When they pushed open the door, the heat and humidity felt oppressive, miserable. But Will didn’t much mind that, either. He’d get on his bike, take the long way back to his place. He’d sweat until he was so tired that he’d have to sleep tonight.

In fact it is against common sense, he thought, but ignored it.

“Dr. Sterling,” Abraham said, right as Will was setting his helmet on his head. “I would like to make note of my concern for you.”

Will paused, a hand frozen on one of his chin straps. For the first time, he noticed that Abraham wasn’t wearing the white coat. It made sense, he guessed, since the man was leaving, but it still made Will blink in surprise.

“Uh,” he said, which was not an approach he typically took with his boss.

“I note, for example, that you have taken two extra shifts this week.”

“Dr. Barrett-Goldberg had to take two personal days,” he said, by way of explanation, even though it was a cheap one. The scheduler had those shifts covered weeks ago.

“I also note that during those shifts you worked longer than twelve hours and you are, in fact, over the appropriate limit for physicians in our department.”

“I’m off tomorrow.” A horrible thought. His stomach hurt when he considered it, all those hours free, and no hope of Nora. Even the clinic wasn’t an option; he’d maxed out his hours there, too.

“And this is to say nothing of your mood,” Abraham added, as though Will hadn’t spoken. “Sullen, is how I would characterize it.”

Maybe, on any other day, Will would have taken offense. But the truth was, sullen wasn’t the half of it.

He was miserable.

In hell, exactly as he’d predicted.

Because he’d messed up with Nora, and now she was gone.

He’d known it as it had been happening, had experienced it almost in slow motion, outside of himself. Fragments of it felt clear, acute: his mom’s handwriting, youthful even when she’d gotten older. Mrs. Salas’s fingers at the edge of that photograph, her nails pink and glossy. His parents’ faces—unlined, joyful, intense. Nora’s arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest, her hair against his chin. Her hand letting go of his.

But so much of the rest of it felt fuzzy, too fast. He’d seen that picture and it was like smashing straight into a brick wall of everything he was afraid of becoming. And then he’d told Nora he wasn’t looking for serious.

Ah, here was another crystal clear fragment: the look on her face when he’d said it. He was pretty sure his hiccupping heart had stopped right then and there, no matter that he was still standing here right now, relentlessly alive.