Summary: After a brutal shift marked by violence and a mass casualty from PittFest, Dana Evans is pushed by her coworkersâespecially Trinity Santosâto take a night off for once. One drink turns into something reckless, and Dana finds herself drawn to a younger woman who makes her forget, just for a few hours, the weight she carries every day.
Itâs supposed to be one night. No strings. No complications.
But a week later, youâre staring at two positive testsâand realizing the woman you canât stop thinking about isnât just a stranger⌠sheâs your sisterâs charge nurse.
What follows is messy, emotional, and impossible to ignoreâas two people from completely different worlds are forced to confront a choice that will change everything.
Warnings: Age gap, workplace dynamics, hospital violence (non-graphic), injury, stress and burnout, alcohol use, implied sexual content (fade-to-black), unplanned pregnancy, emotional tension, strong language
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My mental health is struggling and I'm thinking of taking a break from writing and focusing on school and graduating I just need to be done with high school (I'm 18+ btw) but yeah I need to focus on myself and be healthier with my mind and body I hope you all understand đ
I'm not sure how long I will be gone but I graduate at the end of June so maybe at the start of July I'll start posting idk maybe sooner
Edit: I have the intro done my title/paring and summary done but I'll try and post that as soon as possible for my Dennis Whitaker book
Almost a month of constant monitoring, NICU alarms, and anxious waitingâyour daughter was finally being released.
---
Dana Evans held your hand tightly as you walked through the hospital doors, both of you balancing the car seat carefully in the other hand.
ââŚI canât believe this day is here,â you whispered, eyes glistening.
Dana smiled, a rare, soft smile that didnât hide anything.
ââŚMe neither,â she admitted. âSheâs ready.â
---
The drive home felt surreal.
Every stoplight, every turn, every small bump in the road reminded you just how tiny your daughter had beenâand how far sheâd come.
---
When you pulled up to your apartment building, the doors were already wide open.
Because Trinity Santos had been busy.
---
And when you walked insideâŚ
---
The chaos hit you immediately.
---
Balloons floated from the ceiling, a âWelcome Homeâ banner stretched across the living room, and tables were stacked with food: sandwiches, snacks, cupcakes, fruitâmore than youâd imagined.
---
And the group.
Trinity Santos, Cassie McKay, Victoria Javadi, Samira Mohan, Emma Nolan, Joy Kwon, Baran Al-Hashimi, Michael Robby Robinavitch, Dennis Whitaker, and Frank Langdonâeach of them standing ready, smiling, some clapping when they saw you.
(And yes, as Trinity had promised, James Ogilvie was not there.)
---
âFinally!â Santos called, rushing forward to grab your other hand. âSheâs here! Sheâs actually here!â
---
Dana laughed softly beside you, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.
âSheâs been here,â Dana said, voice low, âbut now sheâs finally ours to keep.â
---
Before you could answer, questions came flooding in.
âWhatâs her name?â
âHowâs she doing?â
âIs she sleeping okay?â
âCan we hold her?â
---
You shifted the car seat slightly and looked at Dana.
ââŚWe decided on a name,â you said.
The room went quiet for a beat.
---
âEmily,â you said, smiling. âEmily Santos-Evans.â
---
Gasps, cheers, and exclamations erupted.
Santos clapped, tears in her eyes.
ââŚPerfect,â she said. âAbsolutely perfect.â
---
Everyone crowded closer, trying to catch a glimpse of her little face, peppering you both with questions while you carefully unbuckled her from the car seat.
---
Dana took the first step, holding Emily gently in her arms.
âCareful,â you whispered. âSheâs still tiny.â
Dana looked down at her, brushing a stray blanket over her head.
ââŚSheâs perfect,â Dana murmured, voice soft.
---
You leaned against Dana, wrapping an arm around her waist, finally letting yourself breathe.
ââŚShe is,â you agreed.
---
The room buzzed with energy.
Victoria asked what your feeding schedule would be.
Samira teased about how many diapers youâd go through.
Baran, Frank, Dennis, and Robby tried to discreetly offer help but ended up elbowing each other while muttering suggestions.
Emma and Joy laughed, arguing over who got to hold Emily first.
Cassie was already plotting the safest way to baby-proof the apartment in record time.
---
Trinity leaned closer, smirking at you.
ââŚSheâs ours now,â she said. ââŚWell, ours too.â
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly.
ââŚMostly ours,â you corrected, squeezing Danaâs hand.
---
Dana leaned down to press a soft kiss to Emilyâs forehead.
ââŚWelcome home, kiddo,â she whispered.
---
And in that moment, the room full of chaos, laughter, and questions faded into the background.
Two hours had stretched into what felt like a lifetime.
---
You were still in your hospital bed, hands resting lightly on the covers, trying not to fidget too much as you waited.
Every beep of the monitors, every shuffle in the hallway made your heart skip.
And then the door opened.
---
Dana Evans stepped in, clipboard in hand, expression a mix of triumph and barely-contained relief.
âIâve negotiated,â she said quietly, but her eyes were sparkling. âThey agreed to bring her up. Just⌠heavily monitored. But you can finally hold her.â
---
Your chest tightened, and you felt your hands clammy.
ââŚReally?â you whispered.
---
Dana nodded, crouching slightly beside you.
âReally,â she confirmed. âSheâs coming. The nurses are bringing her. I promised Iâd be here the whole time.â
---
Your stomach flipped as you heard the soft beeping of the incubator approaching down the hallway.
A nurse rolled it gently into your room, accompanied by two others, all in perfect sync.
---
âSheâs ready,â one of them said.
---
Dana took your hand immediately, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
âYou got this,â she said softly. âWe got this.â
---
The incubator stopped beside your bed.
You leaned forward as the nurse carefully lifted your daughter, swaddled in a tiny blanket, her little face peeking out with half-closed eyes.
---
âSheâs so small,â you breathed, a smile breaking through your nervousness.
---
Dana leaned closer, placing a hand gently on your arm.
âSheâs perfect,â she said softly. âYouâve got her.â
---
With shaky hands, you reached out.
Your babyâs head rested in your palm, tiny and fragile, but warm against your skin.
---
Dana shifted closer, her own hands hovering protectively near yours, ready to help but letting you take the lead.
---
âSheâs⌠sheâs ours,â you whispered, voice barely audible.
---
Danaâs gaze softened, and she nodded.
âYeah,â she agreed. âOurs.â
---
The nurse checked the monitors, making sure everything stayed stable, but gave a small nod.
