Chapter Text
April 2020
The hospital break room was quiet, except for the buzz of the fridge and the flicker of a tired fluorescent bulb overhead. A late April snow was moving through the Twin Cities. Charlotte sat alone at the corner table, her N95 mask dangling around her neck, a warm can of Diet Coke untouched beside her elbow.
On the iPad propped against a bent lunch tray, her father’s face blinked into view—pixelated, grainy, and smiling like he hadn’t slept in days.
“There she is,” Dr. Montgomery Adamson said, relief softening the deep lines around his eyes. “Jesus, Charlie. You look like hell.”
Charlotte let out a dry laugh. “Thanks, Dad. You always know how to make a girl feel pretty.”
“Seriously. When was the last time you slept?”
“Define sleep.”
He sighed. “I mean horizontal. In a bed. Without someone coding down the hall.”
She didn’t answer. Just took a sip of the flat soda, eyes tired.
“It’s bad here, Dad.”
“I know, kiddo.” His voice dropped into something gentler. “It’s bad everywhere.”
They sat in silence for a beat. The kind of silence only people who lived in hospitals understood. Full of sound, but void of peace.
Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m alright. Not that I’m not needed,” he smirked, “The new guy’s running the ED now. I just lurk in the hallways and lecture terrified interns.”
“Classic.”
Montgomery’s smile faded slowly. He leaned closer to the camera, elbows braced on his desk. The room behind him looked still—dim, familiar. His study.
“Charlie,” he said, softer now. “Come home.”
She straightened, eyes narrowing.
“You don’t have to stay in Minneapolis. You could transfer. CHOP, or Presby. Or even PTMC. I’ve already made a few calls.”
“Dad…”
“No, just—hear me out. We don’t know how long this thing’s gonna last. I don’t like you out there without backup. You’ve got me here. Your own bathroom. Someone to make you a damn sandwich once in a while.”
Charlotte smiled despite herself.
He kept going, voice low but full of that stubborn Adamson worry.
“I just want you close. You’re all I’ve got left. After your mom died… And if this virus gets worse—”
“Dad,” she cut in gently. “Stop.”
He did.
She drew in a breath, then said it clearly.
“I can’t leave. Not right now.”
His face fell—just slightly. He already knew it. But it still hurt to hear.
“I’m not trying to be noble,” she added. “I’m just… needed here. I help out in the ED when I'm needed but delivering babies still goes on. Someone has to stay.”
Dr. Adamson ran a hand over his face, nodding slowly.
“I hate how proud of you I am,” he muttered.
Charlotte smiled, lips tight. “I hate how much that makes me want to cry.”
He leaned closer to the camera again, his voice soft.
“Just promise me something.”
“Okay.”
“When this is over—when it’s safe—will you come?”
Her throat tightened. She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “When it’s over, I’ll come home.”
Adamson smiled, eyes wet.
“Good. Because I’m not done bossing you around yet.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Stay safe for me, Charlie.”
“I will, Dad.”
“Love you.”
Charlotte paused, then smiled, gentle.
“Love you more.”
The screen went black.
She sat there a while longer, staring at her own reflection in the glass.
Chapter Text
September 2020
The night shift had ended two hours ago, but Charlotte hadn’t gone home yet.
She was still in the staff locker room, sitting on the tile bench in her wrinkled scrubs, her badge flipped over in her lap. She’d taken a shower. She’d washed her hands so many times her knuckles were raw. She was dry. Clean. But she couldn’t leave.
Not yet.
She stared at her phone, unopened texts from coworkers and one from her friend in Seattle about homemade mask patterns. The device buzzed again, a number she didn’t recognize lighting up the screen.
Pittsburgh area code.
Her chest tightened.
She answered on instinct. “Hello?”
There was a pause. A breath. Then a voice she didn’t know said, “Hi. Is this Charlotte?”
She sat up. “Yes?”
“It’s, uh—it’s Robby. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. I work with your dad.”
Her blood ran cold.
“I’m sorry to call like this. I—”
“Is he okay?” she asked, already knowing. “What happened?”
A long exhale. Then:
“He tested positive last week. We thought he was getting through it, but—he took a turn this morning. He’s in the ICU now. Intubated. On max vent settings.”
Charlotte didn’t move. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“You are next of kin in his file,” Robby added, voice tight. “He told me, if anything happened, to call you.”
Her ears rang. “What hospital?”
“PTMC. He’s—he’s in good hands. But it doesn’t look good. I thought you’d want to know.”
She stood up without realizing it. The locker creaked behind her.
“I’m getting in the car,” she said.
“Charlotte—”
“No, I’m coming.”
There was a pause on the line. Just breathe.
“I don’t know how long he has,” Robby said finally. “But if you want to say goodbye, I’d hurry.”
Her knees buckled. She sat back down.
“Thank you for calling,” she whispered.
“Of course.”
“If I don’t get there in time, please don’t let him die alone.”
Robby’s voice cracked. “I won’t.”
The line went dead.
Charlotte sat perfectly still for a full minute. Then she changed into jeans with trembling hands, tossed her scrubs into a bag, and drove through the gray morning, the city still half-asleep.
---
She stood outside the glass.
Third floor. East wing. The window had a handwritten sign taped to it with ADAMSON, M. in blue marker. Someone—probably a nurse—had drawn a small heart beside it.
She pressed her hand to the glass. He looked so small in the bed. So still .
Tubes and tape and machinery did all the work now. He wasn’t even there anymore. Not really.
A voice behind her spoke softly. “I’m Robby.”
Charlotte turned.
He looked nothing like she expected. Too young. Too tired. Mask pulled down, eyes rimmed red. Hands shoved into a worn scrub jacket like he was trying to stay in his body.
“He talked about you all the time,” Robby said. “He called you his north star.”
That broke something.
She swallowed and nodded. “Thanks for calling me.”
“I wish it were for something else.”
Charlotte looked back at the glass. At her stepfather—her only parent after her mom died, her greatest critic, her fiercest defender. The man who taught her how to suture, how to ask hard questions, how to love people even when they were dying.
“He wouldn’t want this,” she whispered. “He always said—‘Don’t let the machines keep me alive if I’m already gone.’”
Robby nodded. “He said the same thing to me.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.
“You’re next of kin,” Robby said, “but if you—if you want to make the call, I’ll back you.”
Charlotte didn’t hesitate.
“Take him off the vent.”
The hallway outside Room 3-East was colder than it needed to be.
Fluorescents buzzed. Monitors hummed. A nurse wheeled a med cart past without looking up.
Robby stood beside the door, already gowned, N95 snug against his face. His hands were clasped tight in front of him, wringing blue gloves like he didn’t realize he was doing it.
Then Charlotte turned the corner.
She looked… wrong. Out of place in jeans and a hoodie, her hair tied back in a messy knot. Face pale, but steady. Her eyes locked on his, unreadable.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping forward. “I cleared it. You’re allowed in. Twenty minutes.”
She nodded.
He motioned her toward the supply cart. “You’ve done this before.”
“Every shift for the last six months.”
Still, his hands moved before hers did—reaching for the yellow gown, shaking it open, holding it out for her like she was a kid getting ready for art class instead of walking into a goodbye.
She slid her arms in.
He tied the back.
Next: gloves. Then the face shield. Then the N95.
“Mask first,” she murmured, and he passed it to her, watching as she fitted it over her nose and cheeks, tugged the straps tight, sealed it with practiced fingers.
When she finally looked up at him again, she was suited. Covered. Only her eyes remained—and they were glassy now. Quiet. Brave.
Robby reached out, gloved hand hovering near her shoulder. “You okay?”
Charlotte didn’t flinch. “No.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked toward the window. The handwritten sign. The familiar silhouette beyond the glass.
“Will he know I’m there?”
“I don’t know,” Robby said honestly. “But I think he’ll feel it.”
She took a breath. And then another.
Then she nodded once.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He opened the door for her. Let her go in first.
And then he stepped back, closed it gently, and leaned against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.
Her father was in the bed, skin pale, chest rising in slow, forced rhythm beneath the vent. His eyes were closed. He didn’t look like himself.
But it was him.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, voice barely audible over the hiss of the ventilator.
No response, but she didn’t expect one.
She stepped closer. Sat in the plastic chair beside him. Her gloved hand slid into his.
“I’m here.”
A monitor beeped softly behind them. Nurses moved quietly in the hallway. The room was still. Quiet. Cold.
“I’m sorry.”
The vent sighed.
She reached up and brushed her fingertips across his brow.
“Please forgive me.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t sob. She stayed steady. He’d taught her that.
“Thank you.”
The nurse returned. Charlotte nodded once. It was time.
She stood beside him while they silenced the alarms. While they disconnected the ventilator. While his chest rose once… twice… then stopped.
“I love you, Dad,” she whispered.
No fanfare. No bright lights. No final gasps. Just stillness.
Just silence.
She stayed until they told her they needed the room. Then she walked out, peeled off the gown, the gloves, the mask—stripped of everything but grief.
When the door opened, Robby stood.
Charlotte stepped out slowly, her shoulders slumped beneath the yellow gown, her gloved hands hanging limp at her sides. Her face shield was fogged, her mask askew, and for a second she looked like a little girl lost.
She didn’t speak.
Robby didn’t ask.
He stepped forward and reached out with one gloved hand, resting it gently on her shoulder.
Just enough pressure to say I’m here .
She didn’t lean into him, but she didn’t pull away either.
His hand trembled.
She felt it.
When she glanced up, his eyes were rimmed red behind his goggles. He blinked too fast, his jaw locked tight, and his breath came hard through the mask.
He’s crying, she realized. He’s trying not to, but he is.
Charlotte looked down at the floor between them, at the scuffed linoleum and the tape marking where to stand. Her voice, when it came, was flat. Dull.
“I’ll keep you apprised of the funeral arrangements.”
Robby nodded once. Cleared his throat. “Okay.”
She turned away, peeling the gown off in the designated biohazard bin, snapping the gloves into the trash, one by one. She didn’t look back.
She walked down the hall, silent, the elastic from her mask leaving red dents across her cheeks.
Robby stood still, hand still slightly raised in the air, as if he wasn’t sure what to do without someone to steady.
And then he sat down in the chair outside Room 3-East and buried his face in his hands.
Chapter Text
The bottle of wine was nearly gone.
Charlotte sat on the floor in the corner of her father’s apartment, her back against the bookshelf, surrounded by half-filled boxes and the smell of old paper and lemon oil.
She wasn’t crying. She hadn’t cried since the ICU.
But the glass in her hand trembled slightly when her phone lit up.
ROBBY Calling.
She considered ignoring it.
Then she answered.
“Hi,” she said, voice rough.
“Are you eating dinner?” he asked, too casually.
She blinked at the glass in her hand. “Sure.”
A pause. “Are you drinking it?”
She smirked, just barely. “It’s liquid. And it’s grapes. Technically, yes.”
Robby didn’t laugh.
“I was going to offer to pick you up for the funeral tomorrow morning. I thought maybe you shouldn’t be alone in the morning.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I’ll come to you.”
“Robby—”
“I’m already in the car.”
The line went dead.
Charlotte stared at the phone for a few seconds before setting it down.
He knocked gently. Once. Then again.
She opened the door still barefoot, still in the same hoodie from the night before. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her face blotchy from heat and wine. The apartment smelled like her dad’s aftershave and lemon oil.
Robby didn’t say anything. Just looked at her for a long moment.
“Hi.”
She stepped aside. “It’s a mess.”
“I don’t care.”
He walked in quietly, glancing at the cardboard boxes, the old framed photos leaning against the wall. He didn’t ask what she was keeping. He didn’t ask what she’d already thrown away.
He found the wine bottle on the floor. “Jesus.”
“I wasn’t planning on finishing it.”
“You almost did.”
Charlotte rubbed her face. “Do you want some?”
“No.”
She nodded. “Right.”
Robby stepped closer. “I can help you get to bed.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He offered his hand. She looked at it for a long beat, then took it.
He led her down the hallway to the spare room—slowly, carefully, like she might break.
She stopped in front of the master bedroom door. “This was his room.”
Robby didn’t let go of her hand. “You want to sleep somewhere else?”
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t think I have it in me to sleep in his bed.”
He helped her pull back the sheets, watched her sit down on the edge of the bed. She looked so small suddenly. So not okay .
He knelt down, resting his arms on his knees, level with her.
“You don’t have to be strong right now.”
Charlotte didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor.
“You were everything to him,” Robby said. “He never shut up about you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m sorry you had to make that call. It should’ve been me.”
“No,” she whispered. “It was always going to be me.”
A silence settled in. Heavy, but shared.
Robby stood slowly. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She caught his wrist before he left the room.
“Will you just… stay? Just for a little bit?”
He hesitated. Then nodded. “Of course.”
He kicked off his shoes and propped the pillow up.
She leaned her head onto his arm. He didn’t move.
They stayed like that until her breathing slowed and her wine-heavy body sagged sideways, finally giving in.
Robby helped her lie down, tucked the blanket over her, and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with trembling fingers.
“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he whispered.
Then he sat there in the dark, beside the daughter he left behind.
And he didn’t sleep, either.
He meant to sleep on the couch.
He really did.
But hours passed. The TV was off. He couldn’t sleep. He was laying down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. And all Robby could hear—just faintly, through the cracked door down the hall—was Charlotte crying.
Soft. Choked. Like she was trying to keep it inside and failing.
He waited. Gave her space.
But it didn’t stop.
And he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
The bedroom door creaked quietly as he pushed it open.
Charlotte was curled on her side, back to the wall, her shoulders shaking under the blanket.
“Charlotte,” he said softly.
She didn’t answer.
He walked in slowly, the carpet muffling his steps, and crouched by the bed. He rested one hand on the blanket, just above her shoulder.
“Can I stay?”
A pause. Then the barest nod.
He kicked off his shoes and climbed in behind her—careful, slow—settling onto the mattress like it might crack under his weight.
She didn’t move, but when his arm slid tentatively around her waist, she didn’t stop him.
In fact—she exhaled. A shudder. Like she’d been holding her breath for hours.
He rested his forehead against the back of her neck, the scent of her hair tangled with laundry soap and lemon.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
That’s when she turned.
Rolled toward him. Pressed her face into his chest. Fisted the front of his t-shirt in one hand like she was drowning and he was the only thing floating.
He held her tight. So tight.
“It’s not fair,” she choked.
“I know.”
“He was all I had.”
“Me too.”
Their grief tangled in the dark, breathing ragged and uneven, bodies too warm under too many blankets. His fingers slid up into her hair, her palm flattened against his chest, and when she lifted her head to look at him—he froze.
Their grief tangled in the dark. His fingers slid into her hair. When she looked up, they didn’t lean in — they fell.
The kiss started slow, tentative, but deepened quickly, the need sparking hot between them. His hands cupped her face, slid down to her hips, pulling her flush against him. She hooked her leg over his, the hoodie rucking up around her waist.
She kissed him like she’d been holding it back for years. Like she was angry at herself for wanting it.
His hands roamed — over the curve of her thigh, the small of her back, under the thin cotton of her tank top. Her skin was warm, soft, and she shivered under his touch.
When he tugged the hoodie over her head, she didn’t stop him. When she pushed his t-shirt up and over, she smoothed her palms over his chest like she was memorizing him.
The covers tangled around their legs as they pressed closer. His mouth left hers to trail down her jaw, her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. She arched into him, a small gasp escaping when his hand slid under the waistband of her shorts.
Her fingers found the button of his jeans, fumbling, impatient. He helped, shedding them, their bodies aligning in the dark.
When he slid into her, the sound she made — raw, choked — nearly undid him. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers.
“Okay?” he breathed.
She nodded, pulling him deeper.
They moved slowly at first, but the pace built — not frantic, but intense, every thrust a shared ache. She clung to him, nails digging into his back. He held her like he was afraid she’d vanish.
She came with his name on her lips, muffled against his shoulder. He followed with a low groan, burying his face in her neck.
