Chapter Thirteen
Lorelie
“Wake up!” Milo yells, launching himself between us like a missile.
Patrick intercepts him mid-jump, scooping him up before he can land on me.
“Careful, buddy,” he says, pulling Milo closer. “We can’t jump on Mommy, remember?”
Milo nods, remorseful. “Sorry, Mommy.”
I smooth my hand over his hair. “It’s okay, baby.”
“We’re LATE!” Milo shrieks dramatically.
I laugh… until I check my phone.
And sit straight up in a panic. “Oh my God, it’s eight.”
I scramble out of bed so fast I nearly eat carpet. “I had a shift at eight!”
“Can you call in?” Patrick asks as he gets out of bed too.
I shake my head violently and sprint into the bathroom. Outside I hear Milo chanting, “Havey’s honking! Havey’s honking!”
“Shit,” Patrick mutters. Milo’s late too.
Thank God there’s no school today, Harvey was only supposed to drop him at Patrick’s parents’ place.
I rush through the house half-dressed, half-awake, completely frazzled. Patrick meets me in the kitchen, shoving a paper bag and a travel mug into my hands like a pit crew member.
I kiss him on the lips and bolt for the door, tossing an “Love you!” over my shoulder before slamming it shut.
The drive to the hospital is a blur. I somehow make it in half the time it normally takes. I’d already changed into scrubs at home, so all I have to do when I hit the ER is grab my white coat, sign in, and find whoever’s holding down the fort.
Dr. Tate, one of the seasoned attendings, stands at the main station. He gives me a dry look, then waves a hand.
“It’s alright,” he says. “We’ve all been there.”
I stare at his retreating back, relieved and grateful.
At least someone understands.
By midday, I forget my blunder, too busy dealing with the pile-up on the highway.
Days like this make me wish people would just take the next exit instead of slamming on their brakes in the middle of traffic and causing a six-car domino effect.
Thankfully, no casualties. Just a parade of concussions, fractures, and one guy insisting he was “totally fine” even though he clearly had a broken leg.
“Updated schedule,” a nurse says, pinning a paper to the board beside the desk.
She gives me a sideways glance as she walks past.
Great. Probably thinking I’m slacking off again. I ball the wrapper from my sandwich and toss it in the trash. Even taking a break makes me look suspicious now. Dr. Murphy has apparently succeeded in giving me a reputation I did not earn.
Getting to my feet, I walk to the board.
Then freeze.
What the hell.
My new schedule is a bunch of bullshit: Twelve-hour shift tomorrow, same as today. Then three six-hour shifts. A twelve-hour Sunday shift. Then finally Monday off.
At the bottom, in tiny text:
“The above schedule is permanent until posted otherwise.”
Permanent.
A cold shock ripples through me.
Not only am I working every Sunday now, it’s a twelve-hour shift. Before this, Sundays were four six-hour shifts spread across attendings. Now I’m expected to spend the entire damn day here.
I scan the board, heart hammering.
Every other attending has at least two days off.
It's like he's targeting me.
My mouth goes dry, vision tunneling, that rushing-in feeling of panic where you feel helpless.
I blink hard, making sure I’m actually reading this right.
He really did it. Dr. Murphy actually stuck me with the worst schedule in the entire ER.
For what? Covering a shift? Having a husband and kid?
Speaking up? Or… God… for walking out of his office?
Behind me, Gail whistles low.
“Damn. Twelve-hour Saturday? Come on…” he mutters, scanning his own. He shrugs. “At least I’ve got Sunday and Thursday off.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I just keep staring at the paper like maybe if I look long enough, it’ll rearrange itself and Murphy’s smug little vendetta will vanish.
But it doesn’t feel like an oversight. This isn’t random. It’s punishment.
Sabotage.
A part of me wants to march straight into his office and demand answers, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s counting on, me storming in, looking like a hormonal pregnant woman demanding “special treatment,” while everyone else just quietly accepts their schedules.
So, I don’t. Instead, I take a picture of the schedule, slip my phone back into my pocket, and force myself to finish the rest of my shift.
I get not getting special favors for being pregnant. Truly. I’ve never expected them. But being punished for it?
