Chapter 10
EVIE
Evie woke to the alarm she’d set out of habit, then stared at the ceiling for ten minutes before she could convince herself to move.
First day without Maggie at Oakridge.
The thought sat in her chest like a stone.
She rolled over, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with notifications—hospital schedule updates, lab results, a reminder about grand rounds—but her eyes caught on the text thread with Maggie.
Last message: I’m glad you’re not fired. But sorry isn’t enough. Not yet.
Sent at 4:52 PM yesterday. No response since.
Evie locked the phone without reading the rest. She didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to parse whether Maggie’s silence meant respect for boundaries or just more distance. Either way, it hurt the same.
She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water beat against her shoulders until the mirror fogged completely.
When she finally dressed—scrubs that felt heavier than usual, white coat that smelled faintly of hospital antiseptic—she caught her reflection and barely recognized the woman staring back.
Tired. Angry. Sad.
But still here.
She made coffee, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door before she could talk herself into calling in sick.
The drive to Oakridge felt longer than it should have.
Los Angeles traffic crawled forward with its usual apathy, brake lights bleeding red into the bright October morning. Evie gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, her mind replaying the last real conversation she’d had with Maggie.
“You don’t get to hurt me and call it protection.”
She’d meant every word. Still did.
But God, she missed her anyway.
When she finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, muscle memory carried her to the usual spot—third row, near the east entrance. She parked, killed the engine, and sat for a moment in the quiet.
Three spaces down, Maggie’s usual spot sat empty.
Evie’s chest tightened.
Stop it, she told herself. You don’t get to fall apart. Not here. Not now.
She grabbed her bag, locked the car, and walked toward the entrance with her shoulders squared and her jaw set. If people were going to talk—and they would—she’d give them nothing to work with. No tears. No visible cracks.
Just competence.
That was all she had left.
The Internal Medicine conference room felt wrong without Maggie at the head of the table.
Doctor Patel stood where Maggie usually stood, tablet in hand, reviewing the overnight admissions with efficiency. She was older than Maggie—mid-fifties, maybe—with silver streaking through her dark hair and reading glasses perched on her nose. Her voice was warm, her demeanor patient.
Nothing like Maggie’s sharp precision.
“Good morning, everyone,” Doctor Patel said as the residents filtered in. “We’ve got a full house today. Six new admits, three step-downs from ICU, and two discharges pending social work clearance.”
Evie slid into a seat near the back, keeping her head down. A few residents glanced her way—curious, assessing—but no one said anything. Yet.
Doctor Patel’s gaze found her. “Doctor Brooks. Welcome to the team.”
Evie straightened. “Thank you, Doctor Patel.”
“I’ve heard excellent things about your clinical skills,” Patel continued, her tone genuine. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
It was kind. Professional. Appropriate.
And it felt hollow.
Because Maggie would’ve said something sharper. Something that made Evie work harder, think deeper, prove herself all over again. Patel’s kindness didn’t challenge her—it just made her feel like she’d been demoted.
“Thank you,” Evie said again, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.
Patel nodded and moved on, assigning cases with practiced ease. When she reached Evie’s name on the roster, she paused.
“Brooks, you’ll take Mr. Patterson in 614. Seventy-two-year-old with recurrent pneumonia, possible aspiration. Also—” She glanced at her tablet. “I see you were following Daisy Carter. I’d like you to continue her care through the transition.”
Evie’s throat tightened. “Of course.”
“Good. Let’s round.”
The team moved through the floor with a rhythm that was efficient but unfamiliar. Doctor Patel asked questions—good questions, thoughtful questions—but they didn’t cut the same way Maggie’s did. She guided rather than challenged. Taught by encouragement rather than pressure.
Evie presented Mr. Patterson’s case with the same thoroughness she always did, but halfway through her differential, she caught herself pausing—waiting for Maggie to interrupt with a sharper question, a harder angle, something that would force her to think three steps ahead.
It never came.
Doctor Patel just nodded. “Excellent analysis. Let’s add a swallow study to rule out aspiration. Anything else?”