After, they lay tangled, her cheek on his chest, his fingers tracing idle circles on her spine.
Neither of them let go.
Not even after it was over.
Not even when the sun started to rise.
The apartment was quiet.
Morning light spilled across the hardwood, soft and hazy, catching on unpacked boxes and framed diplomas. The air smelled like dust and linen and old cologne. Familiar. Empty.
Charlotte lay on her side, one arm tucked under her cheek, the sheets twisted around her waist. She was already awake. Had been for a while. Just lying there. Breathing. Watching him.
Beside her, Robby stirred.
He blinked slowly, turning onto his back, exhaling into the silence like he was afraid to break it.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
She didn’t answer right away.
“Hey.”
He reached out, fingers brushing her arm.
She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t lean in, either.
“You okay?”
Charlotte sat up, pulling the sheet with her. She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, took a sip, then set it down without looking at him.
“Last night was…” She trailed off.
“Yeah,” Robby said. “It was.”
She rubbed her thumb along the rim of the glass.
“It can’t happen again.”
He froze.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Did I—are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She looked at him then, eyes clear. Guarded. “It was what it needed to be. We both needed something.”
Robby sat up slightly, propped on one elbow.
“That’s all it was to you?”
Charlotte didn’t blink. “I’m leaving at the end of the week. I have patients. A lease. A whole life in Minneapolis.”
“But you—”
“Robby.” Her voice was gentle, but firm. “Please don’t make this harder.”
He swallowed.
She leaned back against the headboard, eyes on the ceiling.
“You can take what you need from it. You don’t owe me anything.”
Robby sat there, stunned. He couldn’t speak.
So she did it for him.
“It was comfort,” she said. “Not a beginning.”
He nodded, even though it felt like something inside him was caving in.
“Okay,” he said again.
Charlotte stood, wrapping the sheet around herself as she crossed the room to the bathroom.
She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“You should shower. We have a funeral to go to.”
Then she disappeared behind the door, leaving Robby in her father’s bed, staring up at the ceiling with too many words caught in his throat.
The funeral had ended hours ago, but Charlotte hadn’t moved from the back steps of the church.
She sat on the concrete stoop, heels off, hair pinned up but fraying at the edges. The black dress clung to her in the breeze, and her fingers were still stained from the cheap paper program she kept folding and unfolding in her lap.
The sun had dipped low behind the chapel. Shadows stretched long across the parking lot. Most everyone had gone now. The caterers. The friends. The colleagues with tight smiles and meaningless platitudes.
Only Robby remained.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. His tie was loose. His eyes were locked on her like he wasn’t sure if she’d vanish if he blinked.
She didn’t look up when she spoke.
“You did a good job today.”
Robby swallowed. “It was your eulogy.”
“I meant with the crowd. The handshakes. The sad smiles. Dad would’ve been proud of how you kept it together.”
He walked a little closer, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “He’d be proud of you, too.”
Charlotte exhaled through her nose. “He’d be mad I wore this dress.”
Robby smirked. “He’d be mad I didn’t get a haircut.”
That almost earned a smile. Almost.
She finally looked at him.
Eyes sharp. Shoulders slumped. The wind tugged a piece of hair loose from her bun.
“I’m going home on Tuesday.”
Robby nodded. “I figured.”
“I need to pack up the apartment. Forward the mail. I’ll handle the death certificate and the bank stuff.”
He sat down beside her, leaving space. Just enough.
“You don’t have to do all of it alone.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Someone has to.”
Silence settled between them again. Familiar now. Heavy.
“What do you need from me?” she asked.
Robby was still. “I don’t want anything.”
Charlotte nodded. Then stood slowly, brushing off her skirt. Her bare feet pressed into the warm stone.
She turned to him.
“Then take what you want,” she said, voice calm. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”
His mouth opened like he wanted to protest—but she was already walking toward the car, heels in hand, wind in her hair, grief stitched into every step.
And he didn’t follow.
Chapter 4
Notes:
There is a birth scene in this chapter - it's not graphic at all, but it's there. Just FYI :)
Chapter Text
3 months later
Charlotte hadn’t been keeping track.
Not really.
Time was still slippery—measured in shifts and charting and how long it had been since she last heard her father’s voice. Since the funeral, the days had bled together. The ICU still needed her. Patients still coded. The world hadn’t stopped, even when hers had.
But something felt… off.
It wasn’t just the nausea in the mornings or the exhaustion that clung to her bones. It wasn’t just the ache in her chest or the way her hands trembled more than they used to.
It was the silence in her body.
Like something had changed—and it had changed inside her.
She sat on the edge of her bathtub with the box still open beside her, the foil wrapper torn in half on the counter. The test lay face down on the porcelain sink.
She couldn’t look at it yet.
Not right away.
Her apartment was quiet. No music. No TV. Just the sound of the refrigerator humming and the faint buzz of winter traffic outside her window. Snow was falling, a whisper of Christmas around the corner.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
It’s not possible, she told herself. It was one time.
But she knew better.
She’d known for days. Maybe longer.
When she finally stood, she didn’t reach for it with ceremony or fear.
She turned the test over.
Two lines.
Clear. Pink. Unmistakable.
Pregnant.
Charlotte stared at it for a long time.
She didn’t gasp. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move.
She just stood in her bathroom, barefoot and hollow, while the weight of what she now carried settled into her like a second heartbeat.
The restaurant was half-full, tucked between brick buildings, strung with warm yellow lights that pretended things were normal. People laughed too loud. Servers wore masks. Winter was here, frigid and crisp.
Charlotte sat across from Erin, her oldest friend from medical school.
Erin took a long sip of her rosé and exhaled. “God, it’s good to sit down with someone who gets it. I feel like I haven’t seen your face in months.”
Charlotte smiled. “That’s because you haven’t.”
“Yeah, well. COVID sucks.”
They clinked glasses—or Charlotte did, with her Coke in a highball glass, sweating from the ice.
Erin raised an eyebrow.
“You're not drinking tonight?”
Charlotte stared at the dark liquid, the carbonation fizzing gently against the sides. She hadn’t meant to say anything. Not tonight. Not like this.
But it was there now. Bubbling up. Waiting.
She set the glass down gently.
“I’m pregnant.”
Erin blinked.
Twice.
“Wait—seriously?”
Charlotte nodded once, her face unreadable.
Erin leaned forward. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you… want to be pregnant?”
Charlotte took a breath. “I didn’t plan to be.”
“And the dad? Is he—”
“Not in the picture.”
Erin sat back slowly, her wine forgotten. “Holy shit, Char.”
Charlotte didn’t cry. She didn’t fidget. She just looked straight ahead, past the fairy lights and condensation, into the quiet space where the truth lived.
“I needed to tell someone.”
“I’m glad you told me.” Erin reached across the table, her hand resting briefly on Charlotte’s. “Whatever you decide… I’m here.”
Charlotte nodded, her throat tight. “Thanks.”
The server walked by and smiled behind his mask. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
Erin looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte shook her head.
They’d finished dinner. Erin had switched to sparkling water. Charlotte was still nursing the same Coke.
The patio had thinned out, the fairy lights glowing softer now, the city noise dropping to a low hum.
Erin leaned her chin on her hand. “You sure you don’t want dessert?”
Charlotte laughed. It was quiet, and real. “I think I just needed to feel normal for an hour.”
Charlotte smirked, then sobered. Her fingers found the edge of her napkin and started folding it, over and over.
Erin waited. She knew the signs. This wasn’t over.
“It was the night before my dad’s funeral.”
Erin blinked. “What was?”
Charlotte didn’t look up. “The baby. That’s when it was conceived.”
“The father…” she said carefully.
Charlotte nodded. “Robby. My dad’s… mentee. The one that he adored so much, that took over the ER from my dad.”
Charlotte finally met her eyes.
“We were grieving. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t… nothing. It was wonderful and perfect. But I left the next morning. And made it very clear I didn't want anything more.”
Erin leaned back in her chair, letting out a slow breath. “And now?”
“He’s texted a few times. Just to check in. I haven’t answered.”
“Because?”
Charlotte hesitated.
“Because I thought about not keeping it. And I didn’t want anyone’s voice in my head but mine.”
Erin’s voice was soft. “And now?”
“I’m keeping the baby.”
The words came with weight. Finality. Not fragile, not unsure.
Erin reached for her glass but didn’t drink. “Okay. So now what?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “Part of me wants to tell him. He’s not a bad guy. He loved my dad. He cried when I told them to take him off the vent.”
“And the other part?”
Charlotte looked out at the street. The world was still spinning. It didn’t care.
“The other part doesn’t want to need anything from him. I don't want to open a door I already closed.”
Erin didn’t push. She just nodded.
“Well,” she said gently, “no matter what you decide, the baby is going to have a hell of a mom.”
Charlotte exhaled, slow and shaky.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
The waiting room smelled like coconut-scented hand sanitizer and baby wipes. Charlotte sat stiffly in the corner chair, legs crossed at the ankle, paperwork in her lap and a plastic cup in her purse, waiting to be processed.
Erin sat beside her, casually flipping through a dog-eared Parents magazine like it was the Sunday paper. She didn’t speak, didn’t push. She just sat there, with her.
That was why Charlotte had invited her.
She didn’t want company.
But she didn’t want to be alone, either.
The nurse called her name gently. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte stood. Her hands were shaking a little, but she didn’t say anything. Erin squeezed her arm once before she followed her back.
Vitals. Weight. Urine sample.
Everything was routine. Mechanic. Dull. She knew the drill like the back of her hand.
Until the ultrasound.
“Okay,” the tech said cheerfully, adjusting the screen, “let’s take a look and see how the baby's doing today.”
Charlotte lay back, tugging up her T-shirt, letting the cold gel pool on her lower abdomen.
Erin hovered nearby, hands clasped, silently watching.
The probe pressed down.
A flicker. A shape. A heartbeat blinking like a distant lighthouse.
Charlotte blinked up at the ceiling, jaw clenched tight. The image on the screen looked like nothing and everything all at once—tiny limbs, a curve of spine, a pulse of life moving completely independent of her control.
“There’s your baby,” the tech said gently. “Measuring perfectly. Strong heartbeat. Looks like around 12 weeks.”
Erin let out a quiet, shaky breath beside her.
Charlotte didn’t speak.
But her eyes burned.
The tech glanced at her. “Want to know the sex? It’s a little early, but I might be able to tell.”
Charlotte blinked back to life. “You can?”
“I can try.”
She turned the probe slightly, pausing, then smiled.
“I wouldn’t bet money on it just yet, but… I’m leaning girl.”
Charlotte stared at the screen.
At her daughter.
At Montgomery Adamson’s granddaughter.
At Robby’s child.
Something inside her cracked.
Just a little.
Tears spilled hot and silent down her cheeks as she nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
Back in the car, Erin didn’t say anything right away. She waited until Charlotte buckled her seatbelt, rubbed the gel off her belly, and took two full breaths.
Then she reached across the console and offered a tissue.
“You doing okay?”
Charlotte nodded slowly. Her voice barely made it out.
“She’s real.”
“Yeah,” Erin said. “She really is.”
---
6 months later - 5 days from due date
The nursery smelled like Dreft and lavender.
Sunlight poured in through the half-open blinds, catching on stacks of freshly washed baby clothes sorted across the floor: onesies, burp cloths, impossibly tiny socks.
Charlotte sat cross-legged on the rug, folding a yellow swaddle blanket for the third time because she couldn’t get the corners to match.
Erin lay sprawled on her stomach beside her, folding socks into delicate little bundles.
“She’s gonna kick these off in five seconds,” Erin said, holding up a sock the size of a thumb. “You know that, right?”
Charlotte smiled. “Let me live in the illusion for five more days.”
“Okay, but then it’s spit-up and stretch marks and nipples that scream.”
“You’re a terrible doula.”
“I’m a realistic doula.”
They both laughed, and for a moment it felt like everything was under control. Like there would be time to finish organizing the diapers and repack the hospital bag and figure out how the car seat base actually locked in.
Charlotte leaned back on her hands, her belly stretching tight beneath her sweatshirt. “I can’t believe she’s almost here.”
Erin tossed a pair of booties into the drawer beside her. “You’ve done good, Char. She’s already so lucky.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply—
And then blinked.
And then stilled.
Erin noticed immediately. “What?”
Charlotte looked down. Then back up. Her eyes wide.
“My water just broke.”
A beat of silence.
“ Oh my God. ”
Charlotte scrambled up, bracing her back as fluid spread slowly across the rug. “This is happening. This is actually happening.”
Erin jumped to her feet, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Okay. Okay. We have a plan. We had a plan. Hospital bag?”
“By the door.”
“Phone charger?”
“Already packed.”
Erin grabbed her coat. “Okay, you’re gonna call OB while I clean this up—do you want to change or—”
Charlotte clutched the edge of the dresser and laughed—hard, breathless.
“She’s coming, Erin.”
“I know! ”
“Like now .”
Charlotte had never been so tired in her life.
The contractions were coming faster now—each one building like a tidal wave and breaking over her spine, leaving her breathless and shaking. Sweat clung to her skin. Her hospital gown stuck to her back. Every part of her felt like it had been pulled inside out.
“You’re doing amazing,” the nurse said, crouched by her side. “She’s almost here.”
Charlotte could barely hear her.
Erin sat at the head of the bed, hand wrapped around Charlotte’s with fierce steadiness. Her face was pale but determined.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered. “You’re already doing it.”
Charlotte nodded once. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe .
The doctor looked up from between her legs, voice calm but urgent. “She’s crowning. One more good push.”
One more .
Charlotte gritted her teeth. Her fingers tightened around Erin’s hand. Her body clenched. And she pushed —with everything she had left.
A second. A lifetime. A heartbeat.
A cry.
High. Sharp. Perfect.
Charlotte collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, tears springing instantly to her eyes.
“It’s a girl!” the nurse said, laughing.
Charlotte let out a soft, broken laugh of her own. “I know.”
The room spun with motion—cord clamped, baby wiped down, the rush of warm blankets and soft voices—but all Charlotte could see was the tiny, pink body placed gently onto her chest.
Warm. Real. Here.
Her daughter.
Daisy.
She was still crying—loud and angry and alive . Her fists balled up tight, face scrunched like the world had already offended her.
“Hey,” Charlotte whispered, voice shaking. “Hey, baby girl. I’ve got you.”
Daisy quieted almost immediately, nuzzling toward the sound of her mother’s voice like she already knew it by heart.
Erin sniffed hard beside them. “I’m fine. Don’t look at me.”
Charlotte smiled through her tears.
She touched Daisy’s head—soft curls already there, damp with sweat and newness—and kissed her temple gently.
“You’re here,” she whispered. “You’re really here.”
She didn’t think about the future. About Robby. About what would come next.
She just held her daughter and let her heart split open.
Chapter 5
Notes:
A 5 year time jump? Yes please.
Chapter Text
4.5 years later
The keys still worked.
Charlotte stood in the doorway of her father’s apartment— her apartment now—and exhaled slowly.
Everything was as she’d left it. Dusty. Quiet. Intact. The same shelves. The same crooked light switch in the hallway. The same creak in the floorboard just inside the kitchen.
She didn’t bring much.
A few bags. Some of Daisy’s toys. The stroller. The hospital paperwork from Minneapolis, already signed and filed.
A job offer at PTMC’s OBGYN floor, starting next week.
She walked in slowly, balancing Daisy on her hip as the four year old blinked sleepily against her shoulder.
“This was Pop Pop’s house,” Charlotte said softly, brushing a hand over the doorframe. “And now it’s ours.”
Daisy didn’t respond. She just tucked her thumb into her mouth and rested her head against her mother’s collarbone.
The decision hadn’t come quickly.
It had lived under Charlotte’s ribs for months—quiet, persistent. A whisper that never stopped asking what if.
She didn’t want to run back. She hadn’t made her choice out of panic or longing. She had carved out a life in Minneapolis. Stable. Safe. Daisy had daycare. Charlotte had friends.
