Page 82 of Once Upon A Second Chance
I don’t look up. "Something like that."
Lena leans on the counter like she has all day. "You planning on fixing it, or are we going to start a betting pool on how long it takes before she finally murders you and hides the body in the supply closet?"
I glance at her then, and her eyebrowslift meaningfully.
"She’s angry," I say, trying to keep my voice even.
"Yeah," Lena agrees easily. "And hurt. And about five minutes away from pretending indefinitely that you don't exist unless you find a way to pull your head out of your ass."
I press the pen harder into the paper than necessary. "That’s enough, Lena. I'm trying."
"Not hard enough," Lena mutters. Then, louder, with a blindingly fake smile: "Good luck, Doc."
She leaves before I can argue.
For a minute, I just stand there, feeling every ounce of frustration build up again. But Lena’s not wrong. If I don’t try—really try—I’ll lose her for good.
The break room is half-lit when I push the door open twenty minutes later.
Penny’s inside, standing by the coffee machine, fiddling with a sugar packet like it's done her personal harm. She stiffens when she hears me but doesn’t turn around.
I step inside, keeping my distance.
“Penny,” I start, voice low, careful. “Can we talk?”
She doesn’t answer, just tears the sugar packet neatly in half and pours it into her coffee with methodical precision.
I take a step closer. "Please."
Finally, she turns, coffee cup clutched to her chest like armor. Her face is unreadable—professional, cool, nothing like the woman who kissed me like I was the last good thing in the world three days ago.
"I’m working," she says quietly. "This isn’t the time."
"I know. I just... I need you to know I'm sorry. For everything. For the call, for what I said, for how I made you feel. You didn’t deserve any of it."
Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t soften. Not yet.
Before I can say anything else, the door swings open and Nurse Patel walks in, holding a folder and oblivious to the tension thick enough to chew.
"Hey, can one of you sign off on Mrs. Templeton’s PT plan?" she asks, glancing between us.
Penny straightens immediately, slipping past me without so much as brushingmy sleeve. "I’ll handle it."
She brushes by Patel, already pulling her professional mask back into place, and leaves the room like I’m no one at all.
And for the second time in three days, I stand there feeling like I just lost something I might not know how to get back.
Another day passes with Penny barely acknowledging me.
She moves through the clinic like a ghost—always two steps ahead, always just out of reach.
We pass each other in the halls, brush past each other in break rooms and at the nurses' station, and every time, the distance between us grows a little wider, a little colder.
I don’t know how much longer I can take it.
But today, I don’t even get the chance to try.
Because today is the day my parentsarrive.