âSheâs doing well,â the nurse said. âYou can hold her like this for a little while, but weâll keep monitoring.â
---
You leaned back into the pillows, holding her carefully, feeling the little rise and fall of her chest, the tiny warmth of her body.
---
Dana settled beside you, hand brushing lightly over yours, over the blanket, over your daughter.
ââŚSheâs strong,â Dana said quietly, almost to herself.
---
You glanced at her, eyes still on the baby.
ââŚJust like you,â you said softly.
---
Danaâs breath caught, and she looked down at the baby, then back at you, a small smile tugging at her lips.
âYou both have me wrapped around your finger already,â she said, voice warm but teasing.
---
The three of you sat together in that quiet, monitored bubble.
You, your daughter, and Dana, finally sharing the moment that had been waiting for hours.
---
For once, the chaos of the ER, the stress, the exhaustionâall of it faded into the background.
Here, in this small hospital room, there was only warmth, love, and the tiny heartbeat in your arms.
---
ââŚWe did it,â you whispered.
---
Dana smiled, brushing a stray hair from your face.
Dana Evans stepped off the elevator, her pace steadyâbut not rushed this time.
She didnât have to rush anymore.
For once.
---
She paused outside your room.
Just for a second.
Hand hovering near the door.
---
Then she pushed it open.
---
The lights were dim.
Machines hummed softly.
Everything calm.
---
And youâ
You were awake.
---
Sitting up slightly, propped against the pillows, eyes heavy but open. One hand rested protectively over your stomachâlike your body hadnât quite caught up to the fact that she wasnât there anymore.
---
Your gaze shifted the second you heard the door.
And when you saw herâ
Your entire expression changed.
---
âHey,â you said softly.
---
Dana stopped in the doorway for half a second.
Just looking at you.
Taking in the fact that you were awake.
That you were okay.
---
ââŚHey,â she replied, quieter than usual.
---
She stepped inside, letting the door close gently behind her.
---
âYou left,â you murmured, not accusingâjust stating.
---
Dana nodded once.
âNICU.â
---
Your breath caught slightly.
ââŚYou saw her?â
---
That was all it took.
---
Something in Danaâs expression shifted.
Softened in a way she didnât let many people see.
---
âYeah,â she said.
---
She moved closer to the bed, slower now, like she didnât want to rush this part.
---
âThey let me hold her.â
---
Your eyes widened slightly.
âYou did?â
---
Dana nodded again, stopping just beside you.
ââŚYeah.â
A small pause.
---
âSheâs⌠tiny,â she added quietly. âBut sheâs strong.â
---
Your throat tightened immediately.
Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them.
---
âI want to see her,â you whispered.
---
Danaâs hand came up instinctively, brushing lightly against your arm.
âYou will,â she said. âThey just want to keep her stable for a bit first.â
---
You nodded, blinking quickly.
âOkay⌠okay.â
---
A beat of silence passed.
Not awkward.
Just⌠full.
---
Then you looked at her again.
ââŚYou came back.â
---
That made her pause.
---
ââŚYeah,â she said simply.
---
You tilted your head slightly, studying her.
âYouâre not supposed to be here,â you said. âYour shiftââ
---
âIâm off.â
---
That caught you off guard.
ââŚWhat?â
---
Dana leaned back just slightly, crossing her arms loosely.
âRobby sent me up,â she said. âTold me to take the rest of the day.â
---
You blinked.
ââŚHe did?â
---
âYeah.â
A faint pause.
---
âAnd Santos is leaving early too,â she added. âSheâll be up later.â
---
That made you smile softly.
ââŚOf course she will.â
---
Another quiet moment settled between you.
---
Thenâ
Your hand shifted slightly on the bed.
Not reaching.
But⌠close.
---
Dana noticed.
Of course she did.
---
She hesitated for half a secondâ
Then reached out, her hand covering yours gently.
---
Warm.
Steady.
---
You let out a small breath, like you didnât realize youâd been holding it.
---
ââŚWere you scared?â you asked quietly.
---
Dana didnât answer right away.
Didnât deflect.
Didnât brush it off.
---
ââŚYeah,â she said finally.
---
Your fingers tightened slightly around hers.
âMe too.â
---
Another pause.
---
Then you looked up at her again.
ââŚWhat was it like?â you asked. âHolding her.â
---
Thatâ
That almost undid her.
---
Danaâs thumb brushed slowly over your hand, her gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.
---
ââŚI didnât think,â she admitted. âNot at first.â
---
You listened closely.
---
âI just⌠stood there,â she continued quietly. âAnd then they put her in my arms andââ
She stopped.
Swallowed.
---
ââŚShe fit,â she finished. âLike she was supposed to be there.â
---
Your eyes softened immediately.
---
ââŚThatâs how it felt?â you whispered.
---
Dana nodded.
âYeah.â
---
Silence settled again.
But this timeâ
It was different.
---
Full.
Warm.
---
You shifted slightly, making room beside you without really thinking about it.
---
Dana noticed.
Of course she did.
---
ââŚYou should be resting,â she said automatically.
---
You gave her a small, tired smile.
âCome here anyway.â
---
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
---
Thenâ
She did.
---
Carefully, she sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
Not crowding.
Not overwhelming.
Just⌠there.
---
Your head leaned lightly against her arm.
---
And this timeâ
She didnât pull away.
---
Her hand moved instinctively, resting over yours again.
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Ok 4 more chapters left and I think pre writing them all and saving them to my drafts and slowly releasing them is the best plan so Dennis Whitaker won so my next book is for him comment or message or send in a request if you have any ideas you might have
Not just the usual chaosâbut something sharper underneath it.
Tension that had been building all shift.
---
Dana Evans moved like nothing was wrong.
Like she hadnât spent hours upstairs.
Like her entire world hadnât shifted.
Charts. Patients. Orders.
Control.
---
âEvans.â
She ignored it.
âRoom 6 needsââ
âEvans.â
---
That made her stop.
Slowly.
---
She turned.
---
James Ogilvie stood there, arms crossed, frustration written all over his face.
Too loud.
Too public.
---
ââŚWhat,â Dana said flatly.
---
âYou wanna explain something to me?â he asked.
Around them, people kept movingâbut slower.
Listening.
---
Dana didnât react right away.
âWhat exactly needs explaining,â she said.
---
Ogilvie gestured around the department.