But Pittsburgh was still home.
Her father was still here.
And—somewhere in the corners of her mind—so was Robby.
She didn’t know where he was now. Didn’t know if he still worked at PTMC. Didn’t know if he’d married. Moved. Forgotten.
She wasn’t coming to chase him.
But… she wanted to find him.
Just to see.
Just to know.
She deserved that. Daisy deserved that.
Charlotte showed up ten minutes early.
The double doors to Labor & Delivery swung open with the familiar rush of warm air and the scent of antiseptic under coffee. Charlotte adjusted her white coat and kept pace with Gloria, the hospital administrator.
“We run a tight ship here,” Gloria said, leading her toward the nurses’ station. “Four rooms on the high-risk side, eight for low-risk, two ORs for C-sections, and the recovery bays down the hall. Most of your day will be bouncing between triage and delivery, unless you get pulled for consults downstairs.”
The station buzzed with controlled chaos — monitors beeping, phones ringing, nurses charting while sipping lukewarm coffee. Gloria gestured to a trio at the counter.
“This is Janine, our night charge. She’s heading home after report. That’s Tasha, our daytime charge, and over there is Miles — one of the rare male L&D nurses who hasn’t been stolen by the ER yet.”
Charlotte shook each hand, smiling. “Good to meet you all. Thanks for the warm welcome.”
“Oh, we’re not warm yet,” Tasha teased. “Wait ‘til you buy us donuts.”
Gloria smirked and waved Charlotte toward the resident workroom. Inside, two women in scrubs were huddled over a fetal heart tracing.
“Dr. Singh, PGY-3, and Dr. Evans, PGY-1. Dr. Shu and Dr. Mies, both R4 senior residents. This is your new attending, Dr. Adamson.”
Singh straightened and shook her hand firmly. Evans offered a shy smile before returning to her notes. The two residents scrambled up to introduce themselves.
“We’ve got a 36-week preeclampsia admit in 208,” Singh reported. “OB anesthesia is looped in, but she’s holding steady for now.”
“Good,” Charlotte said, slipping easily into the rhythm. “Let’s check on her together after I drop my bag in the call room.”
Gloria continued the tour — the supply rooms stocked with everything from delivery kits to newborn hats, the family waiting area with its outdated magazines, the lactation consultant’s office with a sign that read Pump Happens .
“You’ll figure out the rest as you go,” Gloria said, stopping by the scrub sink outside OR 1. “We’ve all read your file, Dr. Adamson. Impressive résumé. Some of the nurses knew of your father and look forward to working with you.”
Charlotte smiled. “Noted.”
“Good,” Gloria said, satisfied. “Now go catch some babies.”
The page came in mid-rounds. OB STAT consult – imminent delivery, ER trauma bay 2.
Charlotte didn’t hesitate. “Singh, Evans — with me. Grab the kit and a warmer. Tasha? Can you come too?”
They took the elevator down, Singh running through the basics. “G3P2, thirty-six weeks, routine prenatal care, contractions every two minutes. Possible abruption per EMS.”
The ER was its usual symphony of noise — overhead pages, monitor alarms, hurried footsteps. Trauma 2’s curtain was pulled, voices inside sharp and purposeful.
A tall man in black scrubs stepped out, glancing at Charlotte’s coat before zeroing in on her face.
“OB?”
“Dr. Adamson,” she said, extending a hand.
“Frank Langdon, senior ER resident. The patient's stable for now, but she’s crowning. We were just about to move her, but she’s not going anywhere.”
Charlotte pushed through the curtain, residents at her heels. The woman on the bed was breathing hard, sweat slicking her hairline. “Hi, I’m Dr. Adamson. We’re going to take good care of you, but your baby is ready to meet you now.”
“Good!” The patient was on her side, breathing deep. “Can I get that epidural?”
“I’m sorry, it’s a little too late for an epidural.”
“Shit.”
She slid into a controlled delivery rhythm — gloves, positioning, calm instructions — as Singh set up the warmer and Evans readied the clamps. Frank stayed at the foot of the bed until Charlotte took over, then moved to the mother’s side for support.
The delivery was fast, wet and urgent. Charlotte handed the squalling infant to Evans for the transfer upstairs, then focused on the placenta, her voice steady as she called for oxytocin.
“Vitals holding,” Tasha reported, watching the monitor.
Charlotte peeled off her gloves. “Good work, everyone. Let’s get mom and baby to L&D for postpartum monitoring.”
She stepped back into the hall — and froze.
Robby was leaning against the charting station, scanning a monitor printout. He looked up at the sound of her voice, and in an instant, his expression shifted from distracted to utterly still.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
“Charlotte,” he said finally, low enough that only she could hear.
Her pulse jumped, but her face stayed composed. “Dr. Robinavitch.” She gave a brief nod, then turned to her residents. “Let’s get everyone upstairs.”
She could feel his eyes on her the whole way to the elevator. She had the overwhelming urge to run into the nearest supply closet and lock the door.
Frank Langdon appeared at his elbow, stripping off gloves. “She’s good. Really good. Didn’t even break a sweat down there. You know her?”
Robby kept his eyes on the elevator doors closing around her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I know her.”
And that was the understatement of the year.
Robby told himself he was just following up.
The ER’s chart said the patient was stable upstairs, baby in the nursery, no complications. Any resident could have confirmed that. Hell, he could’ve called.
But here he was, swiping into L&D like he belonged there.
The nurses’ station was quieter than the ER but still humming with activity — phone calls, charting, the rhythmic hiss of a breast pump in a curtained alcove. He scanned the room and spotted her at the far end of the hall, leaning against a doorframe, listening to one of her residents present.
Her white coat hung open over pink scrubs, a bright blue stethoscope looped casually around her neck. She looked completely in her element, like she’d been here for years instead of hours.
The resident finished, and Charlotte glanced down at her chart before giving a small nod. She turned then — and saw him.
For a beat, neither moved.
“Checking on our ER delivery,” he said finally, keeping his tone casual.
“Mom’s fine,” she replied. “Baby will need to stay in the NICU for a few days but then good to go home.”
He nodded, but didn’t leave. “You didn’t tell me you were here.”
“Didn’t think it was your business,” she said evenly, tucking the tablet under her arm and starting toward the nurses’ station.
Robby watched her pass, something tight coiling in his chest. On impulse, he reached out and caught her elbow — not hard, just enough to stop her.
“Charlotte.”
She froze, eyes flicking from his hand to his face. There was a heartbeat’s worth of hesitation before she gently pulled free.
“Not here,” she said, low enough that only he could hear.
“When, then?” His voice was quieter now, but no less insistent. “Because it’s been five years, and I think I’ve earned at least—”
“Robby,” she cut in, voice sharper this time. “I’m not ready.”
He exhaled through his nose, jaw working. For a second it looked like he might push again, but then he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Fine,” he said, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t.
She walked away, and he let her — for now. But the question was already lodged under his skin like a splinter: Why now? And what the hell is she not ready to tell me?
Chapter 6
Notes:
Another delivery scene - this one is a little more detailed.
Chapter Text
Daisy was finally asleep.
Charlotte sat cross-legged on the floor in the living room, one hand wrapped around a cup of tea gone cold. There was construction paper, sequins and glue sticks strewn all over the coffee table.
The lights were dim. The sound machine buzzed faintly through the cracked door of Daisy's room. And Erin’s voice crackled softly through the speakerphone on the coffee table.
“How’d the second day go?” Erin asked, casual.
Charlotte didn’t answer at first.
She just stared at the sequins on the coffee table.
Finally, she spoke—quietly. Like if she said it too loud, it might still change the shape of the room.
“He’s here.”
Erin paused. “Robby?”
Charlotte nodded, then remembered it was a phone call. “Yeah.”
Another pause. “Did you talk to him?”
“I did. I ran away.”
Erin’s voice dropped. “Oh, Char.”
“I panicked,” Charlotte admitted. “I just… left. Went straight to the supply closet like some kind of coward.”
“You’re not a coward.”
“I ran, Erin.”
“And that’s allowed.”
Charlotte rubbed her thumb in circles on the side of her mug.
“It was like hearing a ghost. Like the air just shifted. One second I was fine and the next I was back in that bed, the morning of the funeral, and—”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought I could be in the same building and breathe. And I couldn’t.”
Erin’s voice was quiet. “You’ve been breathing without him for five years. That doesn’t mean you owe him anything now. You’re allowed to not be ready.”
Charlotte smiled faintly, tears pricking behind her eyes.
“What if I never am?”
Erin didn’t answer for a long time.
“You will be. It just takes time.”
A long silence stretched between them, warm and steady.
Charlotte glanced over at the baby monitor. The faint sound of Daisy breathing.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “She’s so beautiful.”
“She’s yours. Of course she is.”
Charlotte exhaled.
---
Charlotte had just finished signing off a routine postpartum discharge when Tasha appeared in the doorway of the call room.
“OB consult in the ED. Dr. Langdon says it’s… uh, unusual.”
Charlotte looked up from her notes. “Unusual how?”
“Patient didn’t know she was pregnant.”
A beat. “How far along?”
“Frank says she’s crowning , so… you tell me.”
Charlotte pushed back from the desk, grabbing gloves and her stethoscope. “Let’s go.”
The ED trauma bay had been converted into a makeshift delivery room — bright overhead lights, the fetal warmer already plugged in, and an open delivery pack on a Mayo stand.
On the gurney was a woman in her early 30s, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, breathing hard. Her jeans had been cut away, an ED gown tossed loosely over her shoulders. Her knuckles were white around the bedrails.
Dr. Langdon was in full PPE, waiting at the door for Charlotte.
“This is Jessica. Vitals are stable — BP 124/78, HR 110, O₂ sat 98% on room air,” Frank rattled off as Charlotte entered. “Thirty-two-year-old G1P0, no prenatal care, no known pregnancy. Came in with flank pain she thought was kidney stones. On exam—” He gestured down. “—we’re crowning.”
Charlotte stepped up beside him, pulling on her gloves. “Jessica, I’m Dr. Adamson, one of the OB doctors here. I know this is overwhelming, but you’re in labor, and you’re about to meet your baby.”
“No,” the patient gasped. “I can’t be pregnant, I—my periods have been all over the place for years—”
Charlotte’s voice softened without losing its steadiness. “Sometimes pregnancy symptoms aren’t obvious, especially if your cycles are irregular. But right now, your baby’s head is almost out. We’re going to get you through this safely. I’ll be with you every step.”
She looked at Frank. “Where are we in the contraction?”
“Just starting to peak.”
Charlotte crouched slightly, making eye contact with the patient. “When the pressure builds again, I want you to tuck your chin, curl forward, and push down into your bottom like you’re having the biggest bowel movement of your life. We’ll guide you.”
Footsteps approached fast. Robby appeared in the doorway, pulling a surgical mask into place. His gaze flicked over Charlotte first — just a split-second — before dropping to the patient.
“Need another set of hands?”
“Gloves,” Charlotte said, tone clipped, eyes back on the field.
He donned them quickly and took position at her right.
Another contraction hit. Charlotte guided the patient’s breathing, her tone rhythmic and low.
“That’s it, keep pushing, you’re moving her — yes, good, I can see the head. Just a little more.”
Frank’s hands supported the perineum, the skin blanching and stretching around a thick cap of dark hair.
“Nice and slow,” Charlotte coached. “Let her head come on its own. That’s it.”
The head delivered smoothly with the next push, cheeks rounding, then restitution — the little head turning sideways as the shoulders lined up.
“Okay, Dr. Langdon, anterior shoulder,” Charlotte directed.
He guided the top shoulder free, then the lower, and with one more slippery slide, the baby was born.
Charlotte’s hands were steady as she lifted the newborn, quickly scanning for tone, color, and respiratory effort before laying her on the mother’s belly.
The baby let out a strong cry.
The patient stared down, stunned, tears spilling over. “I… I didn’t know…”
Charlotte adjusted the warm blankets over them both. “You do now. She’s beautiful, and she’s strong — just like her mom.”
Charlotte waited for the cord to stop pulsing, then clamped and cut it, passing the cord blood tube to Frank.
“Frank, you’ve got the placenta and repair. Good practice for you.”
Frank’s eyes widened slightly but he nodded, steadying his hands. “Yes, Dr. Adamson.”
“Dana, let’s get the pitocin going for placenta delivery, please.”
From her right, Robby gave a quiet, approving grunt. “It’s good practice for him,” he echoed, watching the resident position himself and check uterine tone.
Charlotte shifted her focus to the newborn, who was nestled against her mother’s chest. She knelt at the bedside, listening to the tiny cries taper into soft whimpers. She slid the pediatric stethoscope under the blanket, counting the rapid, even beats.
“Strong heart rate,” she murmured. “Good tone, good cry. Breathing’s perfect.” She glanced at Tasha charting beside her. “First Apgar nine.”
The patient’s eyes were still glassy with disbelief.
“It’s a girl,” Charlotte confirmed. “A very healthy, very stubborn little girl. She came into the world determined to surprise you.”
The new mother let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling again as she looked down at her daughter. “I… I don’t even have a name.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Charlotte said, adjusting the hat on the baby’s damp hair. “Right now all you need to do is hold her. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Behind her, Frank called out, “Placenta’s out, small second-degree tear. Starting the repair now.”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “Good. Let me know when you’re done and we’ll recheck for bleeding before we transfer her upstairs.”
Robby’s gaze followed Charlotte as she stood, pulling off her gloves. His expression was unreadable — but there was a flicker there, something that might have been admiration, or memory, or both.
Charlotte stripped off her gown and gloves in one smooth motion, dropping them into the biohazard bin outside the bay. She was still riding the adrenaline hum that always followed an unexpected delivery — focused, sharp, a little flushed.
She’d barely started toward the charting station when she heard his voice behind her.
“Charlotte—”
She didn’t turn. “I need to get this note in while it’s fresh.”
Two steps later, his hand caught lightly at her elbow. Not enough to stop her, but enough to slow her.
“Can we talk? Just for a minute?”
She glanced at the ED doors, then back at him. “About the patient?”
“About… more than that.”
Her jaw tightened. “Now’s not the time.”
“When is the time?”
She exhaled through her nose, pulling gently free. “I have a service full of patients upstairs. And you have your own department to run. Let’s leave it at that.”
The look he gave her was unreadable — a mix of frustration and something softer that she didn’t dare examine too closely.
“Charlotte—”
She stepped back, already moving toward the elevators. “Not here, Robby.”
Charlotte placed a few orders and reentered the exam room.
“Second Apgar is nine,” Frank said.
She nodded to the bedside nurse, who began tucking warm blankets around the patient and adjusting the fetal warmer to transport mode. Charlotte scooped the newborn — still bundled and sleepy — from her mother’s chest just long enough to settle her in the portable bassinet, making sure the hat stayed snug and the blankets covered every inch.
“You’ll both go up together,” Charlotte assured the mother. “Labor and delivery will keep you for a couple days so we can make sure you’re both healthy before you head home.”
The woman nodded, still dazed. “I… thank you. I don’t even know how to—”
Charlotte’s tone softened. “You don’t have to thank me. You did the hard work.”
They rolled toward the elevators together — Charlotte at the head of the gurney, Frank steering from the back. In the bassinet, the baby let out a small, hiccuping sigh.
Upstairs, the familiar warmth of the L&D unit replaced the sharp chill of the ED.
“Got a surprise delivery for you,” Charlotte called out as they wheeled in.
Tasha, the charge nurse, came over with a raised brow. “This her? No prenatal?”
“No prenatal,” Charlotte confirmed. “Thirty-two years old, stable vitals, uncomplicated spontaneous vaginal delivery in the ED. Baby girl, term by quick exam, good tone, strong cry. Apgar nine and nine.”
Tasha leaned over the bassinet, smiling. “Well, aren’t you something?”
