"Maybe," she says finally.
Nicole beams. "That's not a no. I'm about to send the details. Hope to see you there."
When Nicole leaves, Audrey closes her eyes for a second longer than usual. Her smile fades the moment no one is around to see it.
Her break ends too soon.
⸻
Her next patient brings a rare flicker of warmth to the day.
Room 4.
Mr. Briggs.
The room smells faintly of antiseptic and lavender from the oil diffuser someone plugged in last week. Seated on the table is an older man—early seventies, wiry frame, military posture. His eyes lift the second she walks in.
"Hey, Mr. Briggs," Audrey says, her tone warm but not condescending. "How you feeling today?"
"Same old. Knee's been barking again. Weather changes get to it." His voice is gruff but polite.
Audrey reviews his chart on the wall-mounted tablet. "Still not sleeping more than four hours?"
"Damn leg cramps wake me up," he mutters. "Feels like a charley horse from hell."
Audrey nods. "Let's take a look, yeah?"
She kneels without hesitation, gently lifting the hem of his loose sweatpants. His skin is worn and dry around the knee, scarred from an old surgery. She palpates carefully, checking for swelling, heat, resistance.
"You still doing the stretches I showed you?"
"Some mornings. Some mornings I don't even feel like getting out of bed."
Audrey straightens, meeting his eyes. "What about your appetite? Energy?"
He hesitates.
"No shame in being honest with me, Mr. Briggs."
He sighs. "Been feelin' low. Don't got much family around. Lost my wife four years ago, and most days it's just me and that damn TV."
Audrey nods, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You're not alone, Mr. Briggs. I can refer you to a group—men who've been through similar losses. Not therapy. Just conversation. Something to get you out of the house. Would you be open to that?"
He grumbles, then shrugs. "Ain't much of a talker."
"You don't have to be," she says. "Just show up. I'll have Kelsey print the info for you."
Something softens in his eyes.
She prescribes a non-narcotic for pain management and schedules a follow-up. As he stands, he reaches into his coat pocket.
"Brought you somethin'," he says, pulling out a little bag of pecans. "From my cousin's tree down South."
Audrey smiles genuinely. "Thank you, Mr. Briggs. I appreciate that."
He nods once and leaves, shoulders a little less heavy.
After updating his chart, Audrey pushes through the rest of her day.
⸻
By 8:15 p.m., her shift finally ends. She quickly grabs her things from her office, locks up, and leaves the building.
The drive home is long and silent—exactly what she needs. She doesn't get in until after nine.
First thing she does is take off her shoes, standing barefoot on the cold hardwood floor. Still. Quiet. She turns on her jazz playlist, lets the sounds of Coltrane fill the space, then moves through the apartment turning on soft lights.
In the bathroom, her bun comes down, long locs falling past her waist. She stares into the mirror, catching sight of herself.
"You're fine," she murmurs to no one.
The shower is hot and slow. Her back leans against the tiles longer than necessary. Afterward, she throws on a large black tee and compression shorts, heating leftovers in the microwave while she responds to Maya's text with a quick: All good. I'll send the money to you. Make sure it gets paid, please.
She doesn't turn the TV on. Instead, she eats in silence at the kitchen counter, scrolling through her patient notes on her tablet. She could sleep. She needs to. But her mind won't shut down.
She thinks about Deja, one of her patients. About her mom. About that scar on her wrist. About her ex texting again. About nothing and everything.
She finally settles into bed close to midnight, the city lights glinting outside her window.
Her phone buzzes. Another message from Leila:
I miss you. I was stupid. Just talk to me.
Audrey locks her phone and turns it face-down again.
She exhales, long and slow, and closes her eyes.
But the tension never really leaves her shoulders.




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