Chapter 11 #2
Maggie: I know. I’m sorry. Genuinely.
Evie: I don’t need sorry. I need to know if you’re done running.
Maggie stared at the message. This was it. The moment where she could deflect, protect herself, keep the walls up. Evie still wasn’t giving up on her.
Maggie: I don’t know how to stop. But I want to try.
Long pause.
Evie: Why now?
Maggie: Because I’ve been reading Sarah’s journals. Because I saw a therapist today. Because I’m tired of surviving when I could be living. Because you were right about everything. And I’m a fucking idiot who pushing away something so good for me.
Another pause.
Evie: I’m still angry. Like really angry.
Maggie: You should be.
Evie: I’m not ready to forgive you.
Maggie: I know.
Evie: But I miss you anyway. And I hate that I miss you.
Maggie’s eyes burned.
Maggie: I miss you too. So much it physically hurts.
Evie: Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.
Maggie: I’ve never meant anything more.
The dots appeared and stayed for a long time.
Evie: I need time. To think. To figure out if I can trust you again.
Maggie: Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.
Evie: Will you? Or will you find another excuse to push me away?
Maggie took a breath. Typed the truth.
Maggie: I don’t know. I’m broken in ways I’m still discovering. I might fuck this up again. But I’m going to try not to. That’s the best I can offer right now.
Several minutes passed. Maggie watched the dots appear and disappear three times.
Until finally, That’s more honest than you’ve ever been with me.
Maggie: I’m learning.
Evie: Good. Keep learning. I’ll text you when I’m ready. But if you think I’m not sitting here thinking about you constantly then you’re wrong. I care about you, Maggie.
Maggie: And I care about you, so much.
Evie: Goodnight, Maggie.
Maggie: Goodnight, Evie.
Maggie set the phone down and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was sharp, clear but on the more positive side of her expectations.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it was a door left open.
DAY 4 – MORNING
The next morning, Maggie called Lisa Grant.
They met at a café in West Hollywood, neutral territory. Lisa arrived first, already nursing a cappuccino when Maggie walked in.
“You look different,” Lisa said as Maggie sat down.
“Administrative leave will do that.”
“I heard. Through the grapevine.” Lisa studied her over the rim of her cup. “So. You fell for a resident then. Tough!”
“Is that what they’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Because I fucking know you. And you wouldn’t risk everything for nothing.”
Maggie ordered coffee. They sat.
“Do you remember what you told me after the investigation cleared at Cedar-Sinai?” Lisa asked.
“Which part?”
“You said you were done. Done with relationships, done with vulnerability, done with anything that could compromise your work.”
“I remember, clear as day,” Maggie sighed as her fingers ran through her hair. She could feel how heavy her eyes slumped into her skull as the lack of sleep took over her.
“And I told you that was a terrible idea. That you were punishing yourself for someone else’s lies.”
Maggie smiled faintly. “You did. And I told you to mind your own fucking business.”
“You did.” Lisa leaned forward. “So what changed then?”
“Evie. She changed me. Or maybe she just... refused to let me hide.”
“Good for her. You’re not a devil you know? You might feel like the villain, but you’re human and you deserve goodness.”
Maggie set down her cup. “I’m on leave, Lisa. My reputation is damaged. Again. The whispers are starting. I don’t know how I ended up back here.”
“Your reputation will recover,” Lisa said firmly. “The question is—will you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can keep punishing yourself for being human. Keep building walls. Keep pretending you don’t need anyone.” She paused. “Or you can accept that you deserve to be loved. Even if it’s messy. Even if it costs you.”
“But my anxiety circles back round to the “what if I lose everything” question. And I struggle with that, you know?”
Lisa’s expression softened. “What are you protecting, Maggie? A career that makes you miserable? A reputation built on isolation? The right to die alone and call it dignity? Talk to anyone on their death bed, you know they’d tell you life is too fucking short.”
The words were harsh. But loving.
Maggie absorbed them slowly.
“Sarah wouldn’t want this for you,” Lisa continued.
“You didn’t know her.”
“No. But I know you. I know the woman you were with her—the one who took risks, who believed in things, who let herself feel.” Lisa’s voice gentled. “What happened to her?”
“She learned better.”
“Or she learned wrong.”
