Page 20 of Yours to Keep
Marge notices the movement before I can recover. “Come in,” she says.
Ree steps inside with a clipboard and a cup of medication, then stops. Her eyes move between us in one sweep, and the room shifts.
“Everything alright?” she asks, carefully neutral, giving us the dignity of choosing our truth.
Marge gives a small shake of her head. That’s all it takes. Ree looks at me, and I turn slightly toward her.
She freezes. Not dramatically, but with the stillness of someone registering something they were entirely unprepared for. Her eyes take in the damage: the harsh colors beneath the broken makeup, the swelling I couldn’t disguise, the exhaustion I can’t mask. Then her gaze drops to Marge’s hand, still locked around mine.
Heat crawls up my neck, heavy and suffocating. Shame settles under my skin, thick enough to make my vision swim as I feel myself distancing from my own body.
“I fucking knew it,” Ree hisses.
The words hang there, sharp enough to cut the air.
“Ree,” Marge says firmly, anchoring me without judgment. “He doesn’t need judgment right now.”
Something in Ree’s expression shifts instantly. She exhales a slow, controlled breath, forcing herself back into her present. She places the clipboard and medication on the bedside table, crouches down beside us, and covers our hands with hers.
Her voice breaks at the edges. “Eli… it has to stop. Please.”
The room goes very still. I stare down at our hands, layered together like something fragile trying not to fall apart. My chest caves inward, and a tremor runs through my fingers. The truth hits so hard my breath stutters.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
Marge squeezes my fingers once. Steady.
Ree straightens slowly, looking between us. “We’ll take that as a yes. I know somewhere private. Come on, I’ll grab a wheelchair.” She glances at Marge. “I’m guessing you want in on this conversation?”
“Damn bloody straight,” Marge replies instantly.
* * *
Half an hour later, we’re sitting in an empty doctor’s office with three untouched coffees cooling between us. The room feels too clinical for what we’re holding.
Ree talks first, filling the space with safe things: shift changes, medication schedules, small updates about Marge’s treatment. Anything to avoid looking at the elephant in the room. But it’s still here, sitting heavily between us.
They don’t ask who did it; they know. They don’t ask why I stayed; I can’t answer that yet. Instead, Ree looks right at me and asks the one question I wasn’t prepared for.
“Are you safe?”
The words land harder than anything else. I realize I’ve been bracing for an interrogation when what she’s offering is truth. I look at her, and nothing I’ve rehearsed fits.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Ree nods once. Not in agreement, but in recognition of my limits. “Alright. Then let’s keep things simple for today.Tonight, you’re coming to my place for dinner. No pressure. Just somewhere else for a few hours. We can talk properly then.”
My throat tightens instantly. “He’s home.”
She reads my face before replying. “Then tell him it’s dinner with my family and Marge. Keep it simple, like my kid’s birthday. Anything that gets you out the door.”
I nod, though I know it isn’t a promise, just a hope I’m not sure I’m allowed to keep. A cold ripple moves through me. Leaving the hospital feels like stepping off a ledge.
Before I can stop myself, Ree steps forward and pulls me into a hug. My body locks up on instinct, but then something inside me cracks open. A soft, starved sound escapes before I can swallow it down. Marge joins a second later, wrapping her other arm around my back. For a moment, I just exist in their warmth. No judgment. Just space to breathe.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day in that office. The doctor is on leave, letting me stay hidden. Ree checks in when she can, and Marge stays close between treatments. They don’t let me disappear, but I spend the hours waiting, still unable to imagine how I’ll ever leave Adrian.
