Chapter Text
by [bluemilk]
{I didn’t know then how much I’d already lost.
Or that meeting her—quiet, warm, annoyingly patient—was gonna be the thing that cracked me wide open.
Some wounds? They scab over wrong. Some just keep bleeding, no matter how hard you press.
And some...
Some get mended by hands that know exactly how broken feels.
She didn’t try to fix me. She just held the pieces long enough for me to remember they were mine.}
KANDAHAR PROVINCE – FOUR MONTHS EARLIER
The heat felt alive.
Breathing down her neck. Soaking her gear. Dry and dense like God left the oven door open.
Boots crunched over broken earth, dust rising like ghosts around them. The sun drilled down overhead—merciless, indifferent. Ellie adjusted her grip on her rifle, fingers slick with sweat inside her gloves. Every movement stuck. Every breath tasted like sand.
“Yo, baby grunt,” Rodriguez said, glancing back over his shoulder, “you good back there?”
Ellie gave a single nod.
“Kid’s solid,” Jackson chimed in, watching their six. “Don’t talk much, but her shot’s meaner than mine.”
“Damn right it is.” Rodriguez grinned. “Still not letting her pick the music next time.”
“I didn’t ask to be DJ,” Ellie muttered, her voice dry as the dirt underfoot.
They laughed. Easy. Comfortable. Like they weren’t walking straight into a graveyard.
The compound ahead was nothing but low walls and sun-bleached metal. Their last comms said it was clear. Quiet. Empty. The kind of intel that always came with a twist.
Rodriguez tapped his comm. “Alpha team approaching objective. Perimeter clear so far. Moving in to sweep.”
“Copy, Alpha.”
Ellie wiped her brow with the inside of her wrist. Her pulse was steady. Her hands were calm.
Then—
A click. Too sharp. Too intentional. Not theirs.
Rodriguez stopped mid-step. “Did you hear—?”
Boom.
The explosion knocked them sideways. Dirt and rock went flying. Ellie hit the ground hard, shoulder first, ears ringing like church bells in hell.
“AMBUSH!” Jackson shouted. “Contact left—fuck, they’re—!”
Gunfire erupted from the compound walls. Muzzle flashes flared like lightning. Bullets chewed up the dirt, spraying grit and heat and panic. Ellie rolled behind a half-collapsed barricade, breath ragged, adrenaline crashing in.
Rodriguez was already moving—returning fire, dragging Jackson behind cover. “GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, MOVE!”
“Sniper—sniper, three o’clock!” Jackson shouted.
Ellie popped up, lined her sights—eyes sharp, lungs burning.
Then came the crack.
Clean.
Precise.
Jackson’s head jerked. His body dropped.
Gone.
The scream caught in Ellie’s throat.
“FUCK—JACKSON’S DOWN!” she yelled.
Rodriguez yelled something back—she couldn’t hear it over the roar in her ears.
Then the second shot hit her.
Like lightning.
Like someone ripped a hot wire through her hip.
She screamed. Hit the ground hard. Rifle gone. Sand and blood and pain—everywhere. So much blood. It soaked her pants, her fingers, her bones.
Her leg didn’t work. Her breath came in short, broken pieces.
“ELLIE!” Rodriguez’s voice cracked through the haze. “STAY WITH ME! STAY—!”
The sky above was still painfully blue.
Unfairly blue.
Everything else went dark.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Mirror. Sink. Cane. Repeat.
Ellie stood barefoot on the cool tile of Joel’s guest bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink like it was trying to float away. The light overhead buzzed faintly, flickering once—enough to piss her off.
Her reflection didn’t flinch. Pale. Gaunt. Buzzcut grown out into soft, awkward curls that didn’t know where they were going. Freckles faded from lack of sun. Scars new and old, stitching her body into someone she didn’t quite recognize.
Her eyes looked older. Or maybe just emptier.
The cane leaned against the wall like it was watching her. Cherry wood. Sanded smooth. Ferns, moths, and tiny carvings etched down the shaft like someone had tried to make it pretty.
It smelled like cedar.
Like someone still believed in her.
