My cheek was warm where her palm had connected. The physical sensation was already fading but the rest of it wasn’t going anywhere. The way her voice broke when she saidproof. The tears running down her face. The look in her eyes right before she turned away. The specific, devastating grief of someone who just watched a person they believed in turn into someone they didn’t recognize.
I knew that look. I’d worn it myself once, standing in Seraphina’s doorway with my brother’s jacket on her bedroom floor.
But I’d never been the one to cause it before.Not like this.
I didn’t chase her.What would I say?I’d built an entire career on knowing the exact right thing to say in any room, any situation, any crisis. I could read people the way musicians read sheet music, instantly, instinctively, adjusting my performance to match what they needed to hear. But Miley Torres had just looked at me with ten years of admiration collapsing intodisgust, and every word I reached for felt hollow before it formed. For the first time in my life, every version of me I could perform felt like the wrong one.
I poured a drink and carried it to the library, where it sat untouched.
The folder was still on the desk, right where she’d found it. I picked it up and stared at the medical report with my own name at the top. My kiwi allergy was documented in clinical detail, the same document that had been sitting in this room for years and I’d been too careless to lock it away. Too comfortable.
The bourbon sat there on the side table. I stared at it for a while. I was the worst kind of man. I'd seen the harm coming and chosen it anyway, then convinced myself the compensation made it square.
Morning came. I walked past Miley's door at six, and silence answered from the other side.
I left for the office without eating. I didn’t deserve to take anything else from her.
I called Trisha from the car.
“We have a problem.”
“We always have a problem. Which one?”
“Miley found the medical records. She knows about the kiwi.”
“I told you this would happen,” Trisha said. “Those were my exact words, Christopher. In the hospital elevator. I said, ‘What happens when she finds out?’ And you said, ‘How would she find out?’ You thought I was being dramatic.”
“Trisha—”
“Was I being dramatic? Was I, Christopher?”
“You don’t have to sound cheerful about this. She’s pissed.”
“Well you deserve that, she probably should have smacked you and she’d still be right.”
I didn’t respond.
Trisha paused. Then a sound that I was fairly certain was Trisha laughing.
“Wait… don’t tell me she did that?”
Once again, I didn’t respond to the bait.
The laughter got louder, full and unrestrained, until it was shaking her entire body and making her gasp for air. I held the phone away from my ear and waited. My expression one of annoyance, not that she could see it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m sorry, that’s terrible, that’s really bad, you must feel awful.” She was still laughing. “But also? I am a huge fan of that woman. Absolutely adore her. She has my complete and total respect.”
“Are you done?”
“No. Give me a minute.” She laughed for another long beat before managing a deep breath. “Okay. I’m done. No, wait.” Another fit took her. “Now I’m done. What are you going to do?”
“I need to fix it.”
“How?”
“I’ll apologize.”
“Have you ever apologized to anyone in your life and meant it?”
