CHAPTER 19 - CATCHING UP

Clair’s pov

Two days after being discharged, I finally left my apartment.

Not to see Ryan.

Not to face Sophia.

But because one person had been messaging me nonstop:

Dr. Evelyn Carter.

Except to me, she wasn’t “doctor.”

She was Evelyn.

My friend.

We’d been inseparable in university — before life took us in different directions. She had become a physician. I’d become a mother too young, a wife too compromised, and then… whatever this version of me was.

She insisted on meeting at a quiet café with courtyard seating — sunlight spilling through green hanging plants, white umbrellas casting calm shadows.

The moment I saw her — slender, auburn-haired, green-eyed — something inside me loosened.

“Claire!” she exclaimed, standing and embracing me tightly. “You look… well, better than expected, considering everything.”

I let out a brittle laugh as we sat.

“That’s the kindest version of ‘you look terrible’ I’ve ever heard.”

She smiled — and it reached her eyes. Evelyn’s eyes always softened when she cared.

“I barely had the chance to be there as a friend while you were hospitalized,” she said.

“I had to be your physician first.”

I realized at that moment how grateful I was — that the one person who saw my medical results before anyone else… was someone who loved me.

She ordered tea for us both — chamomile for me — and waited until the waiter left.

Then her voice lowered.

“You’re really pregnant.”

I nodded.

She leaned forward.

“And it isn’t your ex-husband’s child.”

I choked on my tea slightly. “Evelyn—”

She lifted a hand.

“You can’t lie to me. I know your medical records. I know your timeline. I know your ovulation history,” she added with a playful but pointed smirk.

I groaned.

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m a doctor,” she corrected. “And also your friend.”

I stared at my hands.

“I can’t keep it.”

Her face softened.

“That instinct — the need to run… to reject… to erase — is trauma speaking.”

I looked up.

“Do you have to be right about everything?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “It’s literally my job.”

For the first time since the warehouse… I actually smiled.

After a few quiet minutes, she asked gently:

“Do you want to talk about what happened with Calloway?”

My stomach twisted.

“I don’t want to,” I whispered. “But I think I need to.”

And so I spoke.

About the surveillance.

The warehouse.

His attempt.

Hitting him with the tray.

Running.

Ryan finding me.

Everything.

When I finished, Evelyn reached across the table and gripped my hand.

“Claire… I honestly couldn’t be more proud of you for pushing through and fighting.”

But I shook my head.

“I’m terrified. I feel watched even when I’m alone.”

“That’s normal. After trauma, your brain stays on alert. Fight-or-flight mode. But your mind will settle — with time.”

I didn’t feel convinced.

Evelyn leaned back, studying me.

“Tell me about Ryan.”

I stiffened. “There’s nothing—”

“Claire.”

That one word shut down all denial.

I sighed.

“It was never supposed to happen. I don’t even know when I crossed the line. I don’t know who I am when I’m around him. I feel… alive… and ruined at the same time.”

Evelyn listened — quietly, fully.

I continued, voice cracking.

“I betrayed my daughter. I betrayed myself.”

“You loved someone forbidden,” she said. “It happens.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” she said. “But it explains it.”

She went silent for a moment.

Then:

“Claire… do you love him?”

I exhaled slowly — painfully.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s love or obsession or desperation or selfishness.”

“But he loves you,” she said firmly.

I met her eyes.

“Yes.”

“And whether you like it or not,” she continued softly, “he will love that child, too.”

I froze.

Then swallowed.

And whispered what I’d never admitted aloud:

“If Sophia finds out… she’ll never forgive me.”

Evelyn reached out again, squeezing my hand.

“Maybe not at first. Maybe not for a long time. But truth has a way of surfacing. And pain… eventually reshapes.”

To break the tension, Evelyn suddenly said:

“Remember when we stole that professor’s chicken salad?”

I blinked.

Then burst into laughter.

“God — he chased us halfway down campus!”

“And you threw the salad at him!”

“I panicked!”

“You’re still panicky,” she teased.

“Oh shut up—”

But I was laughing.

Really laughing.

For the first time in a long time.

And Evelyn’s smile was warm — radiant.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied.

Eventually, the conversation shifted.

“What now?” she asked.

I sighed.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you still planning to terminate?”

I hesitated.

A long silence.

“I… don’t know anymore.”

Evelyn nodded.

“That’s okay.”

I blinked.

“It is?”

“Yes.”

She held my gaze firmly.

“Not knowing is okay.”

Another pause.

Then she asked, carefully:

“And Ryan? What now with him?”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“He said he’d protect me.”

“And do you believe him?”

I thought of his voice, his face when he looked at me.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I do.”

Evelyn nodded.

“Good.”

I furrowed my brow. “Good?”

“Yes,” she said. “Because you need protection right now — legal, emotional… maybe even physical.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her voice.

“I spoke to one of the officers. Calloway may not have acted alone.”

A chill slid through me.

“You mean there are more men involved?”

“We think he hired at least two other watchers,” she whispered. “And one of them is still out there somewhere.”

My pulse quickened.

Suddenly the feeling — the one of being watched — returned like a ghost brushing my spine.

Evelyn squeezed my arm.

“You’re not alone. You have me. You have Ryan. You will get through this.”

I swallowed.

Nodded.

When we finished, she drove me home, insisting on walking me to my door.

At the threshold, she hugged me again — fiercely.

“You survived something traumatic. Don’t diminish that.”

I clung to her briefly.

“Thank you.”

She pulled back, eyes bright.

“And besides… you’re too strong to let some creepy old bastard define your life.”

I laughed.

“You always knew how to phrase things delicately.”

“Yes. I’m a poet,” she said flatly.

We hugged again.

And she left.

I closed the door.

And realized that talking to Evelyn…

made me feel like I could breathe again.

Like I wasn’t drowning alone.

Like maybe…

maybe there was still a version of myself worth salvaging.