âThis,â he said. âYou disappearing for hours. No heads up. No coverage that actually helps. Meanwhile I canât even sit down without getting buried.â
---
Danaâs jaw tightened.
âI had coverage.â
âThatâs not the point.â
âIt is the point.â
---
Ogilvie stepped closer.
âNo, the point isâyou get to walk out, do nothing, and weâre all stuck picking up the slack.â
---
The second those words left his mouthâ
The air changed.
---
Dana went still.
Completely still.
---
ââŚDo nothing,â she repeated.
---
Before she could respondâ
âYeah, no. Youâre not doing this.â
---
Trinity Santos stepped in, voice sharp, eyes locked on Ogilvie.
Monitors beeped. Patients filled beds. Voices overlapped in controlled chaos.
And right in the middle of itâ
James Ogilvie was done.
---
âIâm just saying,â he started, pacing behind the nurseâs station, voice pitched just low enough not to carry to patients but loud enough to annoy everyone else, âif the charge nurse can disappear forâwhatâthree hours?âI should at least get five minutes to sit down.â
No one responded.
Which only made him louder.
---
âI havenât sat since 7 a.m.,â he continued, gesturing vaguely at the chaos around him. âNot once. Not even to drink water. I think thatâs a human rights violation.â
A nurse walked past him. âYou drank water ten minutes ago.â
âThat was one sip,â he shot back. âThat doesnât count.â
---
Across the station, Trinity Santos didnât even look up from her chart.
âYou done?â she asked flatly.
âNo,â Ogilvie said immediately. âIâm just getting started.â
---
He pointed toward the empty space where Dana Evans usually stood.
âI mean seriouslyâwhere is she? You donât just vanish mid-shift when youâre in charge.â
Santos finally looked up.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
âYou wanna rethink that sentence?â she asked.
Ogilvie blinked. âWhat?â
---
Santos set her pen down.
âOr,â she continued, tone calm but sharp, âyou can keep talking and I can assign you three more patients.â
He stared at her.
ââŚThat feels like a threat.â
âIt is.â
---
He huffed, running a hand through his hair.
âIâm just sayingâitâd be nice if everyone got a break sometimes.â
---
Before Santos could respondâ
The doors swung open.
And there she was.
---
Dana Evans walked back into the ER like she had never left.
Same posture.
Same controlled expression.
Same presence that made the entire room recalibrate without her saying a word.
---
Ogilvie turned immediately.
âOh, now youâre back,â he said, throwing his hands up. âMust be niceâtaking extended vacations while the rest of us suffer.â
---
The entire station went quiet.
Not dramatically.
Just⌠enough.
---
Dana didnât respond right away.
She set her things down.
Checked the board.
Took in the state of the floor in one quick, practiced sweep.
---
Then she looked at him.
---
ââŚYou done?â she asked.
---
Ogilvie blinked.
ââŚNo?â
---
âOkay,â Dana said, already moving. âThen you can talk while you take Room 6.â
âWhatâno, I just came from Room 6ââ
âAnd Room 9,â she added.
âThatâs not even myââ
âAnd youâre covering triage for the next twenty minutes.â
---
He stared at her.
ââŚThat feels personal.â
Dana didnât even slow down.
âItâs not,â she said. âItâs your job.â
---
Santos snorted under her breath.
---
Ogilvie threw his hands up again. âThis is unbelievable. I ask for five minutes and suddenly Iâm running the entire department?â
âYouâre not running it,â Dana replied, already flipping through a chart. âI am.â
---
That shut him up.
For about three seconds.
---
ââŚSo you did disappear though,â he muttered.
---
This timeâ
Dana paused.
---
Not long.
Just enough.
---
Her expression didnât change.
But something about the room did.
Shifted.
---
Santos glanced at her.
Just briefly.
---
Dana looked back at Ogilvie.
ââŚI had something more important to handle,â she said.
Simple.
Direct.
No explanation.
No apology.
---
Ogilvie opened his mouthâ
Then stopped.
Because even he wasnât that oblivious.
ââŚYeah,â he muttered. âOkay.â
---
Dana nodded once.
Then went right back to work.
---
The rhythm of the ER picked back up instantly.
Like it always did.
---
Santos stepped closer to her a minute later, voice low.
âShe okay?â
Dana didnât look up.
âYeah.â
A beat.
Thenâ
ââŚSheâs stable.â
Santos nodded.
âGood.â
---
Another pause.
Thenâ
âAnd the baby?â
---
Danaâs hand stilled for just a second on the chart.
Barely noticeable.
---
ââŚNICU,â she said quietly. âBut sheâs good.â
---
Santosâ expression softened just slightly.
ââŚGood.â
---
Across the room, Ogilvie watched the exchange, quieter now.
Not asking questions.
Not pushing.
---
Because even he could read the room.
---
Dana moved through the chaos like she always did.
Steady.
Focused.
In control.
---
But this timeâ
There was something different under it.
---
Something quieter.
Stronger.
---
Something that didnât stay in the ER when she walked out.
The chaos of delivery had faded into something softer, dimmer. Machines still hummed, nurses still passed in and out, but the urgency was gone.
You were asleep.
Completely out.
Exhaustion had taken over the second your head hit the pillow, your breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled like you were holding onto something that wasnât there anymore.
---
Dana Evans stood at your bedside for a moment.
Just⌠watching.
Making sure you were really resting.
That you were okay.
Her hand hovered near yoursâlike she almost reached outâbut she stopped herself.
You needed sleep.
Real sleep.
---
She exhaled quietly.
Then stepped back.
---
âIâm going to the NICU,â she murmured softly, even though you couldnât hear her. âIâll be back.â
---
The hallway outside felt colder.
Brighter.
Too awake for how heavy everything still felt.
---
Dana walked with purpose, but slower than usual.
Not rushing.
Not like before.
Because nowâ
There was something waiting for her.
---
The NICU doors opened with a soft click.
Inside, everything was controlled.
Precise.
Quiet in a different way than the rest of the hospital.
---
A nurse looked up. âYouâre here forââ
âMy daughter,â Dana said.
The words came out before she could think about them.
Before she could soften them.
Before she could prepare for how they would feel.
---
The nurse smiled gently. âRight this way.â
---
Dana followed.
Each step felt heavier.
More real.
---
And thenâ
There she was.
---
So small.
In an incubator.
Tiny chest rising and falling in quick, delicate breaths. Wires. Monitors. A world built to protect something that shouldnât have had to fight this early.
---
Dana stopped.
Didnât move closer at first.
