Chapter 13
MAGGIE
The apartment felt different with Evie’s presence woven into it.
Small things, mostly. A coffee mug left on the counter—not Maggie’s usual precise placement, but casual, lived-in.
A hair tie on the bathroom sink. The faint scent of Evie’s shampoo clinging to the pillows.
The sound of her key in the lock at odd hours, coming home from shifts that stretched long into the night.
Maggie stood at the window on day eight of her suspension, watching the city wake up below, and felt something she hadn’t experienced in years: contentment without control.
And it felt uncomfortable. So uncomfortable.
But she was learning to sit with that terror instead of running from it.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Evie: Stuck in morning report. Patel’s going long. Miss you as always.
Maggie smiled despite herself and typed back.
Take your time. I’ll be here, as always…
Evie: You better be. I’m bringing Thai food tonight and I expect you to actually eat it instead of just watching me eat.
Maggie: Noted. I’ll try to remember how to be human. What about if I just want to eat you?
Evie: I can ride with that
The emoji made Maggie laugh—something Evie had been doing more of, adding them to texts like little bursts of personality that refused to let Maggie retreat into formality.
She set the phone down and returned to the journal open on her lap—Sarah’s journal, one of the later entries from the week before she died.
I asked Maggie today what she’d do after I’m gone. She got that look—the one where her jaw sets and her eyes go distant. “I’ll work,” she said. “Keep busy.”
That’s what she does when she’s afraid. She works. She manages. She controls every variable she can reach.
But I don’t want her to just work. I want her to live. I want her to laugh again. To take risks. To let herself be messy and imperfect and beautifully, painfully human.
I want her to find someone who won’t let her hide.
Maggie closed the journal carefully and set it aside.
“I’m trying, Sarah,” she whispered to the empty room. “I found her. And I’m trying.”
By day ten, they’d fallen into a rhythm that felt both natural and impossible.
Evie would leave for the hospital before dawn, pressing a kiss to Maggie’s temple while she pretended to still be asleep. Maggie would lie there for another hour, listening to the sounds of the apartment settling, before dragging herself out of bed to face another day of forced stillness.
The ethics training modules were mind-numbing. Eight hours of clicking through slides about professional boundaries, power dynamics, appropriate relationships with subordinates. Maggie completed them with gritted teeth, her mind wandering to Evie every few minutes.
She’d text randomly throughout the day.
This training is making me want to throw my laptop out the window.
Evie: Don’t do that. Laptops are expensive and windows are harder to replace than you’d think.
Maggie: Voice of experience?
Evie: I plead the fifth. How much more do you have?
Maggie: Three more modules. Kill me now.
Evie: Can’t. Need you alive for tonight. I have plans for you.
The heat that message sent through her was distracting enough that Maggie had to step away from the training for twenty minutes.
When Evie came home that evening—later than usual, exhausted from a difficult case—Maggie had dinner waiting. Nothing fancy, just pasta and salad, but Evie’s face lit up when she walked in.
“You cooked,” Evie said, dropping her bag by the door.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Maggie replied, though she was already smiling. “I’m capable of basic tasks.”
“I know that.” Evie crossed to her, wrapping her arms around Maggie’s waist. “I just like seeing you do normal human things instead of spiraling in your head.”
Maggie kissed her—soft and lingering. “I’ve been doing less spiraling lately. Mainly my mind is filled with you. A lot of you.”
“Good.” Evie pulled back slightly, studying her face. “But you’re still wound tight. I can feel it.”
Maggie sighed. “Old habits.”
“Come on, talk to me,” Evie said, leading her to the couch. The pasta could wait.
They sat facing each other, Evie’s hands holding Maggie’s loosely, giving her an anchor. Her fingers tracing over the skin on her hand.
“I’m waiting for it to fall apart,” Maggie admitted. “For you to wake up one morning and realize this is too complicated. Too messy. Too much work. Part of me feels you deserve more.”
“That’s your fear talking,” Evie said gently. “Not reality.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I wake up every morning and choose this,” Evie said. “Choose you. Even when you’re impossible. Even when you’re scared. Especially when you’re scared. I’m in this, you know. For real.”
Maggie’s throat tightened. “What if I can’t stop being scared? I don’t want to shut down on you, but sometimes I feel my emotions tightening.”
“Then you’ll be scared,” Evie said simply. “And I’ll be here anyway.”
