Chapter 14 #2
“Tell her...” Daisy’s breathing hitched, each word an effort. “Tell her... not to hide. Life’s too short... for hiding.”
Evie felt tears spill over. “I’ll tell her.”
Daisy’s gaze shifted to Kara, something softening in her expression. “Love you... baby girl.”
“I love you too, Mom,” Kara sobbed. “So much.”
Daisy’s eyes drifted closed. Her breathing slowed, each inhale coming further apart than the last.
Evie and Kara sat on either side of her, holding her hands, bearing witness to the quiet ending of a life well-lived. A moment that never became easy. Something that would always cling to her mind.
At 2:47 AM, Daisy Carter took her last breath.
The monitor alarm didn’t sound—Evie had turned it off, knowing this was coming. The room fell into a silence that felt sacred.
Evie checked for a pulse, though she already knew. “Time of death, 2:47 AM.”
Kara collapsed forward, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. Evie moved around the bed, wrapping her arms around her, holding her while she fell apart.
“She’s at peace,” Evie said softly. “No more pain. No more fighting.”
“I know,” Kara managed. “I just—God, I’m going to miss her.”
“I know,” Evie said. “Me too.”
They sat like that for a long time, until Kara’s sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths.
“She liked you,” Kara said eventually, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “Both of you. Doctor Laurel too.”
“We liked her,” Evie said.
“She knew, you know,” Kara continued. “About you two. She could see it.” Her voice broke. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for her, for us both. I’ve had a lot of time to say goodbye. Thank you.”
Evie’s vision blurred. “It’s the least I can do. Your mother was a wonderful lady.”
They stayed a while longer, Evie helping Kara make the calls that needed to be made, handling the paperwork that came with death—the official pronouncement, the death certificate, the notifications.
By the time Evie finally stepped into the hallway, it was after 4 AM.
She was exhausted. Wrung out. Her scrubs smelled like the palliative care floor—that particular combination of antiseptic and something sweeter, sadder.
She pulled out her phone to text Maggie, then stopped.
Because Maggie was there.
Sitting in the family lounge, still in the yoga pants and t-shirt she’d thrown on hours ago, two cups of coffee on the table in front of her.
Evie’s chest cracked open.
“You waited,” she said.
Maggie looked up, and whatever she saw in Evie’s face made her stand immediately. “She’s gone?”
Evie nodded, not trusting her voice.
Maggie crossed to her in three strides, pulling her into her arms right there in the hallway. Evie buried her face in Maggie’s shoulder and finally let herself cry—not the professional tears she’d held back in Daisy’s room, but the full weight of grief she’d been carrying.
“I’ve got you,” Maggie murmured, one hand stroking her hair. “I’m here.”
A nurse walked past, glancing at them with curiosity but not judgment. Evie didn’t care. Let them see. Let them talk. Daisy was gone, and nothing else mattered in this moment.
When Evie finally pulled back, Maggie’s shirt was wet with her tears.
“Sorry,” Evie said.
“Don’t,” Maggie said firmly. “Don’t apologize for grieving.”
“She asked about you,” Evie said. “At the end. She said to tell you thank you. And—” Her voice caught. “And to tell you not to hide. That life’s too short for hiding.”
“She was a wise woman.”
“She was rooting for us,” Evie said. “Kara told me. She was happy we figured it out.”
Maggie cupped Evie’s face gently, thumbs brushing away her tears. “Then we honor her by not wasting the time we have.”
“Even if it’s hard?” Evie asked.
“Especially if it’s hard,” Maggie said.
They stood there in the hallway for another moment, holding each other, neither one caring who saw.
Finally, Maggie said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”
“I have rounds in four hours,” Evie said.
“Then we’ll get you home, let you shower and sleep for three hours, and I’ll make you coffee before you come back,” Maggie said. “But right now, you need to not be here.”
Evie nodded, too tired to argue.
They walked out of the hospital together, Maggie’s arm around her waist, supporting her. In the parking lot, the sky was just beginning to lighten—that deep purple-blue that came before dawn.
Maggie drove them home in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Evie’s. When they got to the apartment, she guided Evie to the shower, then to bed, curling around her in the dark.
“I’m here,” Maggie whispered. “Sleep.”
And Evie did, feeling safe despite the grief, held despite the loss, loved despite everything.
Evie dragged herself back to the hospital at 7:30 AM, running on three hours of sleep and Maggie’s strong coffee. Daisy’s last breath imprinted in her thoughts. The grief she carried was real, and that made her a better doctor. At least that’s what she told herself.
Doctor Patel took one look at her and frowned. “Brooks, you look exhausted.”
“Daisy Carter passed away early this morning,” Evie said. “I was with her.”
Patel’s expression softened immediately. “I’m sorry. I know you’d been following her closely.”
