Chapter 18 David
January
Subject: Medical Documentation - Yolanda Martinez
Mr. Harrison,
Best regards,
Emma Peterson, NP-C
I forwarded the email to Yolanda with the appointment details and a note that Emma was excellent at what she did. That her clients always felt safe.
I didn't mention that I'd worked with Emma before. That we had history. That seeing her name in my inbox made my chest tight every single time.
March
The courthouse hallway was packed. I sat with Carmen Estevez—another woman fleeing, another restraining order hearing—and watched her hands shake as she gripped the folder of medical documentation.
"Ms. Peterson's report is very thorough," I told her. "The judge will see the pattern clearly."
"She was so kind," Carmen said. "When I told her what happened, she didn't look at me like I was stupid for staying. She just... listened."
"That's what she does."
We won the case. Carmen cried with relief. I shook her hand and watched her leave with her mother, finally safe.
Then I checked my email and saw Emma's name again. Another case, another referral accepted, another appointment scheduled.
Thank you for the referral, Mr. Harrison. I'm glad the documentation helped.
Professional. Always professional.
I typed back the same: Thank you for your help with Carmen's case.
And left it at that.
June
Dr. Reeves looked at me over her reading glasses. "You've been doing this for how long now?"
"Nine months. Since last September."
"Fifteen cases referred to her clinic."
"Sixteen now. I just sent another one this morning."
"And you've maintained appropriate boundaries the entire time."
"Yes."
"David." She set down her pen. "What do you want?"
I knew what she was asking. We'd been dancing around it for weeks now.
"I want to talk to her. Just once. A real conversation." I stared at the carpet. "But she's with someone. So I can't."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Both."
She nodded slowly. "So you're waiting."
"I suppose."
"For what?"
I didn't have an answer to that.
September
"Eighteen," Marcus said, setting down his beer. "You've referred eighteen DV cases to her clinic in nine months."
I looked up from my own drink—soda water, as always. "She has a good program. They prioritize urgent cases, do sliding scale fees. It makes sense to refer there."
"Uh-huh." Marcus leaned back in the booth. "And the fact that Emma works there has nothing to do with it."
"She's one of several NPs at the clinic."
"David."
I sighed. "What do you want me to say?"
"That you've been doing this dance for nine months and maybe it's time to actually make a move." He took a sip of his beer. "You've done the work. Therapy, sobriety, building your practice. At some point, you have to find out if there's a chance."
"There's not."
"You don't know that."
"Marcus." I set down my glass. "She made it very clear three years ago that we were done. I've respected that. I'm not going to show up now and… what? Ask her out? She's moved on."
"Has she?"
"She's dating someone. That guy from the restaurant, remember? Connor something. They've been together for months."
Marcus studied me. "And if she wasn't?"
I didn't answer.
"That's what I thought." He signaled the bartender for another beer. "Look, I'm not saying charge in there like an idiot. But you can't just wait forever, hoping she'll magically decide to give you another chance. Eventually, you have to at least ask."
"And if she says no?"
"Then you have your answer and you can move on." He paused. "But what if she says yes?"
I thought about that conversation the whole walk home.
Nine months. Eighteen cases. Professional emails that stayed strictly professional. Boundaries I'd maintained so carefully they'd become second nature.
And underneath all of it, the same question I'd been asking myself for three years: Was there any chance she'd forgive me?
Not even forgive. That felt like too much to hope for. Just... talk. Have coffee. See if we could exist in the same space without the weight of everything I'd destroyed crushing both of us.
But she was with someone else. And I wouldn't—couldn't—interfere with that. I'd caused enough damage. I wasn't going to be the guy who tried to break up her relationship because I'd finally gotten my shit together.
My phone buzzed. An email from a potential client, referred by Maria. Another DV case. Another woman who needed help.
I opened my laptop at my kitchen table and started drafting a response.
This was my life now. Small cases, pro bono work, clients who actually needed me. Not corporate billable hours or partnership tracks or any of the things I'd once thought mattered.
This was good work. Important work.
It just wasn't enough to stop me from thinking about Emma.