The certainty in her voice made something loosen in Maggie’s chest.
“You’re stuck with me now, so get used to it, okay?” Evie smiled as she slowly kissed Maggie.
Every kiss sent shivers through her body.
They ate dinner on the couch, Evie curled into Maggie’s side, recounting her day—the difficult central line placement, Patel’s unexpected praise, the way Morrison had actually apologized for being an ass in the cafeteria.
“He apologized?” Maggie asked, surprised.
“Apparently someone told him I’d documented his missed diagnoses,” Evie said with a smirk. “Funny how that works.”
“You’re terrifying when you want to be.”
“I learned from the best.”
Day fourteen brought the first real test.
Evie came home just after eight, her jaw tight, shoulders rigid in a way that made Maggie immediately set down her book.
“Bad day in the office?” Maggie asked, crossing to her.
“Something like that.” Evie dropped her bag and shrugged out of her jacket with more force than necessary.
Maggie waited, giving her space.
“Morrison cornered me after rounds,” Evie finally said, pacing to the window. “Started asking questions about us. About whether we’re still seeing each other. About whether that’s ‘appropriate’ given your suspension. He’s a fucking jerk.”
Maggie felt ice slide down her spine. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him to fuck off and mind his own business,” Evie said. “But he’s not the only one talking. Half the residents have theories. Some think we broke up. Some think we’re secretly together. Morrison thinks you’re manipulating me.”
“Jesus,” Maggie breathed.
“And you know what the worst part is?” Evie turned to face her, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Part of me wondered if he was right. If you are manipulating me. If I’m just so caught up in wanting this that I can’t see clearly. How crazy is that? I don’t even know how my mind went there”
The words hit like a physical blow.
Maggie crossed to her immediately, hands gentle on her shoulders. “Evie, look at me.”
Evie did, and Maggie saw the doubt there—not about her feelings, but about whether those feelings were real or manufactured by power dynamics and complicated circumstances.
“I am not manipulating you,” Maggie said firmly. “But I understand why you’d question it. Why anyone would question it. The age gap. The attending-resident dynamic. The timing of everything. You know this is real.”
“So what do we do?” Evie asked.
Maggie felt her old instincts kick in—the urge to fix this, to manage it, to create distance until the scrutiny died down.
Then she caught herself.
“We don’t do anything,” Maggie said carefully. “Except trust each other. And trust that what we have is real, regardless of what anyone else thinks.”
“That’s not a strategy,” Evie said.
“No,” Maggie agreed. “It’s faith. Which is harder.”
Evie studied her for a long moment. “You’re not going to suggest we take a break until things die down?”
“I want to,” Maggie admitted. “Every instinct I have is screaming at me to protect you by creating distance. But that’s my fear talking. Not my wisdom. And I’d miss you too much.”
“So you’re just going to… sit with the discomfort?”
“I’m going to try,” Maggie said. “And I’m going to trust you to tell me if it becomes too much. If the gossip gets worse. If Morrison crosses a line. I’m going to trust you to know what you can handle instead of deciding for you.”
Something shifted in Evie’s expression—the doubt easing, replaced by something softer.
“That’s growth,” Evie said quietly.
“Or stupidity,” Maggie replied. “Ask me again in six months which one it was.”
Evie laughed despite herself, then stepped into Maggie’s arms. “They can talk all they want. I know what this is.”
“What is it?” Maggie asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s two people figuring out how to love each other despite every obstacle,” Evie said. “It’s messy and complicated and occasionally terrifying. But it’s ours.”
Maggie held her tighter. “I’m sorry you have to deal with the gossip.”
“I’m not,” Evie said, pulling back to look at her. “Because it means you’re worth fighting for. And I always knew that. Even when you didn’t.”
Later that night, after Evie had fallen asleep, Maggie lay awake thinking about Morrison’s words.
About how the gossip would only get worse when she returned to work.
About how every interaction with Evie would be scrutinized, every decision questioned.
The anxiety spiralling in her head. She was desperate to control it somehow.
Desperate to remind herself why she was doing all of this.
Her phone was on the nightstand.
She could text Dr. Chen. Suggest extending the administrative leave. Create more distance. Make it easier on everyone.
Instead, she set the phone face-down and pulled Evie closer.
“I’m staying,” she whispered into the dark. “Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m scared. I’m staying.”
Evie stirred slightly, her hand finding Maggie’s and squeezing once before settling back into sleep.