For daring to switch shifts, for daring to have a life outside these walls? That feels like a bit of an overkill, even for this place.
Maybe it’s time to approach the Chief. If this were anyone else, if I didn’t personally know him, I would’ve done it already. But I don’t want to drag him into politics unless I have to.
There’s always HR, but that’s the nuclear option.
I’m distracted the rest of my shift, not enough to make mistakes, but enough that my thoughts keep looping.
Still, I don’t miss Patrick’s press conference on my phone. Well… not his, technically. It’s the departments.
The lieutenant stands at the podium, taking credit like, she always does. Then she steps aside and hands it off to Patrick for the hard part, the questions.
My chest tightens as I watch Patrick step up to the podium.
Last night our talk felt really good, like we were finally moving in the right direction.
I used to think we had the perfect marriage, but perfection is just an illusion.
I’d rather be a work in progress with him than pretend we’re flawless.
Patrick’s height dwarfs the mic. He has to straighten it and lean down just to speak. He clears his throat.
“Yes.” He smiles awkwardly at the raised hands. “Yes, you,” he points.
A reporter stands. “Is it true that while you brought Millie Stevens home, another young woman wound up dead due to lack of resources?”
Patrick clears his throat again. “We-uh-we had detectives on both cases.”
“Do you have any suspects in her death?”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“We don’t pay you to watch TikToks on your phone.”
I jump before I realize the voice isn’t coming from the livestream, it’s behind me.
I turn. I have no reason to feel guilty, so I don’t bother pretending.
“It’s my break,” I say flatly. “I can watch TikToks if I want.”
Dr. Murphy gives me a smile that is somehow both polite and smug. “Did you see the new schedule?”
I nod once and go right back to my phone. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of reacting.
“Well,” he says, voice going higher, “I trust there’ll be no confusion going forward. Consistency benefits everyone.”
I keep scrolling, pretending to watch Patrick answer another press question, though I can’t hear a word. My pulse is thundering too loudly.
Murphy finally shifts, tone dipping into false concern.
“With your… responsibilities at home, I imagine structure might help.”
I turn slowly. Very slowly.
“Dr. Murphy,” I say quietly, “if you’re trying to help, don’t.”
His smile tightens. “I assure you, this is equitable-”
“No,” I cut in. “It isn’t. But I’m not going to argue about it in the middle of my break.”
His brows lift, surprised I didn’t explode.
I tuck my phone into my pocket.
“I’m finishing my shift,” I say calmly. “We can discuss the legality of permanent schedule changes tomorrow. With HR.”
I take great pleasure in watching Murphy’s confident expression flicker.
“Of course,” he says coolly. “If you feel that’s necessary.”
“Oh, I do,” I reply, stepping past him. “But don’t worry, I won’t leave mid-shift. Wouldn’t want to… ‘play wife.’”
His jaw clicks.
I walk straight back into the ER. If I wasn’t sure about going nuclear before, I am now.
Patrick
“Hey, everything ok?” I ask when I hear her walking down the stairs. Lore appears in her robe, hair loose around her shoulders.
“Yeah,” she sighs, holding her phone. “I just don’t like sending emails on my phone.”
I smirk. “I’m proud of you.”
She gives me a tired but genuine smile. “I really didn’t think I’d have to stand up to a bully at this age.”
I grab the plates from the counter and set them on the table. I’m glad she finally told me what’s really going on at work. If I didn’t think she’d hate me for it, I’d storm in and give that douche something to cry about. “Bullies don’t seem to care about age now.”
Pulling her chair out, she sits and says, “I saw your press conference.”
I sit down too, remembering how stiff I felt at that podium, how unnatural it still feels to answer questions on camera. “Thank god, that’s over.”
Lore laughs softly. “You’ve done it so many times.”
I shrug. “Still can’t get used to being on TV.”
She smiles at me, bright and warm. “You looked very pretty.”
I cut into my steak and reply, “Why thank you.”
After I swallow my bite, I sit back a little. “I read your letter.”
Lore pauses, her fork hovering over her plate. “Oh.”
