Chapter 13 #2
And Maggie closed her eyes, choosing trust over fear for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
Doctor Kim’s office felt different on day eighteen.
Not the space itself—that was the same warm lighting, same comfortable chairs, same small succulent somehow thriving despite being largely ignored. The distinct smell of a pine scented air freshener.
But Maggie felt different.
“You look better, Maggie,” Doctor Kim said as Maggie settled into her usual seat.
“I’m sleeping,” Maggie replied. “Actual sleep. Not just lying awake catastrophizing.”
“That’s progress.” Kim pulled out her tablet. “Tell me what’s changed.”
“Evie,” Maggie said simply. “We’re... together. Actually together. Not just stolen moments or secret meetings. But we’re making a go of it. I’m trying my hardest to anyway.”
Kim nodded slowly. “And how does that feel?”
“Fucking scary,” Maggie admitted. “Wonderful. Occasionally suffocating. Like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and I can either jump or spend the rest of my life wondering what it would’ve felt like to fly.”
“That’s very poetic.”
“I’ve been reading Sarah’s journals,” Maggie said. “She was the poetic one. I’m just... learning.”
Kim leaned back in her chair. “Walk me through a typical day. How are you managing the suspension?”
Maggie described her routine—the ethics training, the long runs, the hours spent reading or cooking or doing anything to avoid the gnawing anxiety that came with forced stillness.
She talked about Evie coming home exhausted, about making dinner together, about the way they’d fallen into patterns that felt both fragile and permanent.
“It sounds domestic,” Kim observed.
“It is,” Maggie said. “And that scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because domestic means permanent. Means building a life together. Means risking—” She stopped, jaw tightening.
“Risking what?” Kim prompted gently.
“Everything,” Maggie said. “My career. My reputation. My carefully constructed life. Everything I’ve spent fifteen years building.”
“For what?”
“For love,” Maggie said quietly. “For something real. For her. I never choose love. I choose practicality and logistics.”
Kim was quiet for a moment, making notes. Then she looked up.
“Tell me about control,” she said.
Maggie blinked at the shift. “What about it?”
“You’ve spent our entire therapeutic relationship talking about control. How you need it. How you lost it when Sarah got sick. How you rebuilt your life around maintaining it. But now you’re in a relationship that requires letting go. So I’m curious—how are you managing that?”
Maggie considered the question carefully.
“I’m not,” she finally said. “Managing it, I mean. I’m just... doing it. Badly, most of the time. I still want to fix things. To plan three steps ahead. To manage outcomes. But Evie calls me on it.”
“Give me an example.”
“Last week, she came home upset about gossip at the hospital,” Maggie said. “Morrison being an ass, other residents talking. My immediate instinct was to suggest we take a break until things died down. Create distance to protect her.”
“And?”
“And I caught myself,” Maggie said. “I recognized it as my fear, not wisdom. So instead of deciding for both of us, I asked her what she needed.”
“What did she say?”
“That she needed me to trust her. To stop trying to protect her from consequences she’s willing to accept.”
Kim nodded slowly. “That’s significant growth, Maggie.”
“It doesn’t feel like growth,” Maggie said. “It feels like standing still while everything around me moves. It feels like helplessness dressed up as trust.”
“But you’re doing it anyway.”
“I’m trying to.”
Kim set down her tablet. “Let me ask you something. What scares you most about this relationship?”
Maggie didn’t hesitate. “That she’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble. That the woman she fell in love with doesn’t actually exist. That I’ll revert to my old patterns and push her away and she’ll finally have enough sense to leave.”
“So you’re afraid she’ll leave,” Kim said.
“Yes.”
“But, Maggie, she hasn’t left. Despite the investigation. Despite the transfer. Despite you literally pushing her away. She came back. She’s still here. What does that tell you?”
Maggie’s throat tightened. “That she’s stubborn?”
Kim smiled. “Or that maybe—just maybe—you’re worth loving. Even with all your patterns and fears and desperate need for control. Maybe you’re worth the mess. You deserve love too. You’re a human.”
The words hit harder than Maggie expected.
“I don’t know how to believe that,” she said, voice rough.
“I know,” Kim said gently. “But that’s the work. Not learning to control less. Learning to accept that you’re worthy of love even when you can’t control the outcome.”
Maggie closed her eyes, feeling tears prick at her lids.
“Sarah used to say the same thing,” she whispered. “That I confused love with crisis management. That I needed to learn that love wasn’t something I did to someone—it was something I experienced with them.”