Just⌠looked.
Taking it in.
Letting it hit.
---
ââŚHey,â she said quietly.
Like the baby could hear her.
Like it mattered.
---
The nurse glanced at her. âDo you want to hold her?â
Dana hesitated.
Not because she didnât want to.
Because she did.
Because she really did.
---
ââŚYeah,â she said softly.
---
A few careful moments laterâ
Instructions. Sanitizing. Gentle guidance.
---
And thenâ
They placed her in Danaâs arms.
---
Dana froze.
Completely.
---
Sheâd held patients.
Sheâd stabilized trauma cases.
Sheâd kept people alive with steady hands and sharp thinking.
---
Thisâ
Was different.
---
Her daughter fit so easily against her.
Too easily.
Too small.
---
Danaâs breath hitchedâjust slightlyâas she adjusted her hold, careful, deliberate.
Like she was afraid to do it wrong.
---
ââŚOkay,â she whispered.
There it was again.
But this timeâ
It wasnât a placeholder.
It was grounding.
---
Her thumb brushed lightly against the blanket.
Not skin.
Not yet.
Just⌠close.
---
âYouâre early,â she murmured quietly. âCouldnât wait, huh?â
---
The baby shifted slightly, a tiny movement that made Danaâs entire body go still.
---
ââŚYeah,â she breathed.
A small, almost disbelieving huff left her.
---
For a momentâ
Everything else disappeared.
The ER.
The shift she was technically still on.
The responsibility waiting downstairs.
---
All of it.
Gone.
---
It was just this.
This tiny life.
This quiet room.
This moment she didnât know how to fully processâbut couldnât look away from.
---
âSheâs strong,â the nurse said gently.
Dana nodded.
Eyes still locked.
âYeah,â she said. âShe is.â
---
Her hand adjusted slightly, more confident now.
Still careful.
Still controlled.
But no longer hesitant.
---
ââŚYour mom did really good,â Dana added softly. âYou should know that.â
---
Her voice lowered just a little more.
ââŚSheâs resting right now.â
A pause.
Thenâ
âIâll make sure she gets to you.â
---
That promise settled into something deeper.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just⌠certain.
---
After a while, the nurse stepped closer.
âWhenever youâre ready.â
---
Dana didnât move right away.
Didnât want to.
---
But she knew.
She had to go back.
---
ââŚOkay,â she said quietly.
---
Carefullyâ
Reluctantlyâ
She let them take her back.
---
Her arms felt empty instantly.
---
Dana stood there for another second.
Just watching.
Making sure.
Holding onto the image.
---
âIâll be back,â she said softly.
---
Then she turned.
---
The walk back felt different.
Heavier.
But steadier.
---
Because nowâ
This wasnât abstract.
Wasnât something coming.
---
It was here.
---
And when Dana stepped back into your room, she paused in the doorway.
You were still asleep.
Peaceful.
---
Her gaze softened.
---
She moved back to your side, this time letting her hand rest gently over yours.
---
And for the first time since everything startedâ
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That was the part no one said out loudâbut everyone felt.
The monitors kept their steady rhythm, the soft beep⌠beep⌠beep filling the room like a metronome you couldnât escape. Nurses moved in and out, adjusting, checking, speaking in low, controlled voices.
Too calm.
Like they were trying not to scare you.
Whichâof courseâonly made it worse.
---
You gripped Danaâs hand as another contraction rolled through, sharper this time.
âOkayâokay,â you breathed, trying to follow the rhythm they gave you. âThis isnât stoppingââ
âI know,â Dana Evans said quietly.
She didnât lie.
Didnât give you false reassurance.
Her thumb pressed steadily against your knuckles, grounding.
âBut theyâre working on it,â she added. âTheyâve got options.â
---
Across the room, a doctor spoke with one of the nurses, voice low but clear enough to catch pieces.
The nurse stepped closer, adjusting the monitor around your belly.
âWeâre starting medication to slow the contractions,â she explained gently. âAnd something to help the babyâs lungs develop faster, just in case.â
Just in case.
Your stomach dropped.
Danaâs grip tightened slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind you she was still there.
---
âTheyâre being proactive,â Dana said quietly, leaning closer so only you could hear. âThatâs a good thing.â
You nodded, even though your chest felt tight.
âOkayâŚâ
---
A few minutes later, the IV pump clicked on.
The room settled into a new rhythmâmachines humming, footsteps passing, voices fading in and out.
But the contractionsâŚ
They were still there.
Not as sharp.
But not gone.
---
Dana hadnât moved.
Not once.
She stood at your side, one hand in yours, the other resting lightly against your arm or your shoulderâwherever you needed it.
Grounding.
Constant.
---
âYou left work,â you murmured after a while, your voice softer now, exhaustion starting to creep in.
Dana huffed quietly. âYeah.â
âYou didnât have to.â
âI know.â
A beat.
Thenâ
âI wasnât staying there,â she said simply.
Thatâ
That made your chest ache in a completely different way.
---
Your eyes drifted toward her.
âYou look tired.â
She almost smiled. âYouâre in early labor.â
âStill.â
Dana shook her head slightly. âIâm fine.â
You didnât argue.
Because even if she wasnâtâ
She wasnât leaving.
---
The door opened again, and Trinity Santos slipped inside, slightly out of breath.
âI got a break,â she said, scanning the room quickly before landing on you. âHey.â
âHey,â you said weakly, managing a small smile.
Santos stepped closer, her usual sharpness softened.
âYou really know how to keep things interesting,â she muttered.
You huffed a faint laugh. âWasnât the plan.â
âYeah, I figured.â
---
Santos glanced at Dana.
Dana didnât look away from you.
ââŚHow is she?â Santos asked quietly.
Dana answered without hesitation. âTheyâre trying to stop it.â
Santos nodded, jaw tightening slightly.
âOkay.â
---
For a moment, all three of you just⌠stood there.
Together.
No jokes.
No sarcasm.
Just the weight of it.
---
Another contraction hitâlighter this time, but still enough to make you tense.
Danaâs hand was there instantly.
âIâve got you,â she murmured.
Always that.
Always steady.
---
Time blurred after that.
Minutes.
Maybe an hour.
You werenât sure.
But slowlyâ
Something shifted.
---
The contractions started to space out.
Not gone.
But⌠less.
Less frequent.
Less intense.
---
The nurse checked the monitor again, then looked up with a small, reassuring smile.
