Page 47 of Time for You
“Oh yeah? Please, enlighten me,” she said.
“You worked for this job your whole life, but you’re miserable there. And I know, because I was miserable at mine.”
Daphne blinked. “You were?”
His smile was sad. “We never really talked about it. But yeah, I never liked it. Or don’t, I guess. I still never know what tense to use, but imports was never very interesting. It’s a lot of lists, and weighing things, and comparing the weights to the list, and counting. I bloody hated it.”
“I guess—I just assumed you guys didn’t think about it like that, back then.”
“You thought we didn’t have hopes and dreams in the past?” he asked, amused.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—it didn’t sound like you had much choice. Your dad’s firm, and all.”
“And I didn’t. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have liked to have a say. But that’s not really the point—the point is, I know what it’s like when your job is slowly draining the life out of you. I know, because I’ve seen it in the mirror, and I see it on you now.”
Suddenly, the tears were back. Daphne tried to rub them away, but they just kept coming, thick and hot down her cheeks. “I can’t hate it. I worked too hard to hate it,” she said, hiccuping. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s what you want now,” he said softly. Henry leaned forward and used his thumb to catch a tear. He traced her cheekbone, cupping her face for a moment before leaning back. “I know from what you all have said that it’s expensive to become a doctor, but you can’t let that keep you in something you hate. Not if you have another choice.”
“I don’t hate all of it. I like being a doctor, I really do.”
“But not the kind of doctor you are.”
The words hung between them. Daphne would’ve thought someone saying that would send her into a spiral, but instead, she felt calm. Like she could breathe for the first time in years. Like the room had finally stopped spinning. She nodded. “No. Not this kind of medicine.”
“So quit.”
Daphne stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“You don’t have a family to provide for, and you’re bright. I’m sure you could find something else.”
“But I don’twantsomething else. I want to be a doctor.”
“Do you?” he asked mildly.
“I do,” she repeated. “I just think I need something quieter. Something where I can talk to patients more, so when things go wrong, I’m not just a stranger giving them the worst news of their life. But it’s not that simple.”
“Why isn’t it? You’re still in training, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but the process is really complicated. There’s interviews and Match Day and I’d have to give up a year, go back and start over.”
“A year, or the rest of your life. Doesn’t seem like much of a competition,” he said, and even though Daphne didn’t think she had any more tears left to shed, she started crying again. She crumpled against him, and once again Henry held her through the storm, his arms safe and comforting even though she’d barely ever touched him before. Dimly she wondered about that, what had changed that his previous reserve had gone by the wayside. But the bigger part of her was just glad to have someone to hold on to as the world completely reoriented around her.
“You can do it, Daph,” he said into her hair. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be thinking about leaving.”
There was a long, heavy moment of silence. “Sometimes, walking away is the hardest thing you can do.”
Henry shifted, drawing her further across his chest and wrapping his arms more securely around her. The tears had started to ebb, but exhaustion rolled through her. The stress of her shift and the emotional turbulence made her eyelids heavy, and Henry’s steady heartbeat and warmth melted her last shreds of awareness.
Chapter Nineteen
Daphne blinked awake, momentarily disoriented. Things came back to her in snatches—falling asleep against Henry, then half waking up in his arms as he carried her to her room. She was alone in bed, still in the clothes she had worn home, her other pillow untouched. The rest of the evening came back to her all at once, and her stomach sank, remembering her grief and their conversation.
But considering a new career track felt far too big to think about without coffee. She padded out of her bedroom and drew up short, because there, on her and Ellie’s couch, was Henry.
He was sound asleep, his arm dangling off the side. The blanket was thrown over his legs, and she smiled softly to herself. She tugged the blanket up over his chest and tiptoed into the kitchen.
