Chapter 8 - The Return to the Ward
For the next three days, Marin tried desperately to force her life back into its familiar, predictable grooves.
She worked her shifts at the county health clinic, managed her patient rosters, and slept in her tiny room above the laundromat. To her absolute astonishment, the landlord didn't mention the overdue rent when she crossed paths with him in the hallway; instead, he tipped his hat politely and asked if she needed help carrying her groceries. News of invisible shifts in the neighborhood power dynamics clearly traveled fast.
Yet, despite the return to normalcy, her mind refused to settle.
Every time she closed her eyes, she didn't see hospital charts or unpaid ledgers; she saw the cold, dark expanse of Kestrel Lake, the white nightgown billowing in the water, and the stark, raw vulnerability in Raphael Ambrosie’s eyes as he knelt on the dock to cradle his grandmother’s face.
By Friday night, the exhaustion finally caught up with her.
She was finishing a late paperwork audit at the clinic nurses' station when her phone buzzed on the laminate desk. It was an incoming text from an unknown, unlisted number.
Nella is asking if you're coming for Sunday tea. She baked lemon shortbread.
Marin stared at the screen for a full minute, her heart skipping a beat. She didn't need to check caller ID to know who sent it.
She typed back slowly: Does she think I’m Tomaso today?
May you like
The reply came within three seconds: No. She knows exactly who you are. And so do I.
Marin exhaled a slow, shaky breath, locked her computer screen, and grabbed her coat.