Joel’s voice echoed in her head—“Figured if you’re gonna lean on somethin’, might as well be somethin’ worth lookin’ at.”
He hadn’t met her eyes when he gave it to her. Just held it out and cleared his throat like it meant nothing.
The hip ached. The scar throbbed. Even brushing her teeth felt like prepping for battle.
She could still recite her chart from memory:
Gunshot wound to pelvis. Comminuted fracture. Internal fixation. Partial mobility. Severe nerve damage. PTSD—unresolved.
“Careful rapport-building recommended.” Like she hadn’t already locked the whole world out and swallowed the key.
Knock knock.
“You alright in there?” Joel’s voice, muffled through the door. Southern. Warm. Worn out.
Ellie closed her eyes.
“Yeah,” she lied. “Just—getting my shit together.”
A beat.
“Alright. Truck’s runnin’. Ain’t in a hurry or nothin’.”
She heard him shift his weight in the hallway. Always lingered now. Like he thought if he waited long enough, she might open up. Or disappear.
Ellie grabbed the cane and opened the door.
Joel stood there in his flannel and jeans, truck keys dangling from one calloused hand, coffee thermos in the other. His hair was longer now. Grayer. He hadn’t shaved.
He looked like a man carrying a weight he’d gladly take from her if she’d let him.
“Breakfast first or therapy first?” he asked.
Ellie shrugged. “Don’t matter. Both taste like shit.”
Joel gave a quiet huff of a laugh. “Still picky as ever.”
“Still cook like a Texan with no taste buds.”
“That’s a damn lie,” he muttered, leading her down the hall.
They moved slow—her pace, not his. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t hover either. Just walked beside her like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t half a second from collapsing most days.
At the truck, he opened the passenger door and set her cane inside like it was a rifle.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
Joel nodded, eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing it.
“You sleep last night?”
Ellie climbed in, wincing as her hip hit the edge of the seat. “Define sleep.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Joel shut the door gently. Too gently.
Once inside, Ellie leaned her head against the window. The glass was cold. The world looked quieter from here.
Joel started the truck.
“You know,” he said after a while, “you don’t gotta do all this alone.”
Ellie didn’t answer.
He glanced at her. “I mean it.”
“I know.”
Silence again.
Then Ellie said, without looking at him, “Thanks. For the cane. It’s… not awful.”
Joel’s lips twitched. “High praise.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
They drove in silence. Not peaceful. But not war.
Just the space between.
THAT SAME MORNING ACROSS TOWN
Dina’s morning was chaos. But, then again, when wasn’t it?
Her coffee? Cold, half-sipped, forgotten on top of the microwave next to a half-eaten granola bar. Elias? Shirtless, pantsless, and very much not ready for daycare—zooming his plastic fire truck across the kitchen tiles, mouth full of sound effects and cereal.
“Vroom-vroom! Nee-naw, nee-naw!”
Dina was already sweating and she hadn’t even put on her bra yet.
“Elias,” she groaned, tugging her scrubs over one arm and ducking under a low-flying plastic dinosaur, “Baby, where are your pants?”
He didn’t answer. Too busy saving imaginary civilians from a cereal flood. She knelt, caught him in a wriggly hug, and kissed the crown of his curly head.
“Be good for Mami today, okay? No throwing your sippy cup. No biting. And maybe—just maybe—let Miss Tanya at daycare live, yeah?”
He screamed something incoherent and joyful. Close enough.
Her phone buzzed on the counter for the third time in five minutes. Jesse.
yo can i get him this weekend or nah
also can't make a payment this week gonna see if my mom can.
Dina stared at the screen. No “how is he?” No “thanks for doing everything alone again.” She’d asked him for d
Pull ups three days ago. He hadn’t even left her on read—just disappeared.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink. Just locked the phone and threw it into her bag like she was launching it into the sun.
Outside, the world was frozen. She scraped at her windshield with her hospital ID badge, cursing the Florida cold snap while her breath fogged in the air. Her ponytail stuck to her lip balm. Her bra was on sideways. She was late.
Single mom life? Hot. Girl boss? Unhinged.