Evie blinked. “No. That’s it.”
“Great. Next patient.”
That was it. No follow-up. No challenge. No but what about—
Evie felt the absence like a physical ache.
After rounds, Doctor Patel pulled her aside in the hallway. Her expression was kind but direct.
“I know the circumstances of your transfer,” Patel said quietly. “I don’t need details. I don’t need explanations. What I need is to know you’re here to work.”
Evie met her gaze. “I am.”
“Good.” Patel’s voice softened. “I also want you to know that I don’t judge. Whatever happened between you and Doctor Laurel is between you and Doctor Laurel. You’re on my service now, and I evaluate my residents on their medicine. Nothing else.”
The words were meant to be reassuring.
Instead, they felt like a spotlight.
“Thank you,” Evie managed.
Patel nodded. “Now go check on your patients. And Doctor Brooks?”
“Yes?”
“You’re allowed to have a hard day. Just don’t let it become a hard month.”
She walked away before Evie could respond.
Evie stood in the hallway for a moment, feeling the weight of that kindness settle over her like a blanket she didn’t want.
She didn’t need understanding. She needed distraction.
Work. Something to keep her mind from circling back to Maggie’s empty office and the text thread she couldn’t bring herself to delete.
She pulled out her tablet and opened Daisy Carter’s chart.
Time to work.
The light in Daisy’s room had changed since yesterday.
Not the fluorescent overhead—that was the same harsh white it always was. But something about the quality of the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds felt thinner. More fragile.
Daisy was awake when Evie entered, her breathing labored but steady. Kara sat in her usual chair by the window, phone clutched in one hand, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.
“Doctor Brooks,” Kara said, standing quickly. “We didn’t know if you’d—I mean, we heard Doctor Laurel was—”
“I’m still here,” Evie said gently, crossing to Daisy’s bedside. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kara’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Good. That’s good.”
Evie checked Daisy’s vitals, adjusting the oxygen flow slightly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. Daisy’s eyes tracked her movements, sharp despite the exhaustion written into every line of her face.
“Where’s Doctor Laurel?” Daisy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Evie’s hands stilled for just a moment before she forced herself to keep moving. “She’s taking some time off. But I’m still overseeing your care.”
Daisy studied her. Really studied her. “You two... had a fight?”
Evie’s breath caught. “What?”
“I see things,” Daisy said slowly, each word an effort. “Even when... I’m barely here. The way you looked at her...”
Kara shifted uncomfortably. “Mom, that’s—”
“It’s okay,” Evie said quietly, meeting Daisy’s gaze. She owed her honesty. This woman was dying, and she was wasting precious breath worrying about Evie’s heartbreak. “We... had a disagreement. About something important.”
Daisy’s lips curved faintly. Not quite a smile, but close. “Don’t... waste time. Being angry, honey.”
Evie’s throat tightened. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is.” Daisy’s eyes drifted closed, then opened again with visible effort. “Life’s too short. Trust me. Take one look at me, and re-think whatever you have to think about.”
The words hit harder than Evie expected.
She looked at Kara, who was crying silently now, tears streaming down her face unchecked.
“Rest now, Daisy,” Evie said, her voice rough. “Save your strength, and don’t worry about me. I get to worry about you, that’s my job.”
Daisy’s eyes found hers one more time. “For what?”
The question hung in the air—not bitter, just honest. Painfully, devastatingly honest.
Evie had no answer.
She sat with them in silence for ten minutes, her hand resting lightly on Daisy’s arm, feeling the fragile rhythm of her pulse beneath paper-thin skin. When she finally stood to leave, Daisy’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow but steady.
In the hallway, Evie leaned against the wall and let herself shake.
***
Evie sat alone in the hospital cafeteria, pushing a sad-looking salad around her plate while pretending to review labs on her tablet.
She wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all herself.
The cafeteria was busy—nurses grabbing coffee between shifts, residents scarfing down food they’d forgotten to eat hours ago, attendings holding quiet meetings over lukewarm soup. The noise was a low hum of normalcy that felt alien today.
