Page 27 of Obeying

I nod because I can't speak yet.

Every pair of eyes is on me. It crawls under my skin: the curiosity, the pity, the whispers already forming behind careful expressions. My arm is throbbing where Miguel grabbed me, my face is burning, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. This is the thing I've been afraid of since I started here. Not just being found, but being seen as someone weak and pathetic.

"Back to work, everyone." Logan's voice cuts through the silence. People move, heads turn back to charts, to patients, to whatever they were doing before the worst moment of my life played out in front of them.

He puts a hand on my back—light, careful—and guides me toward his office. I let him because I don't trust my legs to get me there on my own.

He opens the door and lets me go in first. I sit down in the chair across from his desk. My hands are shaking, and I press them between my knees to keep them still. He doesn't go behind his desk. He leans against the front of it, right in front of me, and gives me a moment.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asks.

I'm not okay. The words are stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat, and they won't come out. Maybe he reads it on my face. He pulls the other chair over, positions it in front of mine, and sits down so we're at the same level. Eye to eye.

"It's okay," he whispers. "You're fine. You're safe here."

Safe. I nod and exhale a shaky breath. "I know. Thank you."

He gives me another moment. Then, just as carefully, asks, "Who was that?"

"My ex." I swallow. "Miguel Cruz."

He nods. "Go home for now. You need to rest."

My nod is barely there.

"I'll drive you."

"You don't have to⁠—"

"I'll drive you. Will you be safe there?"

"I think so. He doesn't know about the house."

The ride is quiet. I stare out the window and watch the streets go by, grateful that he doesn't push for more, because every bit of energy I have is going toward not falling apart in the passenger seat of his car.

When we pull up, he asks if I need anything. I shake my head. He tells me to rest and to take the next day if I need it. I thank him, get out, and go inside.

The house is quiet. I sit on the couch in the living room that still smells faintly like my dad, old books, and the tea he drank every morning for thirty years. I pull my sleeve up and look at my arm. It's red and swollen where he grabbed me. I can see the outline of his fingers in the marks. By tomorrow, they'll be purple. I know because this has happened before.

I get up and check the front door. Locked. I check it again. I check the back door and the windows, too. Then I pull every curtain closed, and I sit back down and press my hands together in my lap because they won't stop trembling.

My phone is on the table. He hasn't tried to reach me. That should make me feel better, but it doesn't. Miguel doesn't call when he's angry. He plans, then he shows up.

I make tea because that's what my dad used to do when things were bad. It's the same brand, the same way he made it every night when I was a kid and couldn't sleep. It doesn't taste the same when I make it, but holding the warm mug helps.

How many people saw? What would Walter think? I think about his face when the walker slipped. Would his daughter let her ex drag her across the hospital floor? Should I run again? Find a different city, another hospital, start over somewhere Miguel can't reach?

But for how long? How long am I going to run from him? Another year? Another five? The rest of my life, always looking over my shoulder, always starting from scratch, always leaving behind the people and the work and the small, fragile things I've built?

I won't think about this tonight. I try to rest.

I don't sleep much, but when I close my eyes, the voice I hear isn't Miguel's, it's Logan's.

Let go of her, or I will break your hand.

I wake up after a night of tossing and turning. I decide to go back to work.

Logan told me I could take the day, but I can't stay in this quiet house doing nothing. If I stay here, I'll check the locks twenty times, I'll flinch at every sound outside, and I'll spiral into every worst-case scenario my brain can build. The hospital is safer. It's public and busy, and Miguel can't just walk in again without someone noticing.