Charlotte scanned the chart on the tablet. “Let’s do a complete newborn screen, glucose check, bilirubin, and cord gases — just to be thorough. Mom’s going to need baseline labs too: CBC, type and screen, RPR, HIV, Hep B, rubella titer. Urinalysis for protein and glucose. We’ll start her on a prenatal vitamin before discharge.”
“Got it,” Tasha said, already entering orders.
Charlotte touched the mother’s shoulder. “We’ll run all the labs, keep an eye on both of you for the next couple of days. If anything comes back concerning, we’ll act fast — but so far, your little girl looks great.”
The patient gave a small, teary smile. “She’s… perfect.”
Charlotte smiled back, then handed off the chart to Tasha. “She is. Start thinking of names.”
With that, she peeled off her gloves and stepped out of the room, letting the new mother have her moment.
Chapter 7
Notes:
Yikes.
Chapter Text
A few weeks later
Charlotte was in the middle of checking a cesarean section scar, gloves slick with saline and vaseline, when her phone buzzed three times in her scrub pocket.
She ignored the first two.
“I’ve got to get this,” Charlotte said to the tech. “Hold this bandage while I check that.”
She peeled off one glove, reached for the phone, and felt her gut sink as she saw the caller ID.
Bright Horizons Preschool.
She stepped out of the bay with fast, clipped steps and answered.
“This is Charlotte—”
The voice on the other end was calm, but her chest tightened anyway.
“Hi, Dr. Adamson. It’s Ms. Rachel—we just wanted to let you know Daisy took a tumble on the playground. She fell off the climbing frame and landed on her arm. She’s saying it hurts to move.”
“Is there swelling?”
“A little. No bleeding. But she’s holding it pretty stiff. We gave her a cold pack. I think she should get it checked out.”
“I’m on my way.”
She finished up the wound care and went to find Dr. Singh.
“Hey. My daughter had a fall at preschool.”
“Is she okay?!”
“I’m going to find out. I’ll go get her and bring her in. No one is in active labor right now, so I think we’re okay. I texted Smythe, she’s in surgery right now but she will keep a nurse on her phone if you need anything.”
Charlotte didn’t stop moving until she’d cleared the double doors and taken the elevator down two floors. Dana was at the triage desk, flipping through a stack of wristband printouts with the harried efficiency of someone running three things at once. She glanced up, surprised.
“Hey,” Dana greeted. “What brings you to the trenches?”
Charlotte managed a small smile. “I need a favor. Well — a professional one.”
“Shoot.”
“My daughter’s school just called. She fell on the playground, and might have broken her wrist. Normally I’d take her to urgent care, but I’m on until late and…” She hesitated, hating that she even felt the need to justify. “If I bring her here, can we get her straight to X-ray?”
Dana’s expression softened instantly. “Of course. Bring her in. I’ll set it up so you’re not waiting in the lobby.”
Some of the tension in Charlotte’s chest loosened. “Thanks. She’s almost five, and she’s going to be way too excited about getting to see where Mom works.”
“Good,” Dana said with a grin. “We could use the entertainment. Just text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll have a room ready.”
Charlotte nodded, already pulling out her phone. The thought of seeing Daisy grounded her — a reminder that, no matter what had just happened upstairs, this was still her priority.
Charlotte’s tires hadn’t even cooled when she was already out of the car and halfway across the playground mulch.
She spotted Daisy instantly.
Her daughter was sitting on a beanbag inside the classroom, her tiny arm cradled against her chest in a makeshift sling of a pink bandana.
She had three ice packs around her—none on the actual injury—and a stuffed dinosaur tucked under her other arm.
“Mom!” Daisy perked up as soon as she saw her. “It’s you! I told Ms. Rachel you’d come fast . ”
Charlotte crouched beside her, already scanning the wrist.
“Hi, Bug,” she said, voice low and steady. “Tell me what happened.”
Daisy gave a dramatic sigh.
“I fell off the side of the climbing thing. Not the good fall side. I was trying to land like Spider-Man but Kevin screamed and I got distracted and now my bone feels mad.”
Charlotte bit back a smile. “On a scale from one to ten—one being a mosquito bite, ten being getting a shot in the butt—how much does it hurt?”
“Eight. But only because you said no more tens unless something is really broken.”
Ms. Rachel cleared her throat softly behind them.
“She’s been very brave.”
“I only cried a little,” Daisy said proudly. “But I also called Kevin a wet rag.”
Charlotte blinked. “A what?”
“A wet rag. But he deserved it.”
They got her loaded into the car carefully, Daisy sitting sideways in her booster, holding her dino stuffie.
“Am I going to your work?” Daisy asked, eyes wide.
Charlotte hesitated. “You are.”
“YESSSSS.” Daisy pumped her good fist. “Can I have a popsicle from the nurse freezer? Can I beep your badge? Can I sit in the spinny chair?”
“If you're good for X-rays,” Charlotte said, “maybe.”
“I will be so good. You won’t even know I’m there.”
Charlotte snorted despite herself, pulling into the PTMC lot with a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Don’t be here, Robby. Don’t be today. Just let me get my kid in and out.
She parked.
Daisy was already unbuckling one-handed, clutching her dino.
Charlotte exhaled.
“Let’s just get your arm looked at, Firecracker.”
Daisy grinned.
“Roger that, Boss Lady.”
Dana was already waiting at the sliding glass doors when Charlotte carried Daisy in.
“Room five,” she said, guiding them through the side hall. “Imaging is on standby. Med students Javadi and Whittaker will do your intake.”
Charlotte gave her a look.
“Hey, they need the peds exposure. And your kid is basically a crash course with sneakers.”
Daisy craned her neck toward Dana, eyes squinting dramatically.
“Are you the boss here?”
“Today, yeah.”
“Do you have snacks?”
Dana grinned. “You get through X-rays, I’ll see what I can do.”
Room 5 was ready—small bed, warm blanket, mini portable vitals cart already wheeled in.
Charlotte got Daisy settled while Dana popped her head out to wave in the students.
“Daisy,” Charlotte said, brushing curls from her daughter’s forehead, “these are some of the med students who are going to help take care of you. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Daisy said, then added, “unless you’re Kevin.”
The door swung open and in came two slightly nervous, slightly too-excited students.
“Hi there!” chirped Javadi, MS3, clipboard in hand and scrubs too crisp to be broken in. “I’m Javadi, this is Whittaker. We’re med students working with the team today!”
Whittaker waved. “Hi, Daisy.”
Daisy squinted at them. “Are you real doctors?”
Javadi laughed. “Not yet!”
“So you’re fake doctors?”
Whittaker choked on a laugh.
“Technically, we’re learning to be real ones,” Javadi said.
“I’m learning to read,” Daisy said seriously. “It’s hard, but I’m trying. Sometimes I make up words when I don’t know them. Like ‘quonk’ and ‘sploodle.’”
“Those sound like real words to me,” Javadi said.
“Well they aren’t. I invented them.”
“Impressive,” Whittaker said, deadpan. “Have you considered publishing?”
Daisy crossed her good arm like a CEO in a boardroom.
“I’m almost five. I don’t have a publisher yet.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together, trying not to smile.
Vitals were taken without protest.
Daisy asked if she could beep their badges.
She told Javadi her shoes were “suspiciously clean.”
She asked Whittaker if she could keep the pulse ox “for science.”
By the time Dana stepped back in, the students were halfway in love.
“X-ray’s ready,” Dana said, watching the scene with amused awe. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s… a lot,” Whittaker said reverently.
“Can she shadow us ?” Javadi whispered.
Dana snorted.
Charlotte leaned over to whisper to Daisy. “You doing okay, Bug?”
Daisy nodded solemnly. “I like it here.”
“Even with your arm hurting?”
“Yup. Can I come back when it’s not broken?”
Charlotte blinked hard. “We’ll see.”
Robby was reviewing labs for a septic elderly patient when Javadi and Whittaker approached like overcaffeinated ducks—side by side, high on a pediatric win.
“Dr. Robinavitch,” Javadi said, holding up the chart. “We’ve got a good one if you have a second.”
Robby didn’t look up. “What room?”
“Room five. A five-year-old female, fell off the playground climbing frame at school today. Mom brought her in. She’s guarding her left wrist, swelling distal radius. No open wounds, no deformity, no neurovascular compromise.”
Robby nodded once. “X-ray?”
“They’re wheeling her down now. We’re suspecting buckle fracture,” Whittaker added. “Possible greenstick, but she’s stable. Denies head trauma or loss of consciousness.”
Robby clicked open the chart and froze.
The name blinked at him.
Daisy Montgomery Adamson.
Age: 4
Sex: F
Parent/Guardian: Charlotte Adamson
His hand stilled on the mouse.
The blood drained from his ears.
“Dr. Robby?” Javadi prompted gently.
Robby blinked once. “Sorry. Vitals?” Robby asked, voice almost even.
“Afebrile, HR 102, BP 96/68, O2 sat 99% RA,” Whittaker said. “Pain reported as 8/10 but she’s pretty upbeat. She told us she invented the word ‘sploodle.’”
“She also said her mom is the ‘boss lady’” Javadi added with a grin. “Honestly she kind of runs the place.”
Robby nodded slowly, eyes still on the chart.
“Good work. Let me know when imaging comes back.”
The med students wandered off, still giddy.
Robby sat there, motionless, cursor hovering over the screen.
Robby knocked lightly before sliding open the curtain.
Oh God. No, no, no. Not him.
Charlotte’s stomach dropped, even before she saw him.
“Hi there,” he said, stepping in. “I’m Dr. Robinavitch. You must be Daisy?”
The little girl looked up from where she was coloring—with her non-dominant hand, in crayon fury—and grinned.
Of course she’s charming him already.
“Are you the real doctor?”
“Daisy.” Charlotte said, disapproving.
Robby blinked, then snorted. “I am, in fact, a real doctor.”
Daisy squinted at him, suspicious. “You have a weird name.”
“Fair.”
“Can I call you Dr. Ravioli?”
Oh, for the love of God.
Robby laughed, louder than he had in days. “You can call me whatever you want, as long as you let me look at your wrist.”
“Okay. But you have to tell me if it’s broken in science words.”
“Deal.”
He walked over, gently crouched beside the bed. She extended her arm toward him like a queen offering a decree—brave, wobbly-lipped, with tears dried in the corners of her eyes.
“You’re pretty tough,” Robby murmured, carefully palpating the swelling. “Hurts here?”
“Yeah. It hurts when I just look at it.”
Charlotte chuckled from the corner. Because if she didn’t laugh, she might cry.
“Are you famous?” she asked suddenly.
Robby blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You said your name is Dr. Ravioli and you’re tall and you have a badge and everyone listens when you talk. Are you a little bit famous?”
“...No?”
“I think you are.”
He chuckled. “Well, thank you, Miss Daisy.”
She beamed. “I’m kind of a big deal too.”
“I can see that.”
You have no idea.
He looked back up at Charlotte, heart warm, mind buzzing.
“She’s awesome.”
Charlotte smiled. “Yeah. She’s mine.”
And Robby—clueless, enchanted, completely unaware —just nodded.
“She’s lucky to have you.”
Charlotte blinked, eyes flickering.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “She is.”
Robby tapped back through the X-rays on the portable workstation, brows furrowing as the image resolved.
But not just a buckle or greenstick.
He leaned closer. Distal radius. Displaced. Angled wrong.
Shit.
He turned back to Room 5 and stepped inside with Javadi and Whittaker, with a different energy—still gentle, still smiling—but Charlotte felt the shift immediately.
Daisy was mid-speech about which dinosaur would make the best anesthesiologist—“I think a triceratops because it has three horns, like three stethoscopes”—when Robby gently set the chart down on the counter.
“Javadi, Whittaker?” he said, voice light. “Would you two mind hanging out with Daisy for a few minutes?”
“It would be an honor, ” Javadi said solemnly.
“I’ve always wanted to discuss protocols with a T-Rex,” Whittaker added.
Daisy beamed. “They have tiny arms, you know.”
Robby turned to Charlotte, meeting her eyes.
“Can I talk to you outside?”
Charlotte froze for half a second—just long enough to feel it in her spine—before nodding.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Sure.”
They stepped into the hallway together.
It was quiet there, a thin bubble of air between chaos and confession. Charlotte crossed her arms. Robby ran a hand down his face.
“She’s incredible,” he added, almost laughing. “Smart as hell. Funny. She roasted my name and stole my pen in five minutes flat.”
“It’s just… a lot. What's wrong?"
"Her arm is broken, and in a way where ortho has to stabilize it in surgery."
Charlotte put her face in her hands. "Damn it."
"I'm so sorry, Charlotte."
You’ve got her on the surgical board already?”
He nodded. “Dana’s handling it. I’ll check in before she goes back.”
Charlotte looked up at him then—really looked—and saw it.
The softness. The kindness. The concern. The way his brows pulled together when he was thinking hard about something he wasn’t ready to say.
Daisy liked him. Instantly. Like she recognized him.
And Robby? He had no idea.
The silence between them had gone brittle. Charlotte could feel it pressing against her ribs—words she might say, truths she might finally spit out.
Robby was still watching her, brow furrowed like he couldn’t quite figure out where the weight in her voice came from.
Charlotte opened her mouth to say —
“Dr. Ravioli!”
The door curtain whipped open and Daisy’s voice rang through the hall like a cannonball made of glitter and chaos.
“You forgot your stethoscope! And also, what’s your favorite dinosaur?”
Javadi poked her head out a second later, laughing. “Sorry. We lost containment.”
Robby chuckled and turned slightly, letting the tension roll off his shoulders.
“Give me two seconds, kiddo!”
“ Okayyyy! But I’m making a list!”
The curtain swished shut again.
Charlotte had her hand to her mouth, not laughing—but something close.
“Ravioli?” she asked, shaking her head.
“She insisted,” Robby said, lips twitching. “I wasn’t about to argue.”
She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the corners of his eyes still crinkled from smiling.
It made her ache.
Because he looked happy.
Because he didn’t know.
“You’re good with her,” she said quietly.
Robby’s smile faded a touch, softening into something deeper. “Thanks. She’s... special.”
Charlotte nodded once, then looked away.
Robby blinked at her—once, twice—but she was already turning toward the door, moving fast.
“I should get back in there,” she said, voice tight. “They’re probably letting her name the exam room.”
Then she disappeared back inside.
Robby stayed in the hall another moment, hand absently patting his pocket for the stethoscope he’d left behind.
He came back in, looked at Charlotte and got a small nod from her.
Daisy noticed too.
“You’re doing the Serious Doctor Face,” she said, hugging her dino tight.
“I’m not doing a face,” Robby said.
“You are,” she whispered. “My mom does it when I’m about to get a shot.”
Robby sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at Charlotte before speaking. She crossed the room, close now, protective.
“So,” he said gently, “your wrist is definitely broken. And you were right—your bone is mad.”
Daisy nodded solemnly.
“But here’s the thing,” Robby continued. “The break is tilted in a way that won’t heal right if we just put a cast on it.”
“So what happens now?” Daisy asked.
He hesitated a breath too long.
“We do a little surgery to help it heal straight.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Like... cutting me open? ”
“Tiny cuts. Tiny tools. And you’ll be asleep the whole time—you won’t feel a thing, I promise.”
“Will my dino get surgery too?”
Robby smiled, but Charlotte caught the flicker of emotion behind it.
“Only if you want matching bandages.”
He looked up at her again, softer now.
“We’ll take good care of you.”
I know you will. You always took care of the people who mattered to you…
If you knew she was yours, would your voice sound different? Would you look at her like that?
“Mama?”
Charlotte crouched beside her daughter, resting a hand on her knee.
“It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be just fine. You’ve got a whole team looking out for you.”
Daisy’s lip wobbled.
“Will you be there when I wake up?”
“Every second.”
“Even if I puke?”
“Even then. ”
Robby stood, chart in hand, watching them quietly.
Still unaware.
Still aching, without knowing why.
The surgery had gone smoothly.
