Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Good.” She bounces past me. Literally bounces. She’s like a hopping bunny in human form.
I lean my head briefly against the row of lockers and close my eyes. Just for a second. Just to breathe. But the moment they close, I’m back in the cold. Back in the car. Back in that moment where everything felt like it was unraveling once again last night. And then Tony. He just stepped into the chaos like he understood every piece of it. Like he saw me. He read me like a damn book.
My eyes fly open again. Shake it off. Work. I need to think about work.
I put my things in my locker before taking my place at the front desk. The phones aren’t ringing yet, but they will be. They always are.
I turn on the computer. The screen brightens. The schedule loads. And I groan internally because of course today is jam-packed.
My head already hurts.
At 7:58, just two minutes before the first patient arrives, Dr. Kline strides in like he owns the air we breathe.
“Well,” he mutters disapproval laced in his words even though I haven’t done anything yet, “you look rough.”
I swallow my irritation and offer a tight smile. “Morning, Doctor.”
He moves past the desk, flipping through charts I already prepared. “Did you get the insurance pre-auth sent for Mrs. Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“And did you reschedule Martinson’s cleaning?”
“Yes.”
“And did you—” he rattles on more patient names to which I confirm all tasks complete.
“Yes, Doctor.” I pause. “The entire day has been confirmed and all prior authorizations are done and coded.”
He studies me again, something between annoyance and mild concern flickering in his eyes. “Try to hydrate. Your eyes are puffy today. You look pale. Definitely drink more water.”
Then he disappears into the back, leaving a trail of sandalwood-scented authority behind him.
I let myself sag in my chair for a whole three seconds.
Then the door opens.
And the day officially begins.
By ten a.m., I’ve answered seventeen phone calls, scheduled six appointments, rescheduled four more, filled out two insurance claims, and dealt with one woman who insisted she had sent an email two months ago and therefore shouldn’t have to pay a missed appointment fee.
And I am so tired I feel it in my teeth.
The office is warm now—almost too warm—and I realize I haven’t stopped shivering. Not from temperature. From exhaustion, probably. From the residual shock of last night. From everything I haven’t allowed myself to process yet.
I rub my thumb into my palm, grounding myself, and take a breath. Patients come and go. I smile through all of it. The fake receptionist smile. The “yes of course we can look into that for you” voice. The “no worries, it happens all the time” tone. It all feels automatic now.
Around noon, Kendra pops her head out of an exam room. “Hey, Holley? Can you bring me the 4-0 sutures? I forgot to prep my station for the upcoming extraction. I need to check the patient in and don’t want to hold up Dr. Kline when he gets in to do the procedure.”
“They’re in the cabinet by the back sink, right?”
“No, they’re,” She stops mid-sentence and mid-stride studying me. “Holley. Are you okay?”
I blink at her. Once. Twice. Apparently too slowly.
She frowns. “You’re not you, it’s like something is off today.”
I try to smile again, but my cheek feels stiff. “Just tired.”
She studies me longer than she normally would—her chirpy vibe replaced with something quieter, almost concerned. “Okay. Well, the sutures are actually—never mind. I’ll grab them.”
She disappears, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling of being seen.
I hate being seen.
Especially when I’m barely holding myself together.
Lunch break arrives like a blessing, and I slip outside with my coat pulled tight around me, even though the air is warmer than last night by a mile. The cold still clings to me. Like it seeped into my bones.
I sit in my car—not to nap, because I know if I close my eyes I won’t wake up—but to breathe. To stretch. To drink the lukewarm coffee I reheated an hour ago in the office.
My phone buzzes.
For a split second, my chest tightens thinking it might be Eric, even though that makes no sense. My rational brain knows it doesn’t. But fear doesn’t ask for permission to show up. We don’t have much contact since the divorce got finalized. Yet, he shows up at the most unpredictable times.
It’s just a notification for a sale on a clothing store app.
Still, I don’t fully relax. I sip my coffee instead and lean back against the seat.
The sunlight streams through the windshield, warming my face. And for the first time since waking, I feel something I haven’t had in a long time. It’s not peace. But like a pause. A break in the tension.
A moment of quiet.
But quiet lets memories in.
And suddenly, I’m right back at my cabin. Eric is yelling about money. Then Tony—calm, steady, immovable—stepping between us. Then the kiss.