Chapter Thirty-Seven
Felix leaned on his crutch, bracing against the edge of the chair as he closed the leather satchel at his feet.
For once, the bag wasn’t for leaving—it would only carry papers back and forth.
Harley Street wasn’t ending. He would instill work here.
But he would no longer live inside its walls but with Maisie, Deena, and John at the townhouse.
Alfie held up a jar of lavender lozenges. “Do these go with you or stay with the practice?”
Felix squinted. “I can’t remember if they’re medicinal or just sweets.”
“They’re from Paris. Definitely sweets.”
Felix waved it off. “Then they stay. Harley Street deserves a stash.”
Andre chuckled. “You’re the only man I know who thinks leaving candy behind is a sign of maturity.”
Felix shook his head. “Not maturity. Balance. For years, I only had the work. Now… I have a life beyond these walls.”
Wendy appeared in the doorway, cheeks pink from the cold. “I hear this is the last official packing day?”
“Not quite,” Alfie said. “Patients still need us. But from now on, we’ll work here, not live here.”
Nick tied off a bundle of texts. “The practice remains. The miracles remain and some we get to carry with us.”
Laughter rippled, gentle but real, as if they all needed to let it out after too much waiting, too much fear. The walls of Harley Street had heard weeping, shouting, and even blood hitting the floorboards. But today it heard laughter, and Felix thought Professor Morgenschein would have approved.
Just then, Maisie stepped into the room, John at her side and Deena trailing shyly behind, her hands clasped tight. Lilly, the little pup, bounded ahead of them, ears too big for her body, tail wagging furiously until she made her usual beeline for Felix’s good leg.
Felix bent stiffly to rub her ears, and the sight made Maisie’s chest ache. All this time, she had imagined him swallowed by these rooms, by pain and ghosts of patients lost. Now, he stood here alive, with a future. With her.
Alfie nodded to Maisie. “Your father would be proud of you all,” he said simply.
The room quieted. Felix leaned heavily on his crutch, steadying himself as Alfie’s words hung in the air.
He saw Maisie’s breath catch, the way her lashes fluttered, and he knew what those words meant to her.
Professor Ephraim Morgenschein’s dream—science and compassion, carried forward and it was alive before them.
And Maisie stood at its center, no longer hidden.
Not Lady Spencer, not a shadow, but his life partner.
Then Deena, who had been hovering by the door, suddenly blurted: “I want to learn. To be a nurse. Like you all do.”
Every head turned.
Her cheeks flushed crimson, but she pressed on. “I used only to want to survive. But now… I want to help. To be part of this. If you’ll let me.”
Felix felt a pull in his chest. The girl who once shrank from every footstep in the hall now stood taller, her voice clear.
Maisie crossed to her sister, taking her hands. “Deena, this isn’t just work. It’s long hours, sorrow, and sometimes failure. It’s dangerous.”
Deena lifted her chin, eyes shining. “So we were hiding and lying about who we were. At least this way, I’ll be of some use. And Father would be proud of me.”
Alfie stepped forward, his voice soft but sure. “I’ll train you with the others like we did with Wendy. From bandages to tinctures to keeping a cool head when a room fills with panic. You’ll never be alone.”
Felix’s voice cut through the hush, low but steady. “Then it’s settled. Deena will join us at Harley Street. A Morgenschein here always. This place will never be just walls and charts—it will always be family.”
He caught Maisie’s eyes then. She was pale with exhaustion, but her gaze burned bright. Even now—especially now—she carried herself with a strength that humbled him.
She came toward him and took his hand in both of hers. “Balance,” she whispered. “I once read war is only postponed. But love… love is what endures.”
His throat tightened. He pulled her closer, lips brushing her temple, not caring who saw. John straightened beside them, his voice quiet but sure. “Then we’re a family. At last.”
Felix felt the boy’s words sink into his bones. Family. A word he had not dared claim in years. Maisie’s arm went around John and Deena, and Felix shifted closer, folding all into his side.
Lilly nosed her way between their feet, let out a single triumphant bark, and sat on Felix’s boot as if to anchor them there.
It was messy. Loud. Improper. And it was everything Felix had ever wanted.
For the first time in years, Felix didn’t feel like the boy shut out of Vienna’s halls, nor the exile ducking into shadows. He was Faivish. He was Felix. He was Maisie’s. And John’s. And finally—finally—free.