âThatâs what we want to see,â she said. âLooks like the medication is starting to work.â
Relief hit so fast it almost made you dizzy.
âReally?â you asked.
âReally.â
---
You looked at Dana immediately.
Her shoulders droppedâjust slightlyâbut enough.
Enough to tell you sheâd been holding her breath this entire time.
ââŚOkay,â she exhaled quietly.
There it was again.
But this timeâ
It sounded like relief.
---
Santos let out a breath of her own. âYeah. Okay. I like that better.â
---
Dana finally sat down at the edge of the bed, still not letting go of your hand.
âYou did good,â she said softly.
You blinked. âI didnât do anything.â
âYou did,â she said. âYou came in. You let them help you. You got through it.â
Your throat tightened slightly.
ââŚWeâre not out of it yet,â you said.
âNo,â Dana agreed. âBut weâre not where we were an hour ago either.â
That helped.
More than you expected.
---
You shifted slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
Dana noticed immediately.
âHey,â she murmured. âTry to rest a little.â
You nodded, eyes already starting to feel heavy.
âDonât go anywhere,â you mumbled.
A faint, almost tired smile crossed her face.
âIâm not,â she said.
---
And for the first time since it startedâ
You believed her completely.
---
As your eyes drifted shut, Dana stayed right where she was.
But when the pain startedâsharp, low, and too consistent to ignoreâyou didnât think. You just grabbed your keys and went.
Seven months wasnât supposed to look like this.
Not like the tightening in your stomach that wouldnât stop. Not like the way your hands shook on the steering wheel the entire way to the hospital.
âOkay⌠okay,â you whispered to yourself, breath uneven. âYouâre fine. Youâre fine.â
You werenât fine.
---
By the time you reached the hospital, walking felt like a challenge.
A nurse at the front desk barely got two words out before you were gripping the counter.
âIâmâpregnantâseven monthsâsomethingâs wrong,â you managed between breaths.
That was all it took.
Everything moved fast after that.
---
You were wheeled upstairs to the OB/GYN floor, the bright lights and controlled urgency of the unit wrapping around you like something both comforting and terrifying.
âAlright, weâve got you,â a nurse said, helping you onto the bed. âLetâs get you monitored.â
Cold gel. Belts around your belly. Machines beeping steadily.
Too steadily.
Like this was real.
---
âContractions are regular,â another nurse said quietly.
Your heart dropped.
âNo,â you whispered. âNo, itâs too earlyââ
âWeâre going to take care of you,â she reassured, calm but focused. âYouâre in the right place.â
---
âDo you have an emergency contact?â the first nurse asked, already reaching for your chart.
âYeah,â you breathed. âMy sisterâTrinity Santosâshe works here.â
That got an immediate reaction.
âAlright,â the nurse nodded. âWeâll call her.â
---
Downstairsâ
The ER was in full motion.
Trinity Santos had just stepped away from a patient when her phone buzzed.
Unknown extension.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
âYeah, Santos,â she answered, already moving.
âHi, this is OB. We have Y/N hereâshe listed you as her emergency contact. Sheâs about seven months and presenting with early labor.â
Everything in Trinityâs body went still.
ââŚIâm coming,â she said immediately, already turning.
But thenâ
She stopped.
Because there was one person who needed to hear this first.
---
Across the ER, Dana Evans was mid-chart, focused, steadyâ
Until Trinity appeared in front of her.
âEvans.â
Dana didnât look up right away. âGive me a secondââ
âSheâs upstairs.â
That did it.
Danaâs head snapped up instantly. âWhat?â
âY/N. OB floor. Early labor.â
Everything else disappeared.
The noise. The patients. The constant pull of responsibilityâ
Gone.
Dana was already moving before Trinity could say anything else.
---
âSantosââ Dana started, already halfway across the floor.
âIâll text you,â Trinity called after her. âTell me whatâs going on when you get up there.â
Dana didnât answer.
She was already gone.
---
The stairwell door slammed open as Dana took the steps two at a time.
Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through her chest.
Seven months.
Too early.
Too soon.
Her mind raced through every possibility, every complication, every worst-case scenario sheâd ever seenâ
âStop,â she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to focus. âSheâs here. Sheâs safe. Just get there.â
---
Upstairsâ
You gripped the bedrail, another contraction hitting hard enough to steal your breath.
âOkayâokayâbreathe,â the nurse coached gently. âIn through your nose, out through your mouth.â
âI didnâtââ you gasped. âI didnât think it wouldâhappen like thisââ
âYou did the right thing coming in.â
---
The door opened.
Fast.
Not chaoticâbut urgent.
And thenâ
âY/N.â
Your head turned.
And there she was.
Dana Evans stood in the doorway, chest rising quickly, eyes locked on you like nothing else in the room existed.
Relief hit you so hard it almost hurt.
âDanaâŚâ
She crossed the room in seconds, immediately at your side.
âIâm here,â she said, voice low but steady, already checking monitors, your IV, everything in one quick sweep before settling her attention fully on you. âIâve got you.â
Your hand found hers instantly, gripping tight.
âItâs too early,â you whispered, fear breaking through.
Danaâs expression softenedâbut her voice stayed grounded.
âI know,â she said. âBut youâre in the right place. And they caught it early.â
Her thumb brushed over your knuckles, firm and reassuring.
âHey,â she added, quieter now, leaning just a little closer. âLook at me.â
You did.
âWeâre going to take this one step at a time,â she said. âOkay?â
Your breath shookâbut you nodded.
ââŚOkay.â
---
Dana didnât let go of your hand.
Not when another contraction hit.
Not when the nurses adjusted the monitors.
Not when the reality of it all settled in.
---
And as she stood thereâbetween you and everything that could go wrongâ
She wasnât just the charge nurse anymore.
She wasnât just in control.
She was there for you.
Completely.
---
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didnât even look.
But a moment later, she pulled it out long enough to send one quick message.
Dana: Sheâs in early labor. Iâm with her.
---
Downstairs, Trinity Santos read the message and exhaled slowly.
ââŚAlright,â she muttered. âSheâs got her.â
The apartment smelled faintly of pizza and Chinese takeout.
A small mountain of cardboard boxes sat in the middle of the living room, a half-assembled crib sprawled across the carpet, and somewhere in the chaos, beer cans were opening with an almost ceremonial pop.
You leaned back against the couch, legs tucked beneath you, and watched.
Trinity Santos was crouched on the floor, instructions spread out like a map, muttering under her breath. Cassie McKay was holding a screwdriver like sheâd been doing this her whole life, occasionally cursing softly when a piece didnât fit.