They finished their coffee in companionable silence. When they parted outside, Lisa pulled Maggie into a hug.
“Stop hiding,” she whispered. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Back home, Maggie returned to Sarah’s journals.
She found the entry she’d been looking for—two weeks before Sarah died.
I need to write this while I still can. While the words still come.
Maggie thinks she’s failing me. I can see it in her eyes every time she adjusts my meds, checks my vitals, recalculates dosages like there’s a perfect equation that will keep me here.
But there isn’t. And I need her to know that.
When I’m gone, she’s going to blame herself. She’s going to build walls higher than any I’ve seen. She’s going to decide that the only way to survive is never to love like this again.
And I need her to know—that would break my heart more than dying.
I don’t want her to move on quickly. I don’t want her to forget me or pretend I didn’t matter.
But I want her to live.
I want her to take risks again. To let someone close. To stop trying to control everything and just... exist. Messy and imperfect and beautifully, terrifyingly human.
If she finds someone who sees her the way I do—who won’t let her hide, who makes her laugh, who reminds her she’s allowed to be afraid—I want her to let them in.
I want her to choose living over surviving.
Even if it’s hard. Especially if it’s hard.
Because that’s what love is. Not control. Not management. Not trying to prevent every possible loss.
Love is showing up anyway.
Maggie read it three times, tears streaming down her face.
Then she picked up her phone and started typing.
Not to Evie—not yet.
To herself.
Things I Know:
I love Evie Brooks
I’m terrified of losing her
I’m terrified of losing myself
I’ve been choosing fear over courage for six years
Sarah would tell me to stop being an idiot
I don’t know how to love without trying to control
But I want to learn
Things I Need To Do:
Finish ethics training
Keep going to therapy
Stop trying to fix everything
Trust Evie to make her own choices
Trust myself to survive if it goes wrong
Show up. Messy. Imperfect. Real.
She saved the note and set the phone down.
For the first time in days, she felt something shift.
Not hope—not quite.
But possibility.
And maybe that was enough to start with.
That night, Maggie pulled out her laptop and started drafting.
Not the careful, strategic response Dr. Chen wanted. Not the self-protective version that might save her career.
The truth.
To Evie—
I don’t expect you to read this now. Maybe not ever. But I need to write it anyway.
I spent today reading Sarah’s journals. Learning, again, all the ways I tried to control her out of love and ended up making her feel managed instead. All the ways I promised myself I’d never be that vulnerable again.
And then you walked into my ER and challenged me on day one, and I knew I was in trouble.
Because you don’t let me hide. You see through every wall I build. You call me on my bullshit. You stay when I push. And that terrifies me more than any committee investigation ever could.
I told you I was protecting you when I requested the transfer. That was partially true. But mostly I was protecting myself. From the possibility that I could love someone again and it could actually work. From the terrifying vulnerability of being seen completely.
You were right. About everything.
I choose fear over courage. I run instead of stay. I try to control outcomes instead of trusting the process. I’ve been surviving instead of living.
But I want to change.
Not because I think I can fix this with the right words or the right strategy. But because I don’t want to be this person anymore. The one who sacrifices connection for safety. Who builds walls and calls it strength.
I love you.
I’m in love with you.
And I have no idea how to do that without my usual patterns of control and management and trying to prevent every possible loss.
But I want to learn.
If you’ll let me.
If you’re willing to risk loving someone who’s still figuring out how to be human instead of just competent.
Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.
— Maggie
She saved it but didn’t send it.
Not yet.
Evie had asked for time. And Maggie was learning—slowly, imperfectly—that love sometimes meant sitting with uncertainty instead of trying to resolve it.
She closed the laptop and returned to Sarah’s journal, reading by lamplight until her eyes grew heavy.
The last entry she read was from one week before Sarah died:
She made me laugh today. I don’t remember what she said—just that I laughed. Really laughed. And for a moment, she stopped trying to save me and just sat with me. Present. Real.
That’s the Maggie I fell in love with.
I hope she finds her way back to her. I hope she lets herself be that person again.
She deserves to be loved the way she loves others—completely, fiercely, without reservation.
She just has to let herself receive it.
Maggie closed the journal and turned off the light.
In the darkness, she whispered, “I’m trying, Sarah. I’m finally trying.”