Todos os capítulos de MY BULLY, MY PATIENT : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 7

EmiliaI stared at my phone long after the call ended.A confidential job offer.The words sounded too good to be true.After today, no reputable clinic would hire me. My inbox was already filling with termination notices from organizations I’d once dreamed of working with. My professional social media pages were flooded with insults. Complete strangers had decided I was guilty before any investigation had even begun.One phone call couldn’t change that.Could it?My apartment felt unusually quiet when I finally walked through the front door. It was a modest one-bedroom space above an old bakery, the kind of place that smelled faintly of fresh bread every morning. Normally, it comforted me.Today, it felt suffocating.I dropped the cardboard box from the hospital beside the couch and sank onto the floor.On top of the box sat the framed photograph I always kept on my office desk.Dad.Dr. Daniel Brooks smiled confidently at the camera in his white coat, a stethoscope draped around his

Emilia“This is going to be a disaster.”Leo’s words lingered in the rehabilitation room long after the silence settled.Grace Bennett didn’t even blink.“It doesn’t have to be.”“It will be if she stays.”“I’m staying.”The words slipped out before I had time to second-guess them.Three pairs of eyes turned toward me.Leo actually laughed.“You’ve always been stubborn.”I folded my arms.“And you’ve always been arrogant.”His smile vanished.For a brief second, I saw something flash across his face.Regret.It disappeared almost instantly.Grace cleared her throat.“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss your working relationship.”Leo shot her a look.“There is no working relationship.”“There will be.”Without another word, Grace walked out.Arthur followed her.The door clicked shut.Now it was just us.For the first time in eleven years.Neither of us spoke.Leo leaned against the treatment table, watching me with narrowed eyes.I’d spent the drive here imagining this moment.I’d i

EmiliaBy the fourth morning, I had learned that Leo Vance had an impressive talent for making a simple rehabilitation session feel like a personal war.He hated stretching.He hated resistance bands.He hated the stationary bike.Most of all, he hated me telling him that he couldn’t do something.Unfortunately for him, that happened often.“Ten more,” I said.Leo stared at me from across the rehabilitation room.“Absolutely not.”“Nine.”“You weren’t listening.”“Eight.”“I’m serious.”“Seven.”He glared.I smiled.“Six.”“Do you enjoy this?”“Very much.”“You’re enjoying torturing an injured man?”“I’m enjoying watching a professional athlete discover that his muscles aren’t in charge anymore.”He muttered something under his breath.“What was that?”“Nothing.”“Good. Six more.”He groaned and continued the exercise.I tried not to smile.The truth was, I was beginning to understand him.Leo didn’t actually hate rehabilitation.He hated feeling weak.He hated needing someone.And he