At the next red light, she reached for her planner, balanced it on her thigh, and flipped to the patient list for the day. Just scanning it gave her a small dopamine hit. Order. Structure. Things she could actually control.
Let’s see...
9:30 — Mr. Franklin, post-op check
10:00 — Williams, Ellie. 22 hip injury. Veteran. New intake.
Her eyes lingered.
Williams, Ellie.
Something about the name sat in her gut like a spark waiting for gasoline. She tried to picture it—probably cranky, stiff, ex-military. Dina had done enough new patient intakes to know the type: guarded, skeptical, maybe even a little mean until they weren’t.
And still, the name stuck.
She tapped the paper twice, smirked to herself. “Bet she’s stubborn,” she muttered. “Bet she won’t even stretch unless I bribe her.”
She pulled into daycare drop-off still talking to herself and tossed a hoodie over Elias like a cape before handing him off with a kiss and a whispered “you’re my favorite person, but please don’t get us kicked out.”
Then it was a rush across town, music low, traffic thick, and the familiar rhythm of her life pounding beneath it all:
Drop-off. Clock-in. Intake. Paperwork.
And maybe—just maybe—a girl named Ellie Williams who’d walk into her life and ruin everything.
Dina didn’t know it yet, but her heart was already stretching toward something it didn’t have a name for.
And her 10AM was about to hit like a goddamn freight train.
RIVERSIDE PHYSICAL THERAPY
10:04 a.m.
The place smelled like bleach and something vaguely lemon-scented—like someone was trying too hard to scrub the trauma out of the air.
Ellie filled out her intake clipboard at the front desk with a pen that barely worked, her handwriting messy from the way her hand was still shaky some mornings.
“Describe your injury.”
She wrote: Gunshot wound. Pelvic fracture. Kandahar.
“Current concerns.”
Walking. Sleeping. Not punching mirrors.
She didn’t know why she added the last one. It felt honest.
The waiting room was too quiet. Too clean. Her cane leaned against her thigh like it didn’t belong to her. A cool mint menthol juul sat heavy in her pocket. The TV in the corner played muted HGTV reruns.
“Ellie Williams?”
She looked up.
Older lady. Late fifties. Clipboard in hand, cardigan, sensible shoes. Friendly but efficient.
“Hey there, I’m Janet,” she said. “You’ll be working with Dina today. She’s one of our best.”
“Cool,” Ellie muttered, already bracing herself.
Then someone rounded the corner.
Scrubs. Blue. Fitted. Ponytail with a few curls falling out near her ears. Her walk was relaxed—confident. Her smile was polite, professional... until she made eye contact. And something shifted.
Dina.
Too pretty for 10 a.m. Too calm. Big brown eyes like they could see straight through the part of Ellie that kept locked behind sandbags and sarcasm.
“Ellie?” Dina said. Voice smooth, just enough rasp. “You ready?”
Ellie nodded, but her body lagged behind her brain. “Yeah. I think.”
They walked a few steps toward the rehab floor, Ellie limping slightly, favoring her left side. Pain was sharp today. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from everything.
Then it happened.
Her hip caught. A sharp jab. She buckled slightly, catching herself against the nearest rolling cart.
Elastic bands—green, red, yellow—spilled everywhere like someone had released a pack of rainbow snakes.
“Shit,” Ellie hissed, breath tight. “Sorry.”
Dina crouched without hesitation, grabbing the bands. “These things have it out for everyone. I swear they move on their own.”
Ellie forced a laugh, cheeks burning. “Death by resistance band. That’s how I go out.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dina smirked. “They almost took out Janet once. She still won’t go near the blue ones.”
That got a real laugh.
Dina stood and held out her hand, palm up. “C’mon. We got this.”
Ellie hesitated. Then took it.
Warm. Firm. Dina’s thumb pressed gently against her wrist like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.
Once Ellie was upright, Dina walked her toward a sectioned-off mat with some equipment. She glanced at the chart briefly, then back up.
“Marine or Army?”
“Army.”
Dina nodded. “Figured. You’ve got the ‘saw too much, still won’t talk about it’ vibe.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You analyze all your patients?”