“She sounds wise.”
“She was,” Maggie said, opening her eyes. “And I didn’t listen. I was too busy trying to save her to hear what she was actually saying.”
“Which was?”
“That she didn’t need saving. She needed presence. She needed me to just... be with her. Instead of always being three steps ahead, planning for contingencies, trying to prevent the inevitable.”
Kim leaned forward slightly. “And are you hearing it now? With Evie?”
Maggie nodded slowly. “I’m trying to. But it’s hard. Every time things feel good, my brain immediately starts cataloging all the ways it could go wrong. All the threats. All the potential losses.”
“That’s trauma,” Kim said. “Your nervous system learned that good things don’t last. That love equals loss. So it stays hypervigilant, looking for danger even when there isn’t any.”
“So how do I stop?”
“You don’t stop the thoughts,” Kim said. “You notice them. You name them. ‘This is my fear talking. This is my trauma response. This is not reality.’ And then you choose differently anyway.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” Doctor Kim agreed. “But it gets easier. The more you practice choosing trust over fear, the more natural it becomes. The neural pathways change. The patterns shift.”
Maggie absorbed that, feeling the weight of it settle over her.
“I have homework for you,” Kim continued. “This week, every time you want to fix something or manage Evie or protect her from consequences—I want you to pause. Take a breath. Ask yourself: Is this about her needs or my fear?”
“And if it’s my fear?”
“Then you tell her, ‘I’m scared right now. I want to fix this. But I’m going to sit with the discomfort instead.’ You make the fear transparent instead of acting on it.”
Maggie nodded, already feeling resistance to the assignment but knowing it was necessary.
“One more thing,” Kim said as their session wound down. “You mentioned Sarah wanted you to find someone who wouldn’t let you hide. Someone who would make you laugh. Someone who would remind you that you’re allowed to be afraid.”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like you found her,” Kim said simply. “The question is—are you going to let yourself keep her?”
Day twenty-two brought the call Maggie had been dreading.
She was in the middle of her third coffee and fifth ethics module when her phone lit up with Evie’s name.
Can I call you?
Maggie: Of course. Everything okay?
The phone rang immediately.
“Hey,” Maggie said, already hearing the strain in Evie’s voice through that single syllable.
“Daisy’s declining,” Evie said without preamble. “Fast. Her renal function crashed overnight. Blood pressure’s unstable. Kara’s with her now and she’s—” Her voice cracked. “She’s asking for you.”
Maggie closed her laptop, already moving. “I can’t come to the hospital, Evie. The suspension—”
“I know,” Evie said quickly. “I told her. But I thought you’d want to know. That she was asking.”
Maggie sank onto the couch, feeling helpless in a way she hadn’t since Sarah’s final days. “How long does she have?”
“Days. Maybe less.” Evie’s breath shuddered. “I’m trying to keep her comfortable. Make sure Kara has what she needs. But Maggie—I don’t know how to do this without you. This feels hard.”
“Yes, you do,” Maggie said firmly, even as her own chest tightened. “You know exactly how. You’ve been doing it since I left.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know.” Maggie closed her eyes, wishing she could be there. Wishing she could stand beside Evie in Daisy’s room and help carry this weight. “Tell me what’s happening. Walk me through it.”
So Evie did. She described Daisy’s declining vitals, the medication adjustments, the difficult conversation with Kara about hospice care and what comfort measures looked like. She talked about sitting with Daisy during rounds, holding her hand while she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“She keeps asking if we figured it out,” Evie said. “You and me. If we stopped being idiots and chose each other.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth. That we did. That you’re at home being forced to sit still while I handle everything here. That it’s hard but we’re making it work.”
“What did she say?”
Evie’s voice softened. “She said ‘good.’ And then she said ‘Don’t wait. Life’s too short to waste time being angry.’”
Maggie felt tears prick at her eyes. “She’s right.”
“I know.” Evie was quiet for a moment. “I wish you were here.”
“Me too.” Maggie gripped the phone tighter. “But you’re doing everything right, Evie. You’re giving her what she needs. Presence. Honesty. Comfort. That’s all we can ever give.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does,” Maggie said gently. “But it is. Trust me. I learned that with Sarah. The being there matters more than the fixing.”
Evie exhaled shakily. “I have to go. Patel’s calling me back for rounds. But can I call you later? Just to talk?”
“Anytime,” Maggie said. “Day or night. I’m here.”
“I love you,” Evie said, and there was something raw and desperate in her voice.