front now that I’m not getting any.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as warmth settles behind my ribs.
Me:I think your hand works just fine.
No dots this time or snarky response. Just silence. But it doesn’t feel like a fist tightening around my heart anymore.
My mind drifts to the now-familiar weight of Milo on my chest. Impossibly warm. Impossibly small. My forehead pressed to his raven hair, inhaling that faint, milky newborn scent that’s become part of Julian’s the way his cologne once was. Julian had pulled a chair close to the glider, elbows braced on his knees, dark circles under those stupidly blue eyes. One of the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen on his lips. Proud. Awed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,”I muttered.“I should’ve gotten on a plane the second you told me Quinn was in labor.”
He stared at the floor for a moment, jaw flexing once before lifting his eyes to me. Red-rimmed. Soft.“You should have. You missed my kid’s birth, Robyn. I became a father and you were nowhere near me to support me or celebrate. Youpromisedbefore you moved.”
He dragged his hands down his stubble-covered cheeks. I shifted Milo, cradling his head.
“I thought if I left, I’d feel better. And once I did… I was so driven by work, I forgot how to keep myself whole outside of it.”I looked at him, my gaze blurry with unspilled tears.“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I know.”Julian’s voice broke down on the word. He exhaled hard, leaning on his elbows on his thighs.“I’ve been worried about you.”His gaze snapped to mine, then awayagain.“It’s why I’ve been so pissed. Because if you’d been even remotely okay, you’d have never missed it.”He dragged in a breath.“And I didn’t know how to break through to you. Parenting, everything—it’s just eaten every bit of me up. It was easier to be mad than to give you grace.”