“Only the ones who try to hide how much pain they’re in.”
Ellie tried not to smirk. Failed. “So... just me, then.”
“Pretty much.”
Dina knelt beside the mat, adjusting a foam roller. Her voice was casual, but the question didn’t feel like nothing: “You leave anyone behind?”
Ellie blinked. “You mean like...?”
Dina glanced up. “A person.”
Ellie hesitated. “Rylie. We dated during Basic. Didn’t last.”
“Why not?”
“I stopped writing back. She wanted something... permanent. I didn’t.”
Dina didn’t ask more. Just nodded again. She stood and motioned toward the mat.
“Well, now I know who to blame when I have to chase you around this place.”
Ellie grunted as she sat. “Not much chasing required these days.”
“Good,” Dina said. “Means I’ll catch you easy.”
It was a joke. Kind of. But there was something in her tone. A flicker in her eyes when Ellie met her gaze.
And it landed.
They started the session. Stretches. Weight shifting. Basic balance. Ellie hated every second of feeling weak, of relying on someone else to catch her if she fell.
But Dina never hovered. She didn’t baby her. Just moved with her, adjusted angles, guided her hand once or twice when needed, then stepped back.
There was a moment—during a standing side lunge—where Ellie caught her staring. Not in a clinical way. In a you’re hot and I’m trying to be normal way.
Their eyes met. Dina didn’t look away.
Ellie raised her eyebrow. “Am I doing this wrong?”
Dina blinked. “No. That was... fine.”
They moved on.
And when it was over, Ellie’s body ached—but her mind, for once, didn’t.
She sat on the edge of the mat, wiping sweat from her brow. “That was brutal.”
“You did good,” Dina said, scribbling something on the chart. “You’ll be sore tomorrow, but in a ‘I worked hard’ kind of way. Not a ‘my body’s broken’ kind of way.”
Ellie nodded slowly. “You really think that?”
Dina looked up at her. A beat passed.
“I don’t lie to my patients,” she said softly. “Especially not the cute ones.”
Ellie blinked.
But before she could say anything, Dina handed her a cold water bottle, her fingers brushing Ellie’s again—just barely.
“Same time next week?” Dina asked, straightening.
“Yeah,” Ellie said, throat dry. “Sure.”
She didn’t remember walking out of the building. Just that her fingers tingled the whole way home.
JOEL’S KITCHEN
Stew again. Joel’s go-to comfort food. Venison, carrots, potatoes. It smelled good. Ellie barely touched it.
Joel stirred his bowl like it might give him answers. “How was it?”
Ellie shrugged. “Fine.”
“She seem alright? That Dina girl?”
“She’s fine.”
Long silence. Joel cleared his throat. “I just want you to have someone to talk to. Someone that ain’t me.”
“I went. I’m trying.” Ellie’s voice sharp.
“I know you are,” Joel said quietly. “Proud of you for that.”
She looked up. His face was all soft worry and hard-earned lines. Like he wanted to say more but knew she wouldn’t let him.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
She ate a few bites. Enough to make him stop watching her.
Later, in bed, her hip aching, she couldn’t stop thinking about Dina’s hand in hers. The way she didn’t flinch. The way she didn’t try to fix her.
Just stood steady.
DINA’S APARTMENT
“But I’m not sleepy,” Elias whined from his bed.
Dina crouched beside him, tucking the blanket around his tiny shoulders. “Even superheroes need sleep, bud.”
“What if I forget how to be brave tomorrow?”
Her heart cracked. “You won’t. You’re already the bravest kid I know.”
He nodded, like he believed her. Hugged his fire truck and finally dozed off.
Dina tiptoed out, poured half a glass of wine, and collapsed onto the couch. Her scrubs still on. Her wrist sore. Her brain still running laps.
She opened her laptop. Pulled up Ellie’s chart.
Guarded. Withdrawn. Resistant to comfort.
Backspace.
Wary. Hyperaware. Allows connection when it doesn’t feel like pressure. Potential to build trust through presence, not persuasion.
She stared at the screen. Thought about the way Ellie had looked at her—like Dina might understand even if she didn’t ask.