Clean fixation, tiny screws, good alignment. Daisy was a champ—responded well to anesthesia, no complications. She’d be waking up soon in post-op, probably demanding crackers and yelling about Sir Chompington’s IV placement.
Robby pulled off his gown and gloves, tossing them into the bin, scrubbing a tired hand down his face as he stepped into the hallway.
The OR nurse handed him the chart.
“Patient is in post op, mom is out in the waiting room,” she said. “Want me to update?”
“No, I got it,” he murmured, flipping the chart open again.
He didn’t need to read it. He knew what it said.
But then his eyes caught on something that hadn’t landed before.
Daisy Mongomery Adamson
DOB: June 27, 2021
Age: 4
His breath hitched.
June.
His mind raced backward—through COVID haze, through grief and exhaustion and the numbed-out blur of that winter.
He’d gone to Dr. Adamson’s funeral in late September 2020.
He remembered everything about that night. The grief. The way his hands shook. The way she looked at him like she wanted to disappear.
The way she pulled him into her grief, and he let her.
It was just one night.
No.
It wasn’t.
He could still hear her voice the morning after.
“Take what you need. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Fuck,” Robby whispered.
He looked up—eyes darting like prey—searching for Charlotte.
But it was just him in the hallway. Alone.
Holding a chart with his daughter’s name on it.
---
Charlotte sat just outside the recovery bay, hunched forward on the bench with her elbows on her knees, her pink scrubs wrinkled, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Daisy was out of surgery. Stable. Sleeping peacefully in post-op, with Sir Chompington tucked under her arm like a battlefield casualty.
She should’ve been breathing easier.
But she wasn’t.
She was watching the hallway like it might catch fire. There he was.
Robby. Moving fast. Coming down the hall with that look on his face.
No clipboard. No smile. Just raw purpose.
She stood up like she’d been electrocuted.
“Robby—”
“When’s her birthday?”
The words landed like a slap.
Charlotte blinked, throat closing.
“June 27… 2021,” she whispered.
“Five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Five years ago,” he repeated, voice sharp. “As in... 9 months after your dad died. As in... 9 months after you and I— ”
“Robby, stop—”
“ Is she mine? ” His voice cracked. “Is she mine? Please, Charlotte.”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
But her silence was already answering for her.
Robby took a step back, chest rising like he’d just taken a punch.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Charlotte.”
She moved toward him, hand out, like she could fix it—but he jerked away.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes flooded instantly. “Because you were grieving. And I was alone. And scared. And I didn’t want you to feel trapped—”
“Trapped?” His voice jumped, edged with disbelief. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted her?”
“I didn’t know!” she snapped, pain twisting through her like a blade. “You never asked. You sent two texts and then disappeared.”
“Because I thought it meant nothing! You made it very clear—I thought it was—grief, or comfort, or—” He broke off, breath catching. “I didn’t think I’d left behind a daughter. ”
The silence between them was deafening.
Finally, Robby dragged a hand over his face, swaying where he stood.
“She looks like you,” he whispered. “But the way she talks. The way she moves. She’s got my sarcasm. My fucking attitude.”
Charlotte let out a broken laugh through her tears. “She does. She’s got so much of you.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was going to,” she said. “I swear. A hundred times. But every time I looked at her, I just thought… she’s happy. She’s safe. And you—” her voice cracked “—you deserved to be okay.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” Robby said, almost gently.
“I know,” she whispered.
He stared at her, breath shallow.
“She’s mine?”
“She’s yours,” Charlotte said, sitting down in the hard plastic chair.
He stared at her, then stalked away.
Chapter Text
Daisy was curled on her side, tiny fingers curled around Sir Chompington’s tail, a soft oxygen cannula taped under her nose. The monitor beeped steadily, its green line glowing against the dimmed room.
Charlotte sat in the recliner beside the bed, mask dangling from one ear, exhaustion written into every line of her face.
The door opened quietly.
Robby stepped in, moving slow, almost tentative.
“She’s out,” Charlotte murmured, glancing up.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes going straight to Daisy. “She did great.”
He pulled up the second chair and sat, hands clasped between his knees. For a long moment, they just listened to the monitor.
“Charlotte,” Robby said finally, voice low. “Can we have a civil conversation?”
She nodded, wary. “Yeah. We can.”
“I’m not here to blow up your life,” he said, choosing each word like it might shatter. “But I need to say this. I want a chance to be her dad. Not… to rip her world apart. Not to take over. But to be present. ”
Charlotte’s throat tightened. “Robby—”
“I know I missed five years. I know I can’t get that back. But I can be here for the next five, and the five after that.”
She looked at him then, really looked, and saw not just the shock—but something steadier. Something that scared her more than anger ever could: commitment.
“It’s not going to be simple,” she said softly.
“I’m not asking for something simple,” he replied. “I’m asking for a chance.”
She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “She’s… she’s everything, Robby. My whole life is built around keeping her safe.”
“Then let me help,” he said. “We go slow. I earn her trust. And yours. No rush, no big reveals if you’re not ready. But I can’t pretend I don’t know now.”
Charlotte’s eyes stung. “You’d really want that? Even after—”
“Especially after,” he said. “She’s my kid, Charlotte. I don’t care how long it takes. I want to know her.”
The monitor beeped in steady time between them.
Charlotte looked down at Daisy—her wild, brilliant, four-year-old firecracker—and then back at Robby.
“Okay,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “We can try.”
Something in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.
“Thank you,” he said.
They fell silent again, watching the gentle rise and fall of Daisy’s chest.
The pediatric unit was quieter than the ER, all muted colors and cartoon murals. Daisy was propped up in her hospital bed, one arm in a bright purple cast, her hair a wild halo on the pillow. Sir Chompington had a matching sling, which she proudly adjusted every time someone walked in.
Charlotte sat beside her, legs tucked under her in the chair, reading from a battered picture book.
Robby was sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, listening intently like the story was the most important thing happening in the hospital.
Dana spotted him through the doorway before she even stepped in.
“Well, well,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t expect to find you on the peds floor, Robinavitch.”
Robby looked up, unbothered. “Making sure my patient’s comfortable.”
Dana’s eyes bounced between them. “Uh-huh.”
She walked in, addressing Daisy. “Hey, superstar. How’s the arm?”
“Awesome,” Daisy said instantly. “I got a purple cast. And Dr. Ravioli says I can decorate it with stickers. Also, my dinosaur has a broken arm too but he’s being very brave.”
Dana grinned. “Sounds like you’ve got the best medical team.”
“Yup,” Daisy said proudly, looking between Robby and Charlotte.
Dana caught the look—small, warm, unspoken—shared between the two adults.
She tucked that away.
“Alright, I’ll let you rest,” Dana said, stepping back. “See you in the ER when you’re sprung, Dr. Robby.”
“Bye!” Daisy waved with her good hand.
As Dana walked down the hall, she shook her head to herself. This wasn’t just mentor’s daughter territory anymore.
Something was up.
The paperwork was done, the sling adjusted, and Daisy’s backpack slung over Charlotte’s shoulder.
Robby insisted on carrying the bag with Daisy’s blanket and Sir Chompington — because “stuffed dinosaurs require a responsible adult,” apparently.
Charlotte rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
Dana stood just inside the sliding glass doors, sipping burnt coffee from a paper cup, watching through the reflection.
At the curb, Robby crouched to Daisy’s level, checking her sling again.
“Remember—no playground monkey bars for a few weeks,” he told her.
“Not even sideways ?” Daisy asked.
“Not even sideways,” he said, smiling.
She nodded solemnly and then threw her good arm around his neck in a quick hug before skipping to the passenger side of Charlotte’s car.
Robby straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. Charlotte murmured something—too quiet for Dana to hear—and he laughed, a real laugh, before opening her driver’s side door.
They said something else, eyes meeting just a moment too long.
Dana didn’t need the words.
She’d seen enough in her years at PTMC to recognize history.
The kind that doesn’t fade.
She took another sip of her coffee and smirked.
“Mm-hmm,” she muttered under her breath, turning back toward the ER.
Dana found him sitting at his desk, leaning against the counter, his face buried in his hands. His scrub top was wrinkled, hair mussed.
“Alright, Robinavitch,” she said, crossing her arms. “What’s the deal?”
“The deal?” he asked, without looking up.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Dana said. “I know when something’s up. You’ve been hovering over that kid like a hawk all day, and every time her mom walks into the room, your posture changes. Spill.”
He blew out a slow breath, staring into the sink like it might offer answers.
“It’s complicated,” he said finally.
“So uncomplicate it.”
He straightened, jaw tight. “Her name’s Daisy. She’s 4 and a half. Her mom—Charlotte Adamson—well, you know Doc Adamson.”
“Yeah, I caught that part,” Dana said. “So?”
Robby’s throat worked. “So… Daisy’s mine.”
Dana blinked. “Yours?”
“My daughter,” Robby said, the words tasting strange and heavy all at once. “I didn’t know. Not until I saw her chart yesterday. Not until it hit me that the timeline… lined up.”
Dana stared at him like he’d just told her the sky was green.
“You’re telling me—” She stopped, shook her head. “You’re telling me you’ve had a kid for five years and didn’t know?”
“One night,” he said quietly. “Before Doc Adamson’s funeral. We never—” he shook his head again, frustrated. “We never talked after. She didn’t tell me.”
Dana leaned back against the counter, silent for a long moment.
“Well, shit,” she said finally.
“Yeah,” Robby said.
Another beat of quiet.
“What are you gonna do?” Dana asked.
“Be her dad,” he said, without hesitation. “However Charlotte will let me.”
Dana studied him, something soft flickering behind her usual steel.
“That’s a big thing, Robby.”
“I know,” he said. “But it’s the only thing.”
Dana just nodded, still processing, before pushing off the counter.
“Alright,” she said. “Guess we’re going to see how this plays out.”
And with that, she left him in the quiet, the weight of five lost years pressing hard on his chest.
—
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher. Daisy sat at the kitchen table with her purple cast propped on a pillow, carefully coloring around Sir Chompington’s sling in her dinosaur coloring book.
Charlotte leaned against the counter, watching her for a moment before walking over and sitting across from her.
“Hey, Bug,” Charlotte said softly.
“Yeah?” Daisy kept coloring, tongue poking out in concentration.
“What did you think of Dr. Robinavitch? The doctor who fixed your arm.”
Daisy paused, looking up. “Dr. Ravioli?”
Charlotte smiled. “Yeah, him.”
Daisy thought for a moment. “He’s funny. And he doesn’t talk to me like I’m a baby. And he gave Sir Chompington a sling. That was nice.”
Charlotte nodded, brushing a curl from her face. “He was a friend of Pop Pop’s, you know.”
Daisy’s eyes lit. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm. They knew each other before you were born. Pop Pop thought he was a great doctor. Said he was one of the best he ever taught.”
Daisy grinned like she’d been told she had a secret superpower. “Then I like him.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “That’s it? Pop Pop liked him, so you do too?”
“Well, yeah,” Daisy said simply. “Pop Pop was never wrong about people.”
Charlotte’s chest ached at that — the truth of it, the way her father’s voice still seemed to echo in her daughter’s logic.
“Okay,” Charlotte said, smiling faintly. “That’s good to know.”
Daisy went back to coloring, but after a moment she added without looking up:
“I think Dr. Ravioli should visit Sir Chompington sometime. He’d like that.”
Charlotte swallowed hard, blinking quickly. “I’ll… keep that in mind, Bug.”
---
Charlotte spotted him through the café’s front window before she even opened the door. He was in the corner, out of the way, sleeves pushed up, hands wrapped around a paper cup like he was holding something fragile.
She braced herself, squared her shoulders, and walked in.
Robby stood as she approached. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“I figured it was time,” Charlotte said, sliding into the chair across from him. “We needed to talk.”
They sat in the low hum of clinking mugs and espresso steam for a few beats, neither sure how to start.
Robby cleared his throat. “First—thank you. For letting me be there last week. I know… you could’ve told me to back off.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You’re her doctor. You were doing your job.”
“I wasn’t just doing my job,” Robby said, meeting her eyes. “I want to be in her life, Charlotte. I want to do this right.”
She leaned back, studying him. “You don’t know what ‘this’ even means yet.”
“Then let me find out,” he said simply. “Slowly, if that’s what you need. But I don’t want to disappear again.”
Charlotte looked down at her coffee, fingers curling around the cup. “I’ve kept her world small for a reason. I wanted her to be safe. I wanted… control.”
“I’m not here to take that away,” Robby said, voice steady. “I just want her to know I’m here. And that she can count on me.”
Charlotte didn’t answer right away. She just watched him, looking for cracks, for signs this was about guilt or obligation instead of love.
She didn’t find them.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Slow. No big introductions. She knows you as Dr. Ravioli right now — let’s keep it that way, for now.”
Robby smiled faintly. “Dr. Ravioli it is.”
They sat for a moment longer, the air between them not quite easy, but no longer bristling.
Chapter Text
Daisy was sprawled across the living room rug, coloring a stegosaurus in bold, mismatched stripes. Her purple cast stuck out against the crayons scattered around her.
Charlotte was on the couch with her laptop, trying to finish charting from the night before.
“Mama?” Daisy asked without looking up.
“Mm?” Charlotte murmured.
“When do I get to see Dr. Ravioli again?”
Charlotte’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “Why do you want to see him?”
Daisy shrugged, still coloring. “He’s funny. And he doesn’t say ‘ouch’ when I bump my arm. And Sir Chompington misses him.”
Charlotte smothered a smile. “Sir Chompington does, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” Daisy said matter-of-factly. “And you said he was Pop Pop’s friend, so he’s probably nice forever.”
Charlotte swallowed, heart tugging. “Well… your arm needs another X-ray soon. To see how it’s healing.”
Daisy looked up, eyes wide. “Can Dr. Ravioli do it?”
Charlotte hesitated, then shut her laptop. “I can… request him.”
“Request means yes?” Daisy asked, hopeful.
Charlotte sighed, standing. “It means we’ll see what we can do.”
Charlotte walked Daisy into the familiar ER corridor, her daughter’s small hand curled trustingly in hers. She’d told herself this was purely medical — a follow-up, nothing more.
Robby was at the nurses’ station, reviewing charts, when he heard the voice.
“Dr. Ravioli!”
He looked up in time to see Daisy barreling toward him, cast-covered arm out like she was offering proof she’d kept it safe.
He grinned. “Hey, Purple Power. Are you here to show me how strong that arm’s gotten?”
“Yup,” Daisy said proudly. “Also Sir Chompington wants to say hi.”
Charlotte trailed after, a polite, contained smile on her face. “She’s here for her follow-up. X-ray and cast check.”
“I’ve got time,” Robby said, standing and gesturing toward Radiology. “Let’s go make sure everything’s healing like it should.”
Daisy took his hand. “Let’s go!”
The door swung open with a metallic clunk, and Daisy bounded out ahead of Robby, waving her cast like a trophy.
“I didn’t even need the heavy jacket thing this time!” she announced to Charlotte.
“Lead apron,” Robby corrected, smiling. “And you did great.”
Daisy puffed up. “He said my bones are healing fast. Like a dinosaur.”
“Stegosaurus speed,” Robby added, holding up the X-ray print out. “Which is very respectable, in case you’re wondering.”
Charlotte smirked despite herself. “Good to know.”
Dana lingered off to the side, sipping her coffee, watching the way Robby crouched to Daisy’s level to explain the printout — one hand braced lightly on the back of the chair so he could point at the tiny white lines. Watching the way Charlotte’s eyes softened without her realizing it.
“You get a sticker,” Robby told Daisy, straightening. “Cast-decorating privileges are a serious responsibility.”
“I want three,” Daisy bargained.
“Two,” Robby countered. “One for you, one for Sir Chompington.”
“Deal.” She grinned and followed him toward the nurses’ station.