“I read it in my office after the press conference,” I say quietly. I can still remember every word. I had no idea she felt that way about me.
She doesn’t look up, but her shoulders tighten, just slightly.
“I’m not better than you,” I add. “Not then. Not now.”
She lets out a tiny sound, something between a breath and a hum, “well you think I deserve better so...”
“I’m serious,” I say, meeting her eyes even though my throat feels tight. “If anything… you’re better than me. Lore, I respected the hell out of you for taking care of Genesis after your parents died. Christ, you still managed to become a doctor. I know the kind of guts that takes.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her hand flips under mine, her index finger brushing slowly along my wrist.
I take a breath. “I asked to take a step back because-” I look away. My jaw locks. “You remember my accident?”
She nods, brows pressed together.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I admit quietly. “I got jumped.”
Her eyes widen. “By who?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is… in that moment, when they were surrounding me, I thought that was it. I was done.”
“But you didn’t,” she says softly.
“No.” I swallow. “I didn’t. And I’ll never forget what you told me in the hospital after.”
She furrows her brows. “I don’t remember.”
“I told you I’d been texting and driving,” I say. “And you said-”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she finishes, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod. “Yeah. That. It freaked me out. Because I realized it wasn’t just me anymore. It was you. If anything happened to me, my family had each other, but you…” My voice cracks.
“You only had me. Genesis was still a kid, you were barely holding everything together, and I-” I drag a hand down my face.
“I knew I couldn’t risk losing you. Not even a little.
So, when you wanted to break up, I thought giving you…
options… would protect you. And me. Take some pressure off the both of us. ”
Lore’s mouth parts, eyes softening. She puts the fork down and puts her other hand on top of mine
I finish quietly, “I wasn’t trying to ‘play the field.’ I was trying to make sure if anything happened to me, you’d be okay.”
Her breath hitches. “You… did that for me?”
I nod, eyes dropping to our hands. “Well… not just you. But yeah. Mostly you.” A small, tired smile pulls at my mouth. “I thought if I wasn’t always thinking about you, I’d make detective faster.” I huff out a small laugh. “Didn’t work.”
Lore’s fingers are still on my wrist. Her lashes flutter like she’s trying to process the words sitting between us.
Then, she pulls her hand back. Not harshly. Just… retreating.
She nods toward my plate. “Finish your dinner.”
Quietly, I pick up my fork and do exactly that. She eats with me, both of us silent except for the soft scrape of utensils. It’s not awkward, it’s comfortable.
When I’m done, she reaches for my plate and hers, stacking them neatly. I watch as she rinses each one, movements slow, careful. Then she slides them into the washer and presses the button.
I stand there with my arms folded, waiting. I don’t know what for.
When she finishes, she turns around.
And steps right up to me.
I barely have time to inhale before she takes my face in both hands and pulls me down for a deep kiss.
My body freezes for a second, my mind racing. It's been a month since she's kissed me like this. I've been living in a self-imposed wasteland of my own making, and this is the first sign of rain.
Then my instincts take over. My arms unfold, wrapping around her, pulling her small frame against mine.
My hand automatically goes to the familiar curve of her waist, but I stop just above the swell of her belly, a line I haven't been allowed to cross in weeks.
Her belly, round with our child, presses gently between us.
Pulling back, Lore grabs my hand and leads me upstairs. We’re quiet as we pass by Milo’s room, his door cracked open with the soft glow of the nightlight spilling into the hall. Once in our bedroom, I close the door behind me, flicking the lock.
She moves to the edge of the bed, a silhouette in the moonlight, but I'm not satisfied without seeing her expression. I flick on the bedside lamp, and a soft, golden glow fills the room.
Lore turns back to me with a look I never thought I'd see again, a mix of love and want that makes my chest ache.
I cross the room to her, taking her cheek gently in my hand. My heart warms when she leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Are you sure?" I whisper.
She smiles, a real, genuine smile that reaches her eyes, and pulls me in. "I love you."
I groan as our lips touch, a raw sound ripped from my chest. I trace her lower lip with the tip of my tongue, gently biting the soft skin. "I love you too," I whisper, before my tongue finds its way inside her mouth.