She saved the file. Closed the laptop. Left the wine untouched.
Some people don’t want to be fixed. They just want someone who’ll stand with them while they put themselves back together.
Maybe that was enough.
---
THREE MONTHS LATER
The mirror never softened.
Ellie stood in front of it in just her boxers, lifting the hem of her sleep shirt to study the scar carved along her right hip. Pale pink now, like it had settled into her skin instead of screaming from it. Jagged. Ugly. Too real to ignore.
She traced it with her fingers—not gently, not harshly, just... like she was checking it was still there. It always was.
The faint sound of eggs cracking hit her ears, followed by Joel humming something old and Southern in the kitchen. Probably Johnny Cash.
“Ellie?” he called from downstairs. “You want toast or the real kind of bread?”
She grabbed a flannel off the back of the chair, threw it on unbuttoned over her tank, and limped a little pulling her sweatpants up.
“I’m not picky,” she called back.
“You’re always picky,” he shouted. “You just pretend you’re not.”
She smirked.
Downstairs, Joel was plating up eggs and bacon like he’d been doing it his whole damn life. He glanced over his shoulder when she walked in and gave her that once-over he thought was subtle.
“You movin’ better,” he said, casual.
Ellie dropped into the chair at the table and grabbed her fork. “I’m sore, but yeah. Doesn’t feel like I’m walking with a knife in my ass anymore.”
Joel made a sound between a grunt and a laugh. “Real poetic, kid.”
They ate in easy silence for a few minutes. Joel buttered a piece of toast like it was a sacred act.
Then Ellie cleared her throat. “Hey, uh... you think I could drive to therapy today?”
Joel didn’t look up. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me?”
Ellie shrugged. “I dunno. Figured you’d fight me on it.”
He set the butter knife down and finally met her eyes. “You been practicing. You passed your PT check. If you think you’re ready, you’re ready. Just don’t crash my damn truck, kiddo.”
Ellie cracked a grin. “No promises.”
Joel handed her the keys without fanfare, but something in his eyes lingered a second longer—pride, maybe. Or relief.
She pocketed them and took another bite of toast. “I got a good feeling about today.”
He poured himself another cup of coffee and muttered, “I’ve seen what your good feelings lead to.”
Ellie rolled her eyes but smiled down into her plate, scar still buzzing beneath the fabric of her shirt like it heard everything.
---
EARLIER THAT MORNING –
Steph's Honda Civic was a disaster on wheels—fast food wrappers carpeting the floor, a air freshener shaped like a pineapple that had given up the fight against the smell of yesterday's Thai takeout. Dina clutched her gas station coffee like a lifeline, watching Houston traffic crawl past the passenger window.
"I still don't get why Jesse can't just pick up his own kid," Steph said, laying on the horn at a BMW that had cut them off. "What's the point of joint custody if he bails every other week?"
Dina shifted the overstuffed diaper bag to the floor, making sure Elias's favorite dinosaur toy wasn't buried under the spare clothes and snacks. "He's got that job interview. Says it could change everything."
"Uh-huh." Steph's curls bounced as she shook her head. "And what about your job? Your life? You matter too, you know."
The hospital drop-off zone came into view, and Dina felt that familiar knot in her stomach loosen just slightly. Another crisis management morning survived.
Steph pulled up to the curb and gave her a sideways look, the kind that meant trouble. "So... your mysterious war vet. She still tall, dark, and brooding?"
"She's my patient, Steph."
"That's not what I asked." Steph's grin was pure mischief. "Also not a denial."
Dina rolled her eyes, but she could feel heat creeping up her neck. "I'm being professional."
"Mm-hmm. And you've got a ride home tonight?"
The question hung in the air. Dina's Honda was indeed in the shop—had been for three days now, waiting for a part that might or might not arrive this week. But she'd been deliberately vague about her backup plan.
"It's handled," she said, not quite meeting Steph's eyes.
"Dina."
"I said it's handled."
Steph let it drop, but her knowing smirk said she wasn't buying the deflection for a second.