The cafeteria was quieter than usual, the lull between shift changes. Charlotte balanced Daisy’s tray — paper cup of apple juice, two chocolate chip cookies, and a cup of grapes — while Daisy trotted beside her, proudly wearing her new dinosaur sticker on her cast.
Robby was already at a corner table with a coffee, chart printouts spread in front of him. Daisy spotted him instantly.
“Dr. Ravioli! We have cookies!” she announced, veering toward him before Charlotte could redirect.
He glanced up, smiling. “That’s a power move right there — bringing cookies to a meeting.”
Daisy slid into the seat beside him without asking, plopping Sir Chompington onto the table like he had equal claim to the conversation. Charlotte sighed but sat across from them, setting down the tray.
“Want one?” Daisy asked, holding up a cookie.
“You offering, or is that Sir Chompington?” Robby teased.
“We’re sharing,” she said seriously. “He doesn’t eat much, so you can have more.”
Robby grinned and accepted half a cookie, breaking it neatly before taking a bite. “Best one I’ve had all week.”
Daisy beamed and dunked her half into her juice, ignoring Charlotte’s quiet ugh . “Mama said Pop Pop always said chocolate chip cookies make you feel better,” she said matter-of-factly. “He was right.”
Something in Robby’s expression shifted — softer, quieter. “Yeah,” he said. “He was right about a lot of things.”
Charlotte watched the two of them, juice boxes and cookies between them, feeling her carefully constructed distance wobble. Daisy was leaning into him now, showing him where she’d colored over her cast with glitter pen.
And Robby… Robby didn’t look like a man just humoring a kid. He looked like a man memorizing every detail.
Daisy swung her legs under the table, sipping juice through a straw, eyes studying Robby with that unblinking curiosity only an almost five-year-old could get away with.
“Mama says you knew Pop Pop,” she said suddenly.
Charlotte froze mid-sip of her coffee.
Robby set down his half-cookie. “Yes,” he said gently. “I knew him.”
Daisy leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What was he like? I mean, I know he was the best, but what did you think?”
Charlotte’s throat tightened.
Robby smiled slowly, remembering. “He was smart. Scary smart. He could figure out what was wrong with someone in about thirty seconds.” He hesitated, his voice warming. “But he also… he cared. About everybody. Even when he didn’t have to.”
Daisy grinned. “That’s what Mama says too.”
“He used to tell me,” Robby went on, “that being a good doctor wasn’t enough. You had to be a good person too.”
Daisy nodded sagely, like she was filing that away for future use. “Did you listen?”
Robby’s smile tugged sideways. “I try every day.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened on her coffee cup, because she could hear the truth in his voice — not a line for Daisy’s benefit, but something he carried.
Daisy leaned back. “I wish he could’ve met Sir Chompington.”
Robby chuckled. “Me too, kiddo. Me too.”
Charlotte cleared her throat, glancing at the clock. “We should get going, Bug.”
But as they stood, Daisy reached for Robby’s hand without thinking, her small fingers curling around his.
Charlotte didn’t stop her.
Charlotte was halfway to the elevator with a chart in hand when Robby fell into step beside her, her stethoscope looped around his neck.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Quick question.”
She gave him a side glance. “If it’s about that pregnant patient, it was a false alarm. Braxton Hicks.”
“It’s not about the pregnant woman,” he said, mouth twitching. “It’s about dinner.”
Charlotte slowed a fraction. “Dinner.”
“Yeah,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of how close they were in the narrow hallway. “You, me, and Daisy. No pressure, no agenda. Just… dinner.”
She stopped just short of the elevator doors. “Why?”
Robby shrugged, easy but earnest. “Because she likes me. And I like her. And I think we’d have fun outside of here.” A beat. “And maybe I like you too.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed, like she was searching for the catch.
“I’m saying no pressure. Just dinner,” Robby said, a small smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth.
She hesitated, the noise of the ER moving around them — overhead pages, a gurney squeaking past. Part of her wanted to say no, keep the lines clean.
But she could already picture Daisy’s face if she told her.
Finally, Charlotte huffed. “Fine. But you’re paying.”
Robby grinned, stepping back. “Deal.”
As she ducked into the elevator, he caught himself watching her just a little too long — and realizing that maybe this wasn’t just about Daisy anymore.
Chapter Text
The place smelled like garlic and fresh-baked dough, the kind of neighborhood pizza joint that hadn’t changed its booths since the ’80s. Daisy was practically vibrating with excitement as Charlotte slid into the booth across from Robby, Sir Chompington perched beside her like an honored guest.
“They have crayons!” Daisy announced, grabbing the cup from the edge of the table and immediately flipping over her paper placemat to start drawing.
“Good,” Robby said, setting down the drink menus. “I was worried I’d have to entertain you with bad magic tricks.”
Daisy giggled. “Do one!”
“After we order,” Charlotte cut in, handing Daisy a cup of apple juice. “You’ll get crumbs all over the cards.”
Robby grinned, looking at Charlotte over the rim of his water glass. “You’ve clearly thought this through before.”
“Occupational hazard,” she said. “Kids and carbs are a dangerous combination.”
The waiter came, and Daisy confidently ordered “the biggest pizza you have, with cheese and maybe pepperoni if Mama says yes.” Charlotte gave the nod, and Robby added a side of garlic knots.
While Daisy bent over her drawing, Charlotte leaned back slightly. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I wanted to,” Robby said simply. “I like spending time with her. And… with you.”
Charlotte’s gaze flicked away, her mouth tightening like she wasn’t ready to unpack that. “Just don’t set the bar too high. She’ll expect pizza every Friday if you keep this up.”
“Guess I’ll have to start budgeting for it,” he said, and she couldn’t quite hide the twitch of a smile.
When the pizza arrived, Daisy immediately handed Robby the first slice. “Mama always says guests eat first.”
Something in Robby’s chest went tight. He accepted it with a small nod. “Then I’ll do it justice.”
They ate, they laughed, Daisy told a long-winded story about how she and Sir Chompington had “rescued” a worm on the playground that week. And in between, Robby found himself cataloguing the way Charlotte’s eyes warmed when she looked at her daughter… and how easy it was to make her laugh when she let her guard down.
By the time they left, Daisy’s cheeks were pink from the warmth inside, and Robby was holding the to-go box like it was something worth protecting.
The air outside was crisp, smelling faintly of rain. Robby held the door open for Charlotte and Daisy, the to-go box balanced in his other hand. Daisy hopped down the two steps, clutching Sir Chompington in one arm like a prize.
“We parked over there,” Charlotte said, pointing toward a dimly lit section of the lot.
“I’ll walk you,” Robby replied before she could argue.
They crossed the pavement in a loose little formation — Daisy skipping ahead, Charlotte half-focused on her, Robby keeping pace just behind.
“Thanks for dinner,” Charlotte said after a moment.
“Thanks for coming,” he answered, and meant it more than he’d planned.
When they reached the car, Daisy climbed into the booster seat while Charlotte buckled her in. Robby handed over the pizza box.
“That should get you through the weekend,” he said lightly.
Daisy leaned forward around her mom’s shoulder. “Can we do this again next Friday?”
Charlotte shot her a look. “We’ll see.”
Daisy grinned, undeterred. “Mama, you like him.”
Charlotte’s head whipped around. “Daisy—”
“It’s okay,” Robby said quickly, but he was smiling. “I like her too.”
When Charlotte straightened from buckling Daisy in, she turned and almost collided with him. The pizza box was still in her hands, a warm, awkward buffer between them.
“Thanks again,” she said, softer this time.
“Anytime,” he replied — and then, like he hadn’t fully decided until the last second, he leaned in.
It wasn’t long. Just the faint brush of his mouth over hers — warm, careful, almost questioning — but it was enough to make her freeze, breath caught.
When he pulled back, there was a flicker of something in his eyes, equal parts caution and wanting.
“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said quietly.
Her fingers tightened around the pizza box. “Goodnight, Robby.”
She slid into the driver’s seat before her knees could betray her, heart hammering as she shut the door. In the rearview mirror, as she pulled away, he was still standing there in the damp parking lot, hands in his pockets, watching her go.
And damn it, her lips were still tingling all the way home.
Charlotte had just set the pizza box on the counter when her phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Erin. She debated ignoring it, but Erin didn’t give up easily.
“You look weird,” Erin said the second Charlotte’s face filled the screen.
“Hello to you too.”
Erin squinted. “You’ve got your post-event hair happening. What happened?”
Charlotte opened the fridge just to have something to do with her hands. “Nothing. Dinner. With Daisy.”
“And Robby?”
Charlotte froze mid-reach. “How do you—”
“Because I know you,” Erin said, grinning. “Also because you’ve been circling this guy for weeks, and if he’s not in the story, you wouldn’t look like someone just ran over your brain.”
Charlotte closed the fridge. “He kissed me.”
Erin gasped. “On the cheek or—”
“Lips,” Charlotte admitted, cheeks heating. “Just a little one. In the parking lot.”
Erin’s grin went feral. “ Girl. ”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but her voice was softer when she said, “It wasn’t… nothing. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t nothing.”
“You’re in trouble,” Erin sing-songed.
Charlotte leaned against the counter, letting her head fall back. “I know.”
“Good trouble, though,” Erin said, pointing at her through the phone. “The kind you maybe don’t run away from this time.”
Charlotte didn’t answer, but her lips were still tingling, and that was answer enough.
“Let me say hi to the kiddo. I want to hear about dinner.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Daisy! Erin wants to talk to you.”
Daisy came flying down the hallway, blonde hair flying like a kite. "ERIN! We had pizza tonight with Dr. Ravioli!"
"I heard! Tell me all about it!"
"HE KISSED MAMA RIGHT ON THE MOUTH!"
"Daisy!" Charlotte admonished.
"Well, he did!"
Erin was laughing so hard she was coughing.
Charlotte lowered herself onto the couch, rolling her eyes.
By the time the doorbell rang, Daisy was already stationed at the front window, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“He’s here! He’s here!” she squealed, bolting for the door before Charlotte could stop her.
“Daisy, wait—”
Too late. She yanked the door open with both hands and beamed up at Robby like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.
“You’re in our house!” she announced, as if it were breaking news.
Robby laughed, stepping inside with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bakery box in the other. “I am. And I brought dessert. But only if your mom says it’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” Daisy said immediately.
“It’s not your call,” Charlotte muttered, taking the box from him with a shake of her head. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, and for a second their eyes held just a little too long before Daisy grabbed his hand and tugged him toward her room.
“We‘ll have a tea party!”
Dinner was pasta and garlic bread, Daisy chattering nonstop, Robby gamely answering every question from “Do you like dinosaurs?” to “What was my Pop Pop like when you met him?” Charlotte tried to focus on her plate, but every time she looked up, Daisy was leaning into Robby like he belonged there.
When Daisy ran to grab a drawing she’d made “for Dr. Ravioli,” Charlotte caught him watching her across the table.
“She’s something else,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Charlotte replied, softer than she meant.
Dessert turned out to be an assortment of cannoli, Daisy’s eyes going wide at the sight. She got powdered sugar everywhere, giggling when Robby teased her about needing a hose to clean up.
By the time Charlotte tucked Daisy into bed, the apartment had gone still except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the heating pipes.
Robby was in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing as he scrubbed at a pan in the sink. His hair was a little mussed from running his hands through it, and the faint scent of his cologne still clung to the air.
“You didn’t have to do the dishes,” she said, leaning against the doorway.
“I don’t mind.” He set the pan in the rack, water droplets trailing down his wrists.
“Thanks for coming,” she said softly.
He finally looked at her. “Thanks for having me.” His voice had that low, end-of-the-day rasp. “It was… nice. Better than nice.”
Her lips curved faintly, but their eyes held a beat too long. She meant to look away, but his gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering, and her breath hitched before she could stop it.
“We probably shouldn’t—” she began.
“Probably not,” he murmured — and he was already moving toward her.
The first brush of his lips was tentative, testing, like he was giving her one last out. But the moment she kissed him back, it deepened — his hand sliding to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone, his body shifting subtly closer.
She tasted faintly of the wine they’d shared earlier, warm and heady, and when she tugged lightly at the front of his shirt, he made a sound low in his throat that made her knees weaken.
He angled his head, fitting his mouth over hers more firmly. The kiss wasn’t rushed — it was deliberate, slow, like he wanted to memorize her all over again. His other hand slid to the side of her neck, fingers splayed, the heat of his palm right over her pulse.
When they broke for air, they didn’t move apart. His forehead rested against hers, breath uneven.
“Robby…” she whispered, but her hands were still in his shirt, pulling him closer.
He kissed her again before she could finish, his body brushing hers as he walked her gently back until her hips bumped the edge of the counter. She gasped, not from pain but from the jolt of being pinned there, his presence crowding the air between them.
One of his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her in just enough to make her breath catch, while the other stayed at her jaw, keeping her face tilted toward him. His mouth found hers again, then traced down her cheek to the curve of her neck, where his breath was hot against her skin.
She bit her lip to keep from making a sound, her fingers curling in the back of his hair. “We can’t—” she started, but then his lips grazed just below her ear and she shivered.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
And he did. He didn’t push further, didn’t rush — but he didn’t step away either. He let the moment linger, his thumb sweeping slow circles against her hip, his forehead dropping to her shoulder for a breath like he was trying to steady himself.
When he finally eased back, it was reluctant. Their eyes met — hers still wide, his darker now, his chest rising and falling in time with hers.
“Probably shouldn’t,” she said again, voice soft.
“Yeah,” he breathed. But neither of them moved right away.
---
The apartment was quiet now, Daisy’s soft breathing drifting through the cracked door across the hall.
Charlotte lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling fan, one hand resting on her stomach, the other curled loosely by her lips. She told herself she was just tired. That’s why her heart still felt like it was trying to climb out of her chest.
But she could still feel him — the way Robby’s mouth had claimed hers, slow at first, then deeper, until she’d been clinging to him without thinking. The scrape of his stubble against her skin. The heat in his palm when it slid to the back of her neck.
She pressed her fingertips to her mouth. God, she’d kissed him like she meant it. Like five years of silence hadn’t happened. Like they were still the two people in Doc Adamson’s apartment the night before the funeral.
Her rational brain whispered that this was a mistake. That getting involved — even a little — would tangle everything. Daisy. Work. Her own peace of mind.
But her body remembered every inch of that kiss, and somewhere under the careful logic, something reckless stirred.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. In the dark, she let herself imagine what would’ve happened if she’d asked him to stay.
And that was the thought that finally pulled her under into restless sleep.
Robby hadn’t planned on staying up half the night thinking about her, but here he was — wide awake, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Charlotte’s mouth still warm on his.
It had been hours since he’d left her apartment, yet his chest still felt tight from the way she’d looked at him. The way she’d kissed him back.
He could still smell her shampoo, something faint and clean, caught in the collar of his jacket when he’d left. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets all the way home, as if that would stop him from turning around and knocking on her door again like a reckless idiot.
God, he’d wanted to.
It wasn’t just the kiss — though that kiss had been enough to unravel him. It was the way she’d let him in, let him close, without pushing him away right off the bat. The way her hands had fisted in his shirt like she was anchoring herself.
She’d been warm under his palms, soft in all the places he’d remembered, but there was a steel to her now too. A line she wasn’t ready to cross, even if her body had leaned into his like it remembered exactly how they fit.
And he respected that. He hated it. But he respected it.
He rolled onto his side, dragging a hand over his face. He’d promised himself — promised — he wouldn’t rush her. Not after everything. But last night had cracked something open in him, something he wasn’t sure he could close again.
He wanted her. Not just her body, though God knew that pull was strong enough to keep him awake for days. He wanted the real thing — dinners and laughter and her letting him tuck Daisy in without looking like she was bracing for impact.
And Daisy… That kid was a wildfire in pigtails. He didn’t know how the hell he’d gone this long not knowing she existed, but the thought of not being in her life now made something cold settle in his gut.
The clock read 5:42 when he finally gave up on sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
He could still feel her breath against his neck. The way she’d whispered we probably shouldn’t — but hadn’t stepped back.