“Mind if I sit?”
Evie looked up.
Doctor James Morrison stood there with his tray, eyebrows raised in question. He was a fellow resident—internal medicine, second year—with an easy smile and a reputation for being aggressively mediocre.
“Sure,” Evie said, because saying no would’ve been more work.
Morrison sat, immediately digging into his burger. “So. First day with Patel. How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
Evie kept her eyes on her tablet. “It’s an adjustment.”
“I bet.” Morrison took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Then, too casually: “Everyone’s talking about it, you know.”
Evie’s jaw tightened. “About what?”
“Come on. You and Laurel.”
Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Morrison shrugged. “It’s not a secret. The suspension. The transfer. People put two and two together. News travels fast.”
“People should focus on their own work and mind their own fucking business,” Evie said, her voice flat.
“Hey, I’m not judging.” He held up his hands. “I’m just saying... everyone saw it. The way she looked at you. The extra attention. I guess chemistry is chemistry, right?”
Evie set down her fork carefully. Very carefully. “And what exactly do you think you saw?”
“That you got special treatment because—”
He didn’t finish.
Evie stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the linoleum. “Let me be very clear about something. I got on Doctor Laurel’s service because I’m good at my job. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the review committee.”
Morrison blinked. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Evie leaned in, voice low and dangerous.
“And here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to keep whatever opinions you have to yourself.
Because if I hear that you’ve been spreading rumors about me—or about Doctor Laurel—I will make sure every attending on this floor knows exactly how many times you’ve missed obvious diagnoses this month. ”
His face went red. “That’s—”
“Accurate? Yeah. I thought so.”
She grabbed her tray and walked away before he could respond, dumping her uneaten lunch in the trash on her way out.
In the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and pressed her forehead against the cool metal door, breathing hard.
This was what Maggie had been afraid of.
Not the suspension. Not the investigation.
The whispers. The judgment. The way people would look at her differently, wondering if she’d earned her place or just slept her way into it.
And Evie was living it now.
She straightened, unlocked the stall, and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her reflection looked tired but defiant.
Good, she thought. Let them talk. I’m still standing.
By the time Evie got home, exhaustion had settled into her bones.
She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and stood in her kitchen staring at the empty counters. She should eat. She should shower. She should do literally anything productive.
Instead, she picked up her phone.
The text thread with Maggie stared back at her.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Today was hard, she typed.
Deleted it.
Daisy asked about you, she tried again.
Deleted it.
How are you holding up?
That one she kept. Sent it before she could overthink.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Maggie: I’m okay. How was your first day with Patel?
Evie exhaled slowly.
Evie: Fine. Different.
Maggie: She’s excellent. You’ll learn a lot.
Evie wanted to scream. Wanted to type: I don’t want to learn from her. I want to learn from you.
Instead, she wrote, People are talking.
Long pause.
Maggie: I’m sorry. I never wanted that for you.
Evie: I know. But it’s happening anyway.
Maggie: Are you okay?
Evie stared at the question. Was she okay? No. But she would be.
Evie: No. But I will be.
Maggie: I wish I could fix this.
Evie: You can’t. We just have to live through it.
Maggie: I’m sorry. For all of it.
Evie: I know. But sorry doesn’t change anything.
She set the phone down, not waiting for a response.
A minute later, it buzzed.
Maggie: It could. If you let it.
Evie picked up the phone, read the message three times, and felt something crack in her chest.
She didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
Because if she started typing what she really felt, she wouldn’t stop. And she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
Instead, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the day.
Doctor Patel’s kindness that felt like pity.
Morrison’s implications that she hadn’t earned her place.
Daisy’s words: Don’t waste time being angry.
And Maggie’s text: It could. If you let it.
Evie wasn’t angry anymore.
That was the problem.
Anger had clarity. Anger had edges. Anger gave her something to push against.
This—this exhausting, aching sadness—was just fog.
And maybe that was worse.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, knowing that when she woke up tomorrow, she’d have to do it all over again.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.