Dana Evans was sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully reading the instruction manual with that familiar intense focus that could make even the simplest thing feel serious. Then she looked up at the crib pieces like they were some complicated trauma triage and muttered, âWhy do they make these things like rocket science?â
Santos snorted. âBecause apparently, babies donât come with user manuals.â
âYouâd think after three shifts at the ER I could handle this,â Dana muttered, opening a tiny drawer of the crib and frowning at the screws.
You chuckled softly from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, belly tucked safely beneath it.
Dana glanced over at you, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She didnât get up. She didnât hover. She just gave a small, tired smile, like she was silently apologizing for all the noise and chaos. âYouâre just⌠resting, huh?â
You nodded. âYeah. Just⌠taking it all in.â
Her gaze softened, almost melting. âGood. You need it.â
---
Cassie held up a piece triumphantly. âI think this goes here⌠maybe?â She squinted at the instructions, then glanced at Dana.
Dana sighed, leaning over. âNo, thatâs the footboard. That goes on the opposite side.â She gently took the piece and set it down correctly. Her hands lingered over it for a second, almost reverently. Even in something as mundane as putting together a crib, there was that quiet, meticulous care about her.
Santos laughed. âSheâs serious about this. Like sheâs delivering a baby herself.â
Dana gave her a lookâhalf amused, half warningâbut it softened quickly. âBecause I kind of am,â she muttered.
You laughed quietly, brushing your hand over your belly. Sheâs⌠exactly that. Always intense, always caring. Always⌠here.
---
The beers came out next.
Cassie popped the tab of her can and raised it toward Dana. âFor motivation.â
Dana chuckled, popping her own tab and taking a long sip. âFine. But only one. Canât get drunk while assembling furniture⌠or can we?â
Trinity snorted again. âWatch me.â
The three of them were a perfect mix: Dana focused, Cassie precise and practical, Trinity sarcastic but loving.
And you⌠just got to watch. Rest. Let yourself enjoy the small chaos, the laughter, the sense of family forming in this apartment.
---
After twenty minutes, Dana finally leaned back, wiping her hands. âOkay. Almost done. I swear this is the last part.â
Santos raised an eyebrow. âLast part, she says⌠five minutes ago.â
Cassie shook her head. âYouâd think I could assemble a crib with my eyes closed by now.â
Dana gave a faint smile, her gaze drifting toward you. âLook at her,â she muttered softly, almost to herself. âJust⌠watching.â
You caught her eye and smiled back. âItâs⌠nice. Just⌠resting.â
Dana nodded, settling down on the floor beside you. She didnât touch your belly this timeâjust let her presence be enough. Close, warm, safe.
Santos and Cassie continued their verbal chaos, and Dana leaned her head lightly on your shoulder, letting out a small, content sigh.
The crib stood almost completed in the middle of the room, beer cans and takeout containers scattered around like confetti from a parade you didnât realize you were part of.
And in the middle of it all, you felt something shiftâa deep, quiet peace. Watching them, being there, letting them care, letting Dana care⌠it felt like home.
No urgency. No chaos outside. Just laughter, love, and the tiny, growing life that had brought you all here.
Four months for you, if you counted from the day of your first appointment.
Time had a way of moving too fast, then stretching too long, all at once.
You sat nervously in the waiting room for your mid-pregnancy ultrasound, fingers tapping lightly against your leg.
Your phone buzzed.
Trinity: Weâre on an early break. Meet you in 10.
You smiled softly. Of course she would do that. Sheâd always be ready to make sure Dana was with you.
Dana: Almost there. Donât be late.
You chuckled quietly, resting a hand on your belly. Not even a full fist yetâjust resting, almost subconsciously, as if the simple act reminded you this tiny life was very real.
---
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Dana stepped in first, eyes immediately scanning for you. Her scrubs were slightly rumpled from the early break scramble, but her posture was perfect, shoulders squared, hands tucked into her pockets. She smiled softly when she saw you, almost like you were the only person in the room.
Trinity came in right after, smirking. âLook at you two, playing patient and protector. Classic.â
Dana rolled her eyes but didnât correct her. Instead, she crouched slightly to your level, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. âYou okay?â
You nodded. âYeah⌠just a little nervous.â
Danaâs thumb ghosted over your hand, resting for a heartbeat. âNothing to be nervous about. Weâll see our little one soon.â
Your chest tightened. That little one⌠she felt so real now.
---
The technician greeted you warmly, motioning for you to get onto the table.
âFour months,â she said, smiling. âYouâre at a great stage to see a lot of development. And if you want⌠we can try to find out the sex today.â
Your eyes met Danaâs.
Danaâs expression softened immediately. ââŚWeâd like that,â she murmured.
Santos, of course, grinned knowingly. âI knew it. This is going to be fun.â
---
The gel went on, cool and slick against your skin, and the machine hummed to life.
You swallowed, trying to keep your nerves from bubbling into panic.
âHeart rate is perfect,â the technician said. âEverythingâs developing normally. And⌠letâs see if we can get a good view.â
The screen flickered, the shapes growing clearer. Limbs, spine, tiny movements. Your baby shifted, tiny hands waving in the black-and-white world of the ultrasound, and your breath hitched.
Dana leaned closer, her shoulder brushing yours. Her hand found yours, fingers intertwining instinctively. âHi there,â she whispered softly, almost reverently.
Santos nudged you lightly with her elbow. âLook at them already bonding.â
You laughed softly, squeezing Danaâs hand back. âI think she likes you,â you murmured.
---
âOkay⌠looks like we can see it now,â the technician said.
Danaâs hand subconsciously drifted toward your belly, hovering there for a moment as she watched the screen. Santos leaned over, peeking around her shoulder.
The technician smiled. âItâs a girl.â
---
Your heart skipped.
Danaâs jaw dropped just slightly, and her hand pressed lightly against yours on your belly, as if confirming the reality of what she just heard. ââŚA girl,â she breathed, almost stunned.
You laughed softly, leaning into her side. âA little girl,â you whispered.
Dana exhaled slowly, eyes glistening slightly. ââŚSheâs perfect,â she said.
Santos grinned. âWell, she has excellent taste, clearlyâpicking you two as parents.â
Dana shot her a look that was half amused, half exasperated. ââŚYouâre ridiculous,â she muttered softly. Then she turned back to you, thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. âSheâs ours,â she said quietly.