They’d stop, for now. Fine. But the next time she kissed him like that? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to.
Chapter Text
Charlotte had planned to breeze in, handle the consult, and get back upstairs without incident. Room Twelve. Precipitous labor. Easy.
She didn’t expect Robby to look at her like that — like last night was playing on a loop in his head just as vividly as it was in hers.
“OB consult for Room Twelve,” she said, keeping her tone clipped.
He didn’t answer right away. Just jotted something down and then—God help her—took her wrist in his hand and steered her toward the on-call room.
“Robby—” she hissed, throwing a quick glance at the nurses’ station. Dana was there. So was half the ED. “I have a patient— You—”
“Five minutes,” he said, already pushing the door shut behind them.
The dim light made the room feel smaller, closer. She stayed by the door, arms crossed, forcing a barrier between them she wasn’t sure she could keep up.
“You let me leave last night,” he started, low and rough, “like we hadn’t just—” He stopped, exhaled hard. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. She tried for steady. “You’re not supposed to.”
“I know.” He stepped in, close enough she could smell soap and the faint trace of his cologne. “But you kissed me like you wanted more.”
The truth sat between them, heavy. She didn’t trust herself to answer.
When he braced his hand on the wall beside her head, she should’ve moved. Should’ve said something sharp enough to break the moment. Instead, her chin tipped up a fraction — traitorous, telling him everything without a word.
His mouth found hers, and every carefully built wall cracked.
This wasn’t the slow, wine-warm kiss from last night. This was heat and pressure, the faint scrape of stubble against her skin. She caught his collar in one fist, pulling him closer before she could stop herself, and his hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing under the hem of her scrub top.
The contact lit her nerves like a struck match. She wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once.
When he pulled back, both of them breathing hard, she could feel the tremor in her hands. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered, but even to her own ears it sounded weak.
“Yeah,” he said, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty damn good, though.”
The door handle rattled suddenly, making her jump. Someone muttered outside and moved on.
He opened the door for her like they were just two colleagues leaving a routine consult. She walked out first, head high, but her lips still tingled from his and her pulse hadn’t slowed once.
Consult, she thought grimly. Right.
The ED was in that rare lull between chaos and paperwork — the kind of quiet that felt like the eye of a storm. Robby was leaning against the counter, scanning a chart, when Charlotte appeared at his elbow.
“Hey,” she said, voice casual but carrying that thread of purpose he recognized from upstairs consults.
“Hey yourself,” he replied, glancing up. “Here to poach another patient?”
“Not at the moment,” she said with the barest smile. “I actually… had a question.”
That caught his attention. “Shoot.”
“Do you have the day off tomorrow?”
He tilted his head, mentally flipping through his schedule. “Yeah. Miraculously. Why?”
She hesitated just long enough for him to notice, then shrugged like it was nothing. “Daisy and I were thinking of going on a hike. Nothing intense — just the state park trails out by the river. I thought maybe you’d like to come.”
Robby blinked, and for a second, the noise of the ED seemed to fade. “You… want me to come?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something in her eyes — careful, almost testing him.
His mouth curved. “Do I get to pack snacks, or is this a bring-your-own-trail-mix situation?”
That pulled a small laugh from her. “You bring whatever you want, as long as you can keep up with Daisy. She doesn’t slow down for anyone.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said, and then, softer, “I’d like that. Thanks for asking.”
Charlotte nodded, as if that settled it. “Okay. We’re leaving at 10, so be at my place at 9:30?”
He smiled and nodded. “I’ll bring the trail mix.”
She turned to go, leaving him to watch her walk away.
The trail wound through dappled light and damp earth, the air still holding the cool of morning. Daisy bounded ahead, her little hiking boots stomping through every patch of mud she could find, her dinosaur backpack bouncing with each step. She insisted on carrying her own water bottle and was thrilled with Robby’s contribution of a mix of Teddy Grahams, chocolate chips and mini marshmallows.
“Stay where we can see you, Bug!” Charlotte called.
“I am where you can see me!” Daisy hollered back from ten feet away, arms swinging. “See?”
Robby chuckled.
They walked in easy silence for a while, the kind that came when the only sound was the crunch of gravel underfoot and Daisy’s steady stream of commentary about squirrels, oddly-shaped sticks, and how many snacks she could eat before lunch.
It wasn’t until Daisy ran ahead to inspect a wildflower that Charlotte spoke again. “Robby… I’ve been thinking.”
He glanced at her. “About?”
She kept her eyes forward, hands in the pockets of her fleece. “About telling Daisy. About you.”
He slowed his pace, letting her words settle between them. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it too.”
She finally looked at him. “I don’t want it to blindside her. And I don’t want it to feel… scary. She’s almost five, she’s smart, but she’s also sensitive. If we do this, we have to do it together.”
He nodded, jaw tight but eyes warm. “I agree. She deserves to hear it from both of us.”
Charlotte exhaled. “So… when? How?”
They stopped on a bend in the trail where the river came into view, water glinting between the trees. Robby leaned on the railing, thinking. “How about tonight? Over dinner. Something normal, comfortable. We tell her that I’m her dad, and that I want to be part of her life — if she wants that too.”
Charlotte’s throat felt tight. “She will. But it’s going to be a lot.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her then, holding her gaze. “I’m not going anywhere, Charlotte. I’m in.”
Something in her chest loosened at that. She nodded once, firm. “Okay. Dinner tonight.”
“Dinner tonight,” he repeated.
“Can we have spaghetti?” Daisy shouted from down the trail, completely oblivious to the seismic shift about to happen in her little world.
Charlotte laughed — the sound lighter than she felt. “Yeah, Bug. We can have spaghetti.”
“Mama, can we get a puppy?”
Robby chuckled while Charlotte choked on her water.
“No, we don’t need a puppy.”
Daisy did a big sigh and chased after a dragonfly.
Chapter 12
Notes:
A little smutty smut in this chapter. I couldn’t help it! It’s an emotional rollercoaster.
Chapter Text
The kitchen smelled like garlic and simmering tomato sauce, the kind of smell that made Daisy dance in place at the table while swinging her legs. Charlotte poured spaghetti into the colander while Robby ladled sauce into a bowl, their movements quiet but coordinated.
Daisy was already wearing half a paper napkin tucked into the collar of her shirt like a bib. “Is it ready yet?”
“Almost,” Charlotte said, carrying the steaming pasta to the table. “Sit still, please.”
Robby set the sauce and garlic bread down, then took a seat across from Daisy. He gave Charlotte a quick glance — the subtle are you ready? She nodded, but her hands still fidgeted with the serving spoon.
“Okay, Bug,” Charlotte said, serving Daisy’s plate first. “We need to talk about something important before we eat.”
Daisy immediately froze mid–bread stick bite. “Am I in trouble?”
Robby smiled faintly. “Not even a little bit.”
Charlotte reached for her daughter’s hand. “You know how we’ve talked about Pop Pop — about how much he meant to me?”
Daisy nodded solemnly. “He was the best.”
“He was,” Charlotte said softly. “And… There's someone else who meant a lot to him too. Someone he knew really well before you were born.”
Daisy looked at Robby, head tilting. “You?”
Robby’s throat worked, but his smile stayed steady. “Yeah. Me.”
Daisy’s brow furrowed. “How?”
Charlotte gave her a small smile. “Well, you know, they worked together for a really long time. And… there’s something you don’t know yet, Bug.” She took a breath, steady but quiet. “Robby’s not just someone Pop Pop worked with and cared for. He’s your dad.”
For a moment, Daisy just stared, her eyes wide. The tip of her bread stick drooped toward her plate.
“You’re my dad?” she repeated, voice high with surprise.
“Yeah,” Robby said gently. “If you’re okay with that. If you want me to be.”
Daisy considered this like it was the most serious diagnosis she’d ever heard. “Do you know how to braid hair?”
Robby blinked. “Uh… I could learn?”
Daisy leaned back, apparently satisfied. “Okay. You can be my dad.”
Charlotte let out the breath she’d been holding, laughter catching on the edge of tears. She reached across the table to squeeze Robby’s hand — brief but steady — before she let go.
“Does that mean we can have spaghetti now?” Daisy asked, already twirling her fork in the pasta.
“Yeah,” Charlotte said, her voice warm. “We can have spaghetti now.”
They ate. Daisy launched into a detailed retelling of her week at school, occasionally stopping to direct questions at Robby — about Barbies, about whether doctors were allowed to wear heels, about what he thought of pineapple on pizza.
By the time dinner was over, there were more noodles on the table than in anyone’s stomach. Charlotte sent Daisy to wash up for bed, her little footsteps thudding down the hall.
Robby collected plates without a word, taking them to the sink. Charlotte joined him, rinsing them before sliding them into the dishwasher. The air felt lighter, but not entirely free of tension — more like they’d just crossed a fragile bridge together.
“You did good,” she murmured.
“So did you,” he said, glancing at her with something softer in his eyes. “She’s… amazing.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Yeah. She is.”
There was a quiet moment, the kind that felt full instead of empty, before Daisy’s voice called from the bedroom: “Mama! Dr. Ravioli! Can we play Barbies before you tuck me in?”
Robby set the wash cloth down. “I got this.”
Charlotte leaned against the doorframe of Daisy’s bedroom while Robby crouched by the edge of the bed, helping her arrange the army of stuffed animals that apparently all needed to be in the “correct” sleeping order.
“Okay,” Daisy declared, pointing to a gap between the penguin and the purple unicorn, “that’s where Sir Chompington goes. He needs to be in the middle so he doesn’t get cold.”
“Of course,” Robby said solemnly, tucking the green plush into place and pulling the blanket over all three of them like they were real patients. “There. Warm and secure.”
Daisy giggled, then shifted her gaze to him. “Do you know the goodnight rules?”
Robby blinked. “There are rules?”
Charlotte coughed from the doorway. “Oh, there are rules.”
“First,” Daisy said, holding up one small finger, “you have to say ‘sleep tight.’ Then you have to check for monsters under the bed. Then you have to do the double-kiss.”
“The… double-kiss?”
“One on the cheek and one on the forehead. It’s very important.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes affectionately. “She’s very particular.”
“I respect that,” Robby said, moving into action. “Sleep tight,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up to her chin. He leaned down and made a show of peeking under the bed. “No monsters. Just Barbie clothes.”
“Good,” Daisy whispered, smiling.
Then he kissed her cheek, then her forehead — slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of her face.
“Perfect,” she whispered, eyelids drooping. “Your whiskers tickle.”
Charlotte stepped in to smooth Daisy’s hair, her voice soft. “Goodnight, Bug.”
“’Night, Mama.” Daisy’s gaze flicked to Robby again. “’Night… Daddy.”
The word was so quiet it almost got lost in the rustle of blankets, but Robby heard it. His hand froze briefly on the blanket, a stunned breath catching in his throat.
“Goodnight, Daisy,” he whispered, his voice thick.
They slipped out into the hall, closing the door just enough to leave a strip of light. Charlotte turned to him, leaning back against the wall.
“That…” he started, shaking his head slightly, “was the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Charlotte’s lips curved, but her eyes shimmered. “Get used to it. I think she’s already decided you’re in.”
—-
Charlotte was wiping the kitchen counters when she felt the warmth of him behind her — not close enough to touch, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Need help?” Robby asked, voice low.
“I’ve got it,” she said, rinsing the washcloth in the sink.
He didn’t step back. In fact, he stepped closer. She felt his breath near her ear before she felt his lips — soft at first, just at the curve of her neck.
Her hands stilled in the sink.
“Robby…”
“I know,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her skin again. “I just… I’ve been thinking about this all night.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, her grip loosening on the sponge. He kissed just below her ear, slow, deliberate, his hands coming to rest on her hips. She leaned back into him without meaning to, her breath hitching.
“I shouldn’t—” she started, but the protest melted when his hands slid higher, his thumbs sweeping under the hem of her shirt.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said softly, kissing her jaw this time. “We can just… be here.”
She turned in his arms, water still dripping from her fingers, and looked up at him — really looked. His eyes were darker now, full of that same charged quiet they’d had years ago, the last time they’d been this close.
And she kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was months — years — of held-back words and what-ifs, crashing together in the space between them.
He groaned into her mouth, one hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She rose onto her toes, her own hands finding the back of his neck.
The kiss deepened, his body pressing hers gently but firmly against the counter.
Her mind screamed too fast — but her heart, her body, the part of her that had watched him tuck their daughter into bed without knowing if she’d ever get this again — wasn’t listening.
She tugged him closer, his hands bracing on either side of the counter, caging her in without trapping her. The kiss went deeper, slower, a low hum slipping from his throat that sent heat spiraling through her.
“Charlotte…” he murmured, but his lips didn’t leave hers.
She shook her head against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
His hands slid under her shirt, warm against her bare skin, and she gasped into him before remembering to bite it back. His lips curved in a faint, wicked smile against hers. “Quiet,” he teased softly.
“You first,” she whispered, tugging at the hem of his shirt until he pulled it over his head.
They broke just long enough for her to draw in a shaky breath — then he was kissing her again, deeper this time, like he was making up for every moment they’d lost. She could feel his heartbeat against hers, the warmth of him pressing closer.
Her back hit the counter, and she didn’t care. She let him lift her onto it, his hands sliding to her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in, her head tipping back as he kissed down her neck.
“Do we—” he started, a little breathless.
She cut him off with a whisper against his jaw. “I have an IUD. We’re fine.”
That pulled a quiet groan from him — part relief, part hunger — before his mouth found hers again.
They moved to the couch — stumbling quietly, half-laughing when she almost tripped over Daisy’s sneakers in the hallway. He pulled her down onto his lap, and suddenly there was no distance left between them, only the friction of desperate hands and whispered names.
Clothes slipped away in silence, each layer discarded with a shared glance that said we shouldn’t… but we are.
When he finally slid into her, pushing her panties to the side, she buried her face in his neck to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. He groaned low, his hand at the back of her head, holding her there as if to keep them both from breaking apart.
They moved together slowly, rhythm steady, deep — less about speed and more about feeling every inch of each other again. Her nails dug into his shoulders; his thumb stroked lazy circles at her hip.
“Charlotte…” It was barely more than a breath, almost reverent.
She kissed him to keep from answering, from saying something she couldn’t take back.
When she came, she bit down gently on his shoulder, muffling the cry that still shook through her. He followed moments later, holding her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest.
They stayed tangled there on the couch, breathing hard but quiet, like neither of them was ready to move.
Finally, she whispered, “We’re going to have to talk about this.”
“I know.”
But for now neither of them moved.
Charlotte’s hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling the slow return of his heartbeat to normal. He traced lazy patterns along her spine, not speaking, just holding her.
It would’ve been so easy to let him stay. To let the night stretch into morning, to wake up and pretend this was a normal, settled thing between them.
But it wasn’t.
She exhaled, soft against his collarbone. “Robby… I’m not ready for a sleepover.”
He stilled for a beat, then nodded slowly. “I get it.”
She pulled back enough to meet his eyes, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. I just… I need to keep some space. For now.”
His gaze softened — not hurt, just understanding. “Okay.”
She made to get up, but he kept his hands firm on her hips. “Hold on.”
Her head fell back, eyes closed. “Robby…”
Instead, Robby’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer in his lap until her knees shifted to straddle him again.
“Just… stay here with me a little longer.”
Instead, Robby’s hands slid lower on her back, keeping her in his lap like it was the only place she belonged.
“Not yet,” he murmured, voice rough against her ear.
She should’ve said no. She didn’t.
His mouth found hers again — slower now, more deliberate — like he’d decided he wanted to taste every second. Her hands went to his shoulders, tracing the muscle there, before sliding into his hair.
He kissed down her jaw, to the hollow beneath her ear, his lips warm and unhurried against her skin. His fingers stroking her bare spine in slow sweeps that made her shiver.