“She was a good patient,” Evie said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion. “A good person.”
“Take it easy today,” Patel said. “If you need to sit out any procedures—”
“I’m okay,” Evie interrupted gently. “I’d rather work.”
Patel studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But if you need a break, take it. Or someone to talk to. You know we have support in place.”
They moved through morning rounds, Evie forcing herself to focus. When they passed the hallway that led to the administrative wing, she spotted Maggie walking with Dr. Chen, both of them deep in conversation.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Maggie’s expression softened with concern.
Evie gave her a small nod: I’m okay.
Maggie returned it: I know. But I’m here if you’re not.
Then they both kept walking in opposite directions.
“That must be strange,” one of the other residents—Dr. Amin—said quietly beside Evie.
Evie glanced at her. “What?”
“Seeing Dr. Laurel around. After everything.”
Evie kept her voice neutral. “We’re both professionals. We can handle it.”
They continued rounds, but Evie felt the weight of it—the way people were watching her, waiting to see how she’d react to Maggie’s return. Looking for drama, for tension, for something to gossip about.
She refused to give it to them.
At 2 PM, Evie was paged to Dr. Chen’s office.
Her stomach dropped. This was it—the official follow-up, the formalization of the six-month restriction.
She knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Chen called.
Evie stepped inside to find Dr. Chen behind her desk, looking professional but not unkind.
“Doctor Brooks, thank you for coming. Please, sit.”
Evie sat, hands folded in her lap, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.
“I wanted to touch base with you now that Doctor Laurel has returned,” Chen began. “As you’re aware, the Medical Review Committee has imposed certain restrictions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“For the next six months, you will remain on Doctor Patel’s service.
Doctor Laurel is not permitted to supervise you directly in any capacity.
You will attend separate conferences, separate teaching rounds.
If you find yourselves assigned to the same patient, appropriate oversight will be provided. ”
Evie nodded. “I understand.”
“I also want to be clear,” Chen continued, her voice gentler now, “that this is not a punishment for you. Your record here is excellent. Doctor Patel has nothing but praise for your work. This restriction exists to eliminate any appearance of impropriety or favoritism. Do you understand the distinction?”
“Yes,” Evie said. “I do.”
Chen leaned back in her chair, studying her. “How are you doing, Doctor Brooks? Really?”
The question surprised her. “I’m... managing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Evie considered her words carefully. “It’s hard. Seeing her at the hospital and having to maintain distance. But I understand why it’s necessary. And I’m committed to proving that my competence stands on its own merit, not on any relationship I may or may not have with Doctor Laurel.”
“May or may not?” Chen raised an eyebrow.
Evie met her gaze steadily. “With respect, Doctor Chen, I don’t think my personal life outside of work is relevant to this conversation.”
Something that might have been approval flickered across Chen’s face. “Fair enough. Just know that if you experience any difficulties—professional difficulties—during this transition period, my door is open.”
“Thank you.”
She left the office feeling oddly lighter. The restriction was official now—six months on separate services, no direct supervision, careful professional distance.
But she’d survived the conversation. And Chen hadn’t seemed hostile, just thorough.
They could do this. She could do this.
That afternoon, Dr. Patel assigned Evie a complex case—a sixty-two-year-old man with multiple comorbidities presenting with altered mental status and fever of unknown origin.
“This one’s a puzzle,” Patel said, handing over the chart. “I’d like you to take lead. Present your differential at afternoon rounds.”
Evie dove into it, grateful for the distraction from grief and exhaustion. She spent two hours reviewing the patient’s history, examining him, correlating lab values with imaging results.
By the time afternoon rounds came, she had a working differential and a plan.
She stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, and walked the team through her thinking—the subtle findings that pointed away from simple sepsis, the medication interactions that could explain the altered mental status, the underlying chronic condition that was probably being unmasked by acute illness.
“So I’m recommending we broaden our antibiotic coverage, start empiric treatment for possible endocarditis given his valve history, and get neurology involved for the persistent confusion,” Evie concluded. “I’ve already put in the consults.”
Patel nodded thoughtfully. “Excellent analysis, Doctor Brooks. I agree with your assessment. Anyone have questions or additional thoughts?”
The other residents shook their heads, looking mildly impressed.
“Alright,” Patel said. “Brooks, keep me updated on the neuro consult. Nice work.”
As the team dispersed, Evie caught Doctor Amin looking at her with something like respect.
“That was solid,” Amin said. “Really solid.”
“Thanks,” Evie said, surprised.
“I mean it. You’re good at this.”
Evie felt something settle in her chest. This was what mattered—not the gossip, not the speculation about her relationship with Maggie, but the work. The medicine. The patients.
She was good at this.
And she was going to prove it, day after day, until no one could question whether she’d earned her place.