Your chest tightened, warmth spreading from your belly to your heart. ââŚYes,â you whispered, smiling. ââŚShe is.â
Dana rested her head lightly against your shoulder, her hand still on your belly. Santos gave a small, satisfied laugh, letting the two of you have the moment.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful.
For just a few minutes, the ER, the chaos, the exhaustionânone of it existed.
It was just you, Dana, Santos, and the tiny life growing inside you.
Not completely, of course. Never completely. There was always one more chart, one more patient, one more lingering task that refused to wait.
But for now, Dana Evans had a free evening.
She glanced down at the small bag of takeout sheâd grabbed on her way out, the weight of it in her hand oddly grounding.
Her phone buzzed.
Y/N: Come in. Doorâs unlocked.
Dana exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. That simple textâno fuss, no pretenseâwas enough. Enough to make the tension of the day fall just a little.
---
By the time she reached your apartment, the sun had dipped low, painting the city streets in muted gold and gray.
You opened the door before she could knock.
âHey,â you greeted softly, stepping aside to let her in.
âHey,â Dana replied, brushing her scrubs slightly as she entered. She carried the takeout like it was both a peace offering and a shield, which, in a way, it was.
You helped her set it on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
âCouch okay?â she asked, almost nervous.
You grinned. âPerfect.â
And so you sat.
Side by side.
Feet stretched out.
Takeout between you.
A movie playing quietly on the TV. Something light. Something that didnât demand your brainâdidnât demand anything except being here, being together.
---
Dana leaned back against the couch, shoulder brushing yours. The warmth from her body seeped through, grounding you both. You passed her a forkful of noodles, she passed you a piece of sushi. The simple rhythm of eating, sharing, laughing softly at a line from the movieâit felt normal. Safe.
Almost⌠peaceful.
---
And then, without consciously deciding to, Danaâs hand shifted.
Subtle at first. Idle, resting on the couch arm.
But then, almost imperceptibly, it wandered lower.
Until her fingers brushed against your belly.
---
Time slowed.
Dana froze mid-chew, eyes widening slightly. Her brain screamed at her to pull back, to move, toâ
But she didnât.
Something held her there.
Something impossibly small and fragile, but impossible to ignore.
She stared down at your belly, at the subtle curve thereâthe life she had glimpsed on that ultrasound just days agoâand felt her chest tighten.
And thenâsoftly, subconsciouslyâher fingers flexed slightly, resting there. Not pressing. Not invasive. Just⌠touching.
---
Your hand hovered over hers for a moment, unsure, but you didnât move it away either.
Danaâs eyes flicked up to yours. The movie played on, oblivious, the world outside the apartment ignored.
And for a second, the chaos of the ER, the mess of schedules, the exhaustion, the fearâit all faded.
It was just you. Her. And that tiny life growing inside you.
---
Her breath hitched slightly.
She swallowed. ââŚIââ
But she couldnât bring herself to finish the sentence. Not yet.
Instead, she rested her head lightly against your shoulder, letting the simple act of closeness anchor her.
You leaned into her naturally, arms wrapping around her side. Warm. Safe. Familiar.
Her hand didnât move.
It stayed. Hovering over your belly. Brushing it gently. Curious. Protective. Almost reverent.
And when her mind screamed at her to pull back, to be professional, to be in controlâshe couldnât.
She didnât want to.
---
You glanced down at her hand and smiled softly. âItâs okay,â you murmured. âYou donât have to move it.â
Danaâs breath hitched again, just slightly, and her lips pressed into a faint line. ââŚOkay,â she whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to just be hereâcompletely, unguardedly, with you.
The movie played. The food sat half-eaten on the table.
But none of that mattered.
Because for this one small, perfect moment, everything else could wait.
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The ER never stopped moving, never slowed down for anyone.
But for Dana Evans, everything felt slightly off-kilter.
Her steps were purposeful as she crossed the nurseâs station, eyes locked on Trinity Santos.
âTrinity,â Danaâs voice was sharpâcontrolled, but the edge couldnât be hidden. âWhy havenât I seen it yet?â
Santos looked up, calm and almost annoyingly composed. âSeen what?â
Danaâs eyes narrowed. âThe ultrasound. The one sheâY/Nâgave you. Why havenât I seen it?â
Santos froze for just a fraction of a second. Then she smirked lightly. âOh. That. You mean the picture?â
âYes!â Dana barked softly, the volume low but intense. Her jaw was tight. Her usual composure didnât falter completely, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. âI should have been the first to see it!â
Santos held up her hands, palms out. âWhoa, hey. Calm down. I wasnât trying to keep it from you. Y/N asked me not to give it to you yet. She wanted to tell you herself.â
Dana exhaled slowly, trying to reign in the storm of emotions. âYouâre telling me I have to wait? After all thatâs happened? After everything weâve been through?â Her voice softened slightly, but the frustration lingered. âTrinity, she couldâve at least texted me. Something.â
âI get it,â Santos said quietly, her tone unusually serious. âIâm not saying it was ideal. But she trusted me to hold onto it for her. Thatâs all.â
Danaâs eyes flicked down toward the nurseâs station counter, then back at Santos. Her hands twitched slightly as she tried to process it. ââŚOkay,â she said finally, voice tight. âFine. ButâŚâ She let the word hang there. âI need to see it now.â
Santos hesitated, then slid the ultrasound across the counter. Danaâs hands closed around the paper immediately, almost reverently.
She looked down.
Black and white shapes, grainy and tiny, but unmistakable.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened slightly, heart skipping a beat. For a moment, the ER, the beeping monitors, the bustling chaosâit all faded.
That small, moving shape on the paper⌠that was her baby. Her unborn child.
Danaâs hand trembled slightly as she lifted the image closer, scanning every curve, every shadow, trying to understand that this was real. That this little life was hers, too.
She felt a tug in her chest, a warmth she couldnât name. A sense of awe, of wonder, that caught her completely off guard.
Santos watched quietly, letting her have the moment.
Dana blinked a few times, then exhaled slowly. ââŚItâs⌠real,â she whispered, almost to herself.
âYes,â Santos said softly. âIt is.â
Danaâs hand lingered on the paper, tracing the tiny outline with her thumb, as if she could connect with it through the paper itself. âItâs so smallâŚâ Her voice cracked slightly. âSo⌠perfect.â
Santos gave her a small, encouraging nod. âY/N wanted you to see it. And now you have.â
Danaâs eyes flicked up to meet Santosâ, and for the first time since walking in, her expression softenedâmore vulnerable than anyone usually saw. ââŚThank you,â she said quietly. âI⌠I needed to see it. Needed to know itâs really there.â
Santos didnât say anything. Just nodded. Sometimes words werenât necessary.
