“No. I’m not doing anything official. It was caught before the dose left the nursing station. It’s not going on your record, which is up until now, perfect. And it’s going to stay that way. You’re going home, now. And you’re going to think very hard about what’s best for your patients. Because what you’re doing is…deeply unhealthy. As your friend and coworker, I’m concerned, and as your boss, I’m concerned. Just on a human level. Everyone sees it. We’re all worried.”

I nod. Put my face in my hands. “I’m sorry.” I heave a sigh. Work to contain myself. “Tell…tell Lydia I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s going to say something else, but his jaw clicks closed. Opens again. “Go home, Nadia. Rest. Do some soul searching.”

I nod again. Rise. Feeling like a zombie, I don’t even say goodbye. I shuffle to my locker, collect my purse and sweatshirt. I barely remember the walk to my car or the drive home. I remember stoplights, the half-moon peeking behind the high rises and then hovering over strip malls and then ducking behind suburban homes.

I don’t pause at the top of the driveway anymore. I open the garage door as soon as I hit the driveway and pull right in.

I toss my keys on the island. Did I even close the doors? I don’t know. Don’t care.

I almost OD’d a patient.

I flop onto the couch.

I haven’t slept in my bed in months. There’s a blanket here. It’s easier.

He was right, I now realize. He haunts that bed. I changed the sheets but I still smelled him. All the sheets smell like him. New sheets make no difference, I tried that. He’s in the shape of the bed, the way the mattress is molded to where he slept. He’s on the walls.

He haunts that room.

“Mrs. Bell.”

…

“Mrs. Bell.”

…

I blink. Sunlight. A face.

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Bell, are you all right?” It’s…Tomas Anton? I’m confused. “Your garage door and the door to your house were wide open. I saw you on the couch and I was concerned something had happened to you.”

I try to sit up—I’m on the floor. Drool is crusted to my cheek. I’m in my scrubs, hair braided. Shoes on. Sweatshirt on. Stethoscope around my neck. “I…I worked late.”

He backs away as I get upright, scoot up onto the couch. “I feared the worst when I saw you lying there, I do confess, what with your doors behind left open.”

I wipe my face, trying to scrub the sleep off. “I must’ve not closed them all the way last night. It was a long shift, I was delirious.” I groan. “I need coffee before I can even begin to wonder why you’re in my house.”