---
RIVERSIDE PHYSICAL THERAPY
The session ran twenty minutes over, but neither of them seemed to notice. Ellie was pushing harder than she had in weeks, sweat darkening the collar of her hoodie, her breathing controlled but intense. She'd managed three sets of everything today—leg lifts, resistance bands, even the parallel bars that had been her nemesis for months.
Dina found herself watching the concentration on Ellie's face, the way her jaw set when she was determined to push through the pain. There was something magnetic about that focus, that refusal to quit even when her body was screaming at her to stop.
"That's it," Dina murmured, spotting Ellie through a particularly challenging stretch. "You've got it."
Their silences had become comfortable over the weeks, filled with mutual understanding rather than awkwardness. Dina had learned to read Ellie's moods—when to push, when to back off, when to just let her work through whatever demons were chasing her that day.
As the session wound down, Dina offered her hand to help Ellie up from the floor mat. For the first time, Ellie took it without that split-second hesitation, without the barely perceptible flinch that said she wasn't used to being touched without permission.
That's when Dina's phone exploded with texts.
"SHIT", she muttered, stepping away to read. Jesse's name on the screen, and she already knew before opening the messages.
Interview ran long. Can't make pickup. Sorry.
Maybe tonight?
You there??
She called him, pacing to the corner of the room. "Now?" she said, trying to keep her voice low. "You said two hours, Jesse. Elias just got settled at daycare."
"I know, I know. But this could be the job, Dina. The one that actually pays enough for me to help with—"
"Yeah. Okay. I'll figure it out."
She hung up before he could launch into another speech about potential and opportunities and how this time would be different. Turned to find Janet, the clinic manager, already shaking her head sympathetically.
"Childcare crisis?" Janet asked.
"The eternal struggle," Dina sighed. "I need to go get Elias. My car's still in the shop, and rideshare to the daycare and back is gonna cost me—"
"I'll take you."
The voice came from behind her. Ellie was still sitting on the mat, toweling sweat from her face, but her green eyes were serious.
Dina blinked. "What?"
"You need a ride. I'm headed out anyway." Ellie stood up slowly, deliberately not reaching for her cane. "No big deal."
Dina looked from Ellie to Janet, who was trying very hard not to smile. The professional part of her brain was waving red flags—boundaries, protocols, the ethics of personal relationships with patients. The tired single mom part was just grateful someone was offering to help.
"Okay," she heard herself saying. "Yeah. Thank you."
---
What the hell am I doing?
Ellie sat behind the wheel of Joel's truck, waiting for Dina to come out of the daycare center, and wondered if she'd lost her damn mind. Since when did she volunteer for anything that involved other people's problems? Since when did she care about anyone's childcare drama?
Since you started looking forward to Tuesday and Thursday mornings, a voice in her head supplied.
She told that voice to shut up.
---
TWO YEARS EARLIER
The forward operating base in Kandahar smelled like diesel fuel, dust, and that particular cocktail of fear and adrenaline that seemed to seep into everything. Ellie sat on her cot, methodically cleaning her M4 carbine while Rodriguez dealt cards for another round of poker nobody really wanted to play.
"You look like you're gonna puke, Williams," Rodriguez said, not looking up from her hand.
"I'm fine."
"You're vibrating like a paint mixer," Jackson added, grinning despite the tension that hung over all of them like smoke. "First patrol's always rough, but you'll find your rhythm."
Ellie's hands were steady as she worked, but inside she felt like a live wire. Every sound seemed amplified—the distant hum of generators, the crackle of radio chatter, the soft whistle of wind through the razor wire.
A dull thump echoed from somewhere beyond the perimeter, followed by another. Everyone went still.
"Mortars," Jackson muttered, cards forgotten. "Incoming."
The alarm started wailing, and suddenly everyone was moving, grabbing gear, heading for defensive positions. Ellie's training kicked in, but underneath the automatic responses, she could feel something changing. The girl who'd enlisted to pay for college was disappearing, being replaced by someone harder. Someone who had to be harder to survive.
The buzzing under her skin never really stopped after that first night.
---
CAR RIDE
Elias was a whirlwind of three-year-old energy strapped into his car seat, firing questions like bullets.
