Page 62 of After Everything
Deal. Fair warning: my bio currently says "enjoys long walks on the beach and pondering the existential nature of infrastructure."
That's perfect. Don't change a thing.
We'd left it at that. Clean. Friendly. The way breakups should be when two people are mature enough to admit something isn't working.
Work had been busy. Three new DV referrals in the past week alone: one from David, two from other attorneys who'd heard about the clinic's program. We'd hired another NP to help with the caseload, which meant more administrative work for me but also meant we could help more people.
It was a good problem to have.
I was updating patient charts when the receptionist buzzed my office line.
"Emma? There's a David Harrison here. Says he has some files to drop off for the Rodriguez case?"
I paused, pen hovering over the chart. David was here. At the clinic. In person.
"Send him in," I said.
I had thirty seconds to prepare. Thirty seconds to remind myself that this wasprofessional, that we'd been working together for months now, that there was no reason for my heart rate to pick up just because he was in the building.
The knock on my door came too soon.
"Come in."
David stepped into my office, and I was struck, as I always was, by how different he looked from the man I'd been married to. Thinner, yes. But also somehow more solid. Like he'd been hollowed out and then rebuilt from the inside.
"Hi," he said. "Sorry to drop by unannounced. I was in the neighborhood for a deposition and thought I'd save myself the postage."
He held up a manila folder.
"The Rodriguez case?" I stood and reached for it.
"Yeah. Just some additional documentation from the police department. Figured you'd want it for your records." He handed it over.
"How's she doing, by the way? Last I heard, she was settling in at her sister's place."
"She's doing well. Started therapy last week. Her kids are adjusting. The restraining order helped. Gave her some breathing room."
"Good,” I said. “That's good."
David glanced around my office, at the diplomas on the wall, the plant Jess had given me that I'd somehow kept alive, the photo of my family at my NP graduation.
"Nice office,” he said. “Very... you."
"Very me?"
"Yeah. Organized chaos. But like, the good kind." He gestured at my desk, which was covered in patient files, Post-it notes, and three different colored pens. "Looks like someone who's got a lot going on but knows exactly where everything is."
I looked at my desk. He wasn't wrong. I could find anything in that mess within ten seconds.
"That's either a compliment or you're calling me messy."
"Definitely a compliment. I once watched you find a specific patient chart in the ICU during a code. It was like watching a superpower."
The memory hit me unexpectedly. He'd visited me at work once, years ago, brought me coffee during a particularly brutal shift. There'd been a code, and he'd watched from the hallway as I'd navigated the chaos.
I'd forgotten he'd seen that.
"That was a long time ago," I said.
