“I love you. See you for dinner.”
Hours later, I drag myself into the shower. Three new practitioners start this week, and I want to get to the office early to make sure everything is ready for them.
We’ve been open a month now, after almost a year of construction. I fought Logan on the budget for certain things, and he kept pushing back—told me that if it wasn’t as beautiful as it could be, I was selling the whole project short. I hated that he was right. Nothing extravagant, no Carrara marble, but the showers are clean and easy to sanitize, the yoga studio and breathing room get good light, and every private care office feels warm rather than clinical. That was the whole point, after all.
We don’t do full exams—though Logan and his father keep urging me in that direction—but we do consultations, where someone can just sit down and talk through what’s going on. We have a solid referral network, doctors and nurses on volunteer rotation for blood work and lab orders, and for anything more serious, we help people figure out how to advocate for themselves when the insurance system has them feeling cornered, and where to go for treatment.
I’m ten steps inside, lights still flickering to life overhead, when Pearl comes through the door behind me.
“You didn’t answer my call,” she complains. The first words out of her mouth usually are.
“Pearl, I told you, every penny we make goes back into the facility.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a charity event. That’s how you got started, remember? You can’t spare ten thousand?”
This is a non-profit business, so even though we charge for some services, all the money is tied back up into the business. SheknowsI don’t have that kind of cash. But leave it to Pearl to try to guilt-trip me. “What’s it for again?”
She shrugs, then looks away. “It’s a program for orphaned children.”
Pearl still has a long way to go. But I see the cracks now that she’s more honest. Bluntly so, actually. Logan finds her exhausting, but somehow, they’re still good friends. He’s forgiven her because I insisted he try. He didn’t want to at first. But it’s reasons like this that make me see Pearl in a different light.
What changed things for me wasn’t one moment but an accumulation of them. Family therapy was part of that. Pearl sitting across from me and my dad and saying things out loud that none of us had ever heard before. Things about her mom I hadn’t known. Things my dad had known and never told me, which explained a lot about why he’d always been softer with her than I thought she deserved. She admitted things about herself that were deeply unsettling and hard to sit with.
None of that excused her or my dad’s behavior toward me my entire life. But it explained it. For Pearl, it helped me see a person worth fighting for. Or, at least, not actively hating.
Her obvious attachment to this charity for orphans makes more sense in that light. She has a soft spot for children in need, and I’m not going to hold that against her.
“I don’t have ten thousand. But I can pull something together. When is it?”
“Next month. I already texted you the date. I’ll remind you again in a week.” She’s already moving toward the door, and I shake my head at her abruptness. “Oh, since The Resilience Project is doing well, you should give a speech. I know you don’t have a pediatrics program here, so you should look into changing that.”
Then she’s gone.
Logan has lost his billionaire status, and he’s down to the low millions. Though the Wells family money exists in that inaccessible, self-perpetuating way rich people always seem to manage—art, properties, dividends—so he’ll never really want for anything.
But he’s given away so much, my heart fucking aches with his generosity. He feels so good about his new philanthropic efforts that sometimes I worry that he’ll give too much, and we won’t be able to pay the taxes on our apartment. He assures me we’re fine, but still.
At least his dad agreed not to buy a new private jet. I felt guilty a zero amount, sending him pamphlets about how harmful they are to the environment, citing carbon emissions and contrail cirrus clouds. He hasn’t committed to even trying train travel, yet, but that’s okay. Baby steps.
I dive into my calendar, which, as it has been since the gala Logan threw over a year ago, and with the holidays coming, is completely swamped.
But the smile never leaves my face.
I’m in love. My family has my back. And I know my mom would be so proud.
Epilogue: Logan
Istart with the digital cuff, then switch to the manual one. It’s been a while since I’ve done the basics myself—before the clinic, I’d forgotten how much I leaned on my PAs and nurses for this. I’m slower than I should be, more careful than necessary. My father admitted he felt the same way when he started coming in part-time, cutting back his surgical hours to consult only on specialty cases. He’s close to retirement, anyway. Even my mom volunteers here, helping Rose in the office.
It’s… fuck, it’s everything. Having my whole family here.
My heart, the love of my life, seeing her dream thrive. And I get to be a part of it. It’s addictive, almost.
“Alright, Joe, take a deep breath for me.” His lungs don’t sound good. He’s unhoused, and the stench coming off him is hard to lean into, but this is the second time he’s trusted me enough to treat him, and I’m not taking that lightly. The cough still hasn’t cleared. Not TB, at least, but he’ll probably need antibiotics. It’s December. I don’t think he’s sleeping in a shelter, but he’s evasive when I bring it up.
“Sounds a little better than last time. I’d like to keep tabs on it, though. Can you come back in two weeks?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. Might be busy.”