"big truck?" Elias asked, kicking his legs against the seat looking around the spacious back seat I'm awe.
"It's not big," Ellie replied, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "You're just small."
"Am not small!"
"Are too."
"Am NOT!"
Dina tried to intervene. "Elias, inside voice, please—"
"It smell like old?" Elias continued, undeterred.
Ellie snorted. "That's Joel. He's like, a hundred years old."
"Is he your da da ?"
The question hit differently than Ellie expected. She caught Dina's eyes in the mirror—understanding, maybe a little sympathy. "Something like that, kid."
The highway stretched ahead of them, afternoon sun streaming through the windshield. Dina had her window cracked open, one hand trailing in the breeze, and Ellie found herself stealing glances whenever she thought she could get away with it. The way Dina's dark hair moved in the wind. The unconscious way she hummed along to the radio. The small smile she got when Elias said something particularly ridiculous.
Stop looking. Focus on the road.
"Thanks again," Dina said quietly, adjusting Elias's toy dinosaur when he dropped it. "Really. You saved my ass today."
"No problem."
"I mean it. Not everyone would—"
"I know." Ellie's voice came out rougher than she intended.
The silence that followed felt charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. Ellie gripped the steering wheel tighter and forced herself to keep her eyes on the road.
She could still feel Dina watching her.
---
LATER
Joel was exactly where Ellie expected to find him—stretched out on the couch in his work clothes, boots kicked off, reading the newspaper like the internet had never been invented. The Astros game played silently on the TV, closed captions scrolling by unread.
Ellie dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door—the one Sarah had made in middle school art class, back when Joel's biggest worry was getting her to soccer practice on time.
"What's the score?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.
Joel fumbled for the remote, nearly dropping the sports section. "Oh, uh—hold on." The sound came up mid-commentary. "Bottom of the seventh, we're up by two."
She opened the fridge and pulled out two Shiner Bocks. "You want to actually watch, or just pretend?"
Joel's face broke into a grin. "Now you're talkin'."
She tossed him a beer and settled beside him on the couch that had seen better decades. They didn't talk about her session, or why she'd been gone longer than usual, or the fact that she'd driven alone without being asked about it.
They just watched baseball and drank beer, and for the first time in months, Ellie felt something that might have been peace.
---
THAT NIGHT
Elias was finally asleep after three stories, two glasses of water, and a lengthy negotiation about whether his stuffed triceratops needed to be under the covers or on top of them. Dina sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, cursor hovering over the Facebook search bar.
She'd already typed and deleted Ellie's name four times.
This is stupid. This is so stupid.*
But her fingers moved anyway: E-L-L-I-E W-I-L-L-I-A-M-S.
Three profiles came up. The first was clearly too young—some teenager from California with braces and a cheerleader uniform. The second was too old—a grandmother from Michigan posing with her grandkids.
The third made her heart skip.
The profile picture was grainy, taken from a distance, but it was definitely her. Ellie sitting on what looked like a dock, wearing a flannel shirt, hair shorter than it was now. She was laughing at something off-camera, and the expression transformed her entire face. Made her look younger, lighter. Like the weight she carried hadn't settled on her shoulders yet.
Most of the profile was private, but Dina could see a few posts. Photos of Joel looking proud at some kind of barbecue. A check-in at a fishing supply store. A shared article about veteran mental health resources.
Her thumb hovered over the "Add Friend" button.
This crosses every line. Professional boundaries exist for a reason. She's your patient. This is your job.
But then she remembered the way Ellie had said "No problem" in the truck, like helping people was just something she did. The careful way she'd adjusted her rearview mirror so Elias could see out the window. How she'd waited until Dina and Elias were safely inside the daycare before driving away.
The cursor blinked. Waiting.
Dina thought about Jesse, who couldn't be bothered to pick up his own son. About her car, still broken down, leaving her stranded and scrambling. About how long it had been since someone had just... helped. Without wanting something in return. Without making it a big deal.
She thought about the way Ellie had looked at her in the truck—quick glances when she thought Dina wasn't paying attention, like she was trying to memorize something.
Fuck it.
Friend request sent.