Dana slipped the ultrasound into her pocket carefully, almost as if it was fragile. She straightened, drawing a deep, steadying breath. ââŚI just⌠I donât know what to do with all of this yet,â she admitted, softer now. âBut seeing it⌠changes everything.â
Santos smiled faintly. âItâs a start.â
Dana exhaled again, more slowly this time, letting a fraction of the weight lift. She tucked the image closer, letting herself feel a spark of something she hadnât allowed in monthsâhope.
And for the first time, really, she allowed herself to imagine the possibilities.
The parking lot felt too open, too exposed for a conversation like this.
And yetâ
Here you were.
Caught anyway.
---
Dana Evans stopped a few feet in front of you, her chest rising slightly faster than usual, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to piece something together.
âYou had an appointment,â she said again.
Not accusing.
Just⌠landing on it.
You swallowed. âYeah.â
A beat.
âYou didnât tell me.â
There it was.
Not anger.
But not nothing, either.
âI didnât want to bother you,â you said quickly. âYou were working and it was last minute and I justâI thought itâd be easier to just go and then tell you afterââ
Danaâs jaw tightened.
Not harsh.
Just enough to tell you she was holding something back.
âYou thought itâd be easier,â she repeated.
It wasnât mocking.
If anything, it sounded like she was trying to understand it.
âI didnât think it was a big deal,â you added, softer now. âIt was just the first appointment.â
The second the words left your mouthâ
You knew that was the wrong thing to say.
Danaâs expression shifted.
Subtle.
But clear.
âJust,â she echoed quietly.
You winced. âThatâs notâI didnât mean it like that.â
âI know,â she said.
But the way she said itâ
She knew what you meant.
And what you didnât.
---
A breeze cut through the space between you, but it didnât ease the tension.
If anything, it made it sharper.
âYou shouldâve called,â Dana said.
Not loud.
Not harsh.
Just⌠steady.
And somehow, that made it hit harder.
âI know,â you admitted.
âOr texted.â
âI know.â
Another pause.
Dana looked away for a second, running a hand over the back of her neck like she was trying to reset.
Trying to keep this from becoming something bigger than it already was.
âIâm not saying that because I need control over everything,â she added. âIâm saying it because I wanted to be there.â
Thatâ
That landed.
Right in your chest.
You looked at her, really looked this time.
And there it was.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something quieter.
Something that looked a lot like⌠hurt.
âI didnât thinkââ you started, then stopped.
Because the truth wasâ
You hadnât thought about that part enough.
âI know,â Dana said again, softer now. âYou werenât trying to leave me out.â
âNo,â you said immediately. âI wasnât.â
âI get that.â
A beat.
âBut it still happened.â
---
Silence settled in.
Heavier this time.
Not because either of you were shutting downâ
But because you were both actually feeling it.
---
âI saw it,â you said quietly.
Danaâs eyes flicked back to yours. âYeah?â
You nodded, your grip tightening slightly on your keys.
âItâs⌠small,â you said, almost like you were still trying to process it. âLike, really small.â
A faint shift in her expression.
Curiosity.
Something softer.
âYeah?â she asked.
You nodded again. âYeah.â
A pause.
Thenâ
âI have a picture.â
Dana went still.
ââŚYou do?â
You hesitated.
Because nowâ
Now came the part you couldnât undo.
âI gave it to Trinity.â
There it was.
The moment.
Dana blinked once.
Then again.
Slow.
ââŚYou what?â
âI asked her to give it to you,â you said quickly. âI justâI didnât know how toââ
Dana exhaled sharply through her nose, looking off to the side for a second.
Not angry.
But definitely⌠processing.
âOf course you did,â she muttered.
You winced. âI was going to tell youââ
âI know,â she said, cutting inânot harsh, but firm. âI know you were.â
Another pause.
Then she looked back at you.
âAnd she didnât tell me,â Dana added.
You hesitated. âI asked her not to.â
That earned a quiet, almost disbelieving huff.
âYeah. That tracks.â
---
For a second, it almost felt like she might laugh.
But she didnât.
Because this wasnât funny.
Not really.
---
âI just didnât want it to be a whole thing,â you said, quieter now.
Danaâs gaze softened slightly at that.
âIt already is a whole thing,â she said.
You let out a breath. âYeah. Iâm starting to realize that.â
---
Another silence.
But this oneâ
This one didnât feel as sharp.
More like something settling into place.
Not perfect.
Not fixed.
But⌠understood.
---
âWas everything okay?â Dana asked after a moment.
There it was.
The shift.
From hurtâ
To concern.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
You nodded. âYeah. Everything looked good.â
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
Relief.
She didnât try to hide it.
âGood,â she said quietly.
---
A beat passed.
Thenâ
âDo you still have the picture?â she asked.
You shook your head. âNo. They only gave me one.â
Dana nodded slowly, like she was filing that away.
âIâll get it from Santos,â she said.
You huffed a small laugh. âGood luck with that.â
That almost pulled a smile from her.
Almost.
---
Another pause.
Thenâ
âNext time,â Dana said, more gently now, âyou call me.â
You met her eyes.
There was no edge to it this time.
No frustration.
Just⌠something steady.
Something real.
ââŚOkay,â you said.
And this timeâ
It didnât feel like a placeholder.
---
Dana studied you for a second longer.
Then nodded once.
âOkay.â
There it was again.
But nowâ
It felt different.
---
You shifted your weight slightly, the tension in your chest easing just a little.
âYou left work,â you said, realizing it.
Dana glanced back toward the hospital. âYeah.â
âYou didnât have toââ
âI know.â
A small pause.
Thenâ
âI wanted to.â
---
That warmth hit again.
Unexpected.
Unsteady.
But there.
---
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Didnât need to.
Because even with the misstepsâ
The missed call.
The wrong timing.
The everythingâ
You were still here.
Both of you.
Trying.
---
âCome on,â Dana said after a second, nodding toward your car. âIâll walk you.â
You blinked. âYou donât have toââ
âI know,â she said again.
A faint hint of something softer tugged at her expression.
âBut Iâm already out here.â
---
You didnât argue.
---
And as the two of you walked side by side through the parking lotâ
