Lingering Ghosts [POV: Abigail]
The clinic had emptied out for the day, but the weight of the afternoon still clung to the air, thick and unshakable. I sat at my desk, my hands resting idly on an open file, but I wasn’t reading. My mind was elsewhere—stuck somewhere between the tension in Hannah’s voice and the look in her eyes when she had finally pieced it all together.
Her words still echoed in my head, sharp and bitter.
“You stole my life.”
I had fired back so quickly—so instinctively—with the truth. “You stole mine first.”
But the longer I sat with it, the more unsettled I felt.
She had looked ruined standing there, her once-polished exterior stripped away, her sharp edges dulled by exhaustion and defeat. And for the first time, I had seen guilt in her. Real, raw guilt.
I exhaled, rubbing my temples.
What was I supposed to feel? Vindication? Satisfaction?
I felt neither.
Only drained.
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see Nate leaning against the frame, his familiar, easygoing smile in place.
“You ready to leave?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied me.
I hesitated for half a second before forcing a smile. “Actually, I’m not feeling too well. I think I just need to go home and rest.”
Concern flickered across his face as he stepped closer. “You okay? Did something happen today?”
I shook my head quickly, brushing off his worry. “It’s nothing serious. Just a long day.”
Nate wasn’t convinced. He never was when it came to me pretending I was fine.
“Can I cook for you, then?” he offered, his voice warm and gentle. “Something easy. You don’t even have to pretend to like my terrible pasta this time.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, grateful for the way he always managed to lighten things, even when I felt like I was drowning.
“Sure,” I said softly. “That actually sounds nice.”
He smiled, pleased, and gestured toward the door. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Mara locks you in for working too late again.”
I stood up, grabbing my coat, when his gaze flickered to my desk.
To the flowers.
Not Nate’s bouquet—the soft pink roses he had sent earlier, sitting neatly in their vase near the window.
No. His eyes landed on the other one.
The peonies.
He frowned slightly and walked over, his fingers brushing one of the petals.
“Did a patient bring this?” he asked, his tone casual, but I could sense the question buried beneath it.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “Oh… yeah. A patient brought it earlier. Some sort of a parting gift.”
Nate turned to me, his brow lifting. “A parting gift?”
“Yeah,” I nodded quickly, adjusting my coat. “She just wanted to say thank you. It was… unexpected.”
He studied me for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He wasn’t stupid. He probably knew I wasn’t being entirely honest, but he didn’t push.
“That was nice of them,” he finally said, his voice even.
I forced a small smile. “Yeah, it was.”
I stepped forward, slipping my hand into his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze before leading me toward the door.
As we walked out of the clinic, I didn’t look back at the bouquet.
But even as I tried to push it aside, a thought lodged itself deep in my chest, one I couldn’t ignore.
I should have thrown them away.
But I didn’t.