She shifted in his lap without thinking, and the hard line of him pressed against her made her breath catch. He felt it — felt her — and let out a low groan that vibrated against her throat.
“Still okay?” he asked softly, almost like he was afraid to push.
She nodded, biting her lip, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
They kissed again, deeper this time, and his hands wandered lower — over her ribs, her waist, the curve of her hip, his fingers brushing bare skin as he went.
He kept her underwear on, almost teasing, one hand resting on her thigh while the other slid up her side to cup her breast through her bra. His thumb brushed lazily over the lace until her hips rocked against him on instinct.
“God, Charlotte…” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You feel…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed her again like it was the only answer.
When his hand finally slipped beneath her panties, finding her slick and warm, she gasped — quickly catching the sound in her teeth, mindful of the small sleeping body upstairs. His lips curved in a faint smirk against hers.
He worked her slowly, the rhythm unhurried and maddening, until her breathing turned shallow against his mouth. Then he pulled back — just enough to tug her underwear aside, kicking his jeans off.
She guided him to her, the head of him brushing against her, and they both froze for a second — eyes locked, breathing uneven.
He eased into her slowly, inch by inch, like he wanted to feel every part of it. She dug her nails into his shoulders, the burn of him stretching her making her head fall back until he kissed her throat, then her mouth again.
Once he was fully inside her, neither of them moved. They just stayed there, breathing together, foreheads touching, until the tension in her hips finally gave way to a slow, rolling grind.
He matched her, deep and steady, holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go. His hands cupped her face now, thumbs brushing her cheeks as his mouth kept finding hers.
It built slowly, like a long pull of breath that neither of them wanted to let out. And when it finally broke, she bit down gently on his shoulder to muffle the sound, her whole body trembling. He followed seconds later, groaning into her neck, his arms wrapping so tightly around her it almost hurt.
They stayed like that for a while, her chest pressed to his, his breath warm against her hair.
After a long moment, he kissed her temple. “Now we can talk about it.”
She laughed softly, shaky. “Maybe after I can feel my legs again.”
They stayed like that longer than they should have, both of them aware that if they moved, the moment would end. His hand drifted lazily along her spine, fingertips tracing idle shapes over warm skin. She’d closed her eyes, letting herself just feel — the weight of him, the quiet in the room, the way his heartbeat had finally slowed to match hers.
Eventually, he pushed up on one arm, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “You okay?”
She nodded, slow and a little dazed. “Yeah.”
Neither of them made a move to get up.
When he finally did, it was only to find her shirt, handing it to her with a small, crooked grin. “Here. Before we end up doing round three.”
Her laugh was soft, reluctant, but it broke some of the heaviness in the air. She pulled the shirt over her head, smoothing it down as he tugged his jeans back on.
He helped her with the leggings next, crouched in front of her, sliding the fabric up her legs without rushing it — his fingers lingering at her calves, her knees, her hips. He pressed one last kiss to her belly before standing.
Charlotte sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You’re making it very hard to stick to boundaries.”
He smiled at that — not cocky, just warm. “Then maybe I should go before we break all of them.”
She hesitated, then stood with him, walking him to the door. “It’s not that I don’t want you to stay,” she said quietly. “I just… I’m not ready for a sleepover yet.”
“I know.” He said it without hurt, without pressure. “I get it.”
They lingered in the doorway for a beat, neither quite ready to let the night end. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, searching her face like he was committing it to memory.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised.
She gave him a faint, tired smile. “Okay.”
He stepped into the hall, pausing to look at her one more time before the door clicked shut between them.
Charlotte stayed there, leaning back against it, her body still warm from him, her lips tingling, her heart thudding far too fast.
Chapter 13
Notes:
More smut. I'm practicing writing it, don't judge me.
Chapter Text
Dinner had been easy. Routine.
Daisy talked enough for all three of them, her hands flying as she told stories between forkfuls of sushi. Robby listened, smiling at her like she was the most fascinating person alive while she struggled with the chopsticks. Charlotte caught him doing it more than once and every time, something warm and dangerous uncurled low in her stomach.
When Daisy finally nodded off on the couch during a cartoon, Charlotte carried her to bed. Robby was waiting in the kitchen when she came back, leaning against the counter, sleeves pushed up, looking like trouble.
“You could… stay tonight,” she said before she could second-guess it.
His head tilted. “You sure?”
She nodded once. “It’s late. You can take the other side.”
The bedroom was dim, just the lamplight painting everything gold. She slipped under the covers, feeling the mattress dip as he joined her. For a minute, they just lay there, her back to his chest, his arm loose around her waist.
Then his lips brushed the curve of her shoulder — soft at first, then warmer, lingering. She stilled.
“Robby…”
“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.
She didn’t answer — just rolled toward him. He kissed her before she could speak, slow but with a pull beneath it, his hand sliding up to cradle her jaw.
The kiss deepened, all heat and memory, and she tugged him closer until he was half over her. His thigh pressed between hers, his palm spreading over her hip, thumb stroking bare skin just under the hem of her tank top.
Her breath caught. He smiled against her mouth, low and wicked, and pushed the fabric higher until she was arching into him.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he whispered.
“Then stop thinking,” she shot back, pulling his shirt over his head.
They came together like they’d been starving — mouths hot and greedy, hands roaming, the blanket shoved aside. His fingers hooked in her waistband, tugging slowly until there was nothing between them but heat.
When he slid into her, she bit her lip to hold back a sound, one hand fisting in the sheets. He groaned low, forehead dropping to hers, and moved — deep, unhurried, each thrust dragging against her in a way that made her toes curl.
They kept quiet out of necessity, all stifled gasps and muffled whimpers, but the urgency coiled tighter with every movement. His hand found her breast, thumb teasing until she was shivering under him, and when she came, it took everything not to cry out.
He followed with a shudder, holding himself there for a long beat before easing back, his mouth still on hers.
They lay tangled in the sheets, catching their breath, his hand splayed over her stomach like he didn’t want to let her go.
“You know we’re not sleeping much now,” she whispered, a hint of teasing in her voice.
He smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to make the most of it.”
They stayed tangled under the covers afterward, her leg hooked over his, his palm tracing idle shapes at her waist. For once, the silence between them felt easy.
---
Somewhere in the early gray light of morning, the mattress dipped again — and Daisy climbed between them without hesitation, curling up against Charlotte’s side and tossing an arm across Robby like she’d been doing it her whole life.
Charlotte caught his startled, soft-eyed look over the top of their daughter’s head.
The room was pale with early light, soft enough to make it feel like the night hadn’t quite let go yet. Charlotte lay on her side, one arm wrapped around Daisy’s warm little body, her other hand trapped between her pillow and her mouth to keep from sighing too loudly.
Robby was on Daisy’s other side, propped on an elbow, watching her like she was a miracle. His hair was sticking up in every direction, his eyes still hazy from sleep, but the look on his face… God.
He looked happy . Like, stupidly, profoundly happy.
Daisy snuffled in her sleep, her tiny hand fisting in his T-shirt. He adjusted without even thinking, tucking the blanket more securely around her, his thumb brushing absently over the back of her hand.
And Charlotte’s chest clenched.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want this — it was that she wanted it too much . The way he fit here, in her bed, in her morning, with their kid curled between them like this had always been the plan… it was dangerous. It made her feel the edge of something she couldn’t name without tumbling headfirst into it.
She shouldn’t have let him stay. She definitely shouldn’t have let him touch her last night. Twice.
Her mind flashed to the heat of his hands on her skin, the way he’d said her name like he’d been holding it in for years. It sent a shiver through her, one she quickly swallowed down.
This wasn’t sustainable. It couldn’t be.
She’d spent years building walls around her and Daisy, making sure no one got close enough to hurt them. Now here was Robby — sitting in her bed, hair a mess, smile soft, looking like he’d been here a thousand mornings before — and every brick in that wall felt like it was starting to crumble.
Robby caught her looking. His smile deepened — slow, warm, unguarded — and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still rough.
“Morning,” she managed, keeping hers steady.
He didn’t move, didn’t rush, just let his gaze drift back to Daisy, like he was memorizing her face in the quiet. And maybe he was — because Robby wasn’t thinking about boundaries or timelines or what this all meant .
He was thinking about how right it felt to have the two of them here. About how easily Daisy had curled into him like she’d been doing it for years. About how Charlotte’s hair was mussed from sleep, and she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was thinking about how badly she wanted to kiss him again — and how much it would wreck her if she let this keep happening.
She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, pulse too fast. She needed to get up, make coffee, create some space before this soft, dangerous morning swallowed her whole.
Robby just lay there, smiling faintly, like he’d never been more content in his life.
The smell of coffee was already curling through the apartment by the time Robby padded into the kitchen. Charlotte stood at the counter in one of his old T-shirts — the one she’d thrown on after her shower last night — staring into the open cabinet like it had personally offended her.
She didn’t hear him come in.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching her for a moment. The small, almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders. The way she was holding the coffee mug a little too tightly.
“You’re doing it,” he said finally.
Her head snapped up. “Doing what?”
“Thinking yourself into a corner.” He stepped closer, slow and easy, like he was approaching a skittish animal. “You’ve been up for, what, ten minutes? And you’re already three months ahead in your head.”
“I’m not—” She stopped, pressing her lips together. “Okay, maybe I am.”
He came to stand beside her, close but not touching. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, Charlotte. I’m not going anywhere.”
She exhaled, looking down at the mug in her hands. “It’s not just me anymore. It’s Daisy. I can’t… I can’t screw this up.”
“You’re not screwing anything up,” he said, gentle but sure. “She’s happy. She likes me. You like me—”
Her head jerked up. “I never said that.”
He grinned faintly. “You didn’t have to.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away.
“I’m not pushing you,” he went on. “We do this at your pace. If you need slow, we go slow. If you need space, I’ll give you space. But I’m not gonna disappear just because you get nervous.”
Something in her chest loosened at that, though she tried to hide it by turning back to the coffee. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is,” he said. “You just haven’t had simple in a while.”
She poured him a cup without asking and slid it across the counter. “Don’t get used to this.”
“Too late,” he said, smiling as he took it.
Charlotte had just taken her first sip of coffee when the shuffle of small feet came from the hallway.
Daisy appeared in the doorway, hair a wild halo from sleep, clutching her stuffed dino under one arm. She blinked at both of them like she’d stumbled into a secret meeting.
“Morning,” Charlotte said, softening despite herself.
“Hi,” Daisy mumbled, then brightened. “Can we have pancakes?”
Charlotte raised a brow. “Pancakes? On a Wednesday?”
“Yes,” Daisy said matter-of-factly, like it was non-negotiable.
Before Charlotte could answer, Robby leaned down to Daisy’s level, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I make excellent pancakes.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. The fluffiest. Like, could-float-away-on-a-cloud fluffy.”
Daisy gasped. “Can we have those?” She spun toward her mother. “Please, Mama?”
Charlotte pretended to consider it, hiding her smile behind her coffee mug. “Well… I suppose if the doctor insists…”
“I do,” Robby said solemnly, already rolling up the sleeves of his T-shirt. “Doctor’s orders.”
Daisy grinned and scampered toward the kitchen table, setting her dino in a chair like he’d get his own plate. Robby caught Charlotte’s eye as he pulled a mixing bowl from her cabinet — and for a moment, she saw it. That easy, lived-in domesticity that terrified and tempted her all at once.
She looked away first, but her lips curved, just slightly.
Robby moved through her kitchen like he’d been there a hundred times, pulling flour, eggs, and milk from cabinets and fridge without asking where anything was.
Daisy dragged one of the dining chairs over, the legs screeching across the tile. “I’m helping!” she declared, clambering up beside him.
“Absolutely,” Robby said. “You’re my sous chef. Very important job. You get to crack the eggs.”
Daisy’s eyes lit up. Charlotte, standing at the counter with her coffee, almost warned him — but decided to let him learn the hard way.
Crack. SPLAT.
Half the yolk made it into the bowl. The rest dribbled down the side, and Daisy looked up at him in horror.
“That’s perfect,” Robby said without missing a beat, sliding the shell into the trash. “Every great chef has their own style.”
Charlotte bit back a laugh, sipping her coffee to hide her smile.
“Now,” Robby continued, “you whisk while I handle the top-secret fluffy ingredient.”
“What is it?” Daisy whispered.
“If I tell you, it won’t be secret,” Robby said, tapping her nose with the end of the whisk. She giggled and went to work, batter sloshing dangerously close to the counter edge.
Charlotte reached over to steady the bowl before it could tip. “You’re making a mess.”
“We’re making art,” Robby countered, sliding her a sidelong grin that made her pulse skip.
Daisy pointed the whisk at her. “Mama, you can be the taste tester.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Charlotte said. “I get to clean the kitchen after you two destroy it, but I’m just the taste tester?”
“Exactly,” Robby said, his voice low enough that it felt like it brushed along her skin.
By the time the first pancake hit the pan, the kitchen smelled like butter and sugar, Daisy was covered in a dusting of flour, and Charlotte’s cheeks were warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the stove.
She watched him — big hands steady on the spatula, easy in her space, listening intently as Daisy narrated the entire process of cooking “the most important breakfast in the world.”
And for one stupid, dangerous second, she let herself imagine this wasn’t temporary.
Charlotte’s heels clicked against the tile as she came back through the apartment door, purse sliding off her shoulder. The quiet was almost jarring after the chatter and chaos of getting Daisy to preschool.
She froze when she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
Robby was still there.
Not just still there — leaning against her counter, sleeves pushed up, hair damp from a shower, scrolling on his phone like he’d always belonged in her space. A fresh cup of coffee steamed on the counter in front of him.
“For you,” he said, nodding toward it without looking up. “Two sugars, splash of cream.”
Charlotte blinked. “You’re… still here.”
“Observant,” he said dryly, then finally looked up at her. His gaze was steady, too steady, like he could see right through her.
She moved to the counter slowly, wrapping her hands around the mug for something to do. The warmth seeped into her palms, grounding and unsettling all at once.
“You don’t have to—”
“Stop,” he cut in gently. “Before you start listing all the reasons why I should leave, or why this was a mistake, or why you’re not ready.”
She swallowed, the coffee suddenly too hot in her throat.
“You’re freaking out,” he said simply, not accusing, just stating a fact.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he countered, his voice calm, almost amused. “And it’s fine. But I’m not going anywhere just because you’re scared. I’m not twenty-five anymore, Charlotte. I can wait for you to catch up.”
Her pulse tripped. “This isn’t—”
“It’s not complicated,” he said, pushing off the counter to close the space between them. He didn’t touch her, but she felt him anyway, that same quiet gravity he’d always carried. “We had breakfast. I took a shower. I made you coffee. That’s all this morning is. You don’t have to make it bigger in your head.”
Charlotte stared down at her cup, trying to focus on the steam instead of the weight of his words. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” he said, with a small, crooked smile. “You just have to let it be.”
Charlotte huffed out a breath. “Fine. I have the day off. But I need to catch up on charting, so—“
Charlotte rolled her eyes when Robby took the coffee mug from her hand and set it aside.
“I said I had work to do,” she reminded him — though her voice was already thinning at the edges, betraying her.
“Yeah,” he murmured, walking her backwards until the backs of her thighs bumped the dining table. “Me too.”
Before she could fire back, his mouth crashed into hers — not tentative, not testing, just hungry. She gasped into him, fingers gripping his shoulders as he hoisted her effortlessly onto the table.
“Robby—”
He cut her off with a kiss that went deeper, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt up as he moved between her knees. The wood was cool under her palms, the contrast sharp against the heat building everywhere else.
“You’re already thinking about charting again,” he teased, lips ghosting over her jaw. “Let’s see if I can fix that.”
And then his mouth was on her neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her head tip back, a breathless sound escaping before she could swallow it down.
“Louder,” he said against her skin, and it wasn’t a request.
The challenge sparked in her, and she let herself make the sound this time — a soft moan that had him groaning low in response. His hands were everywhere, greedy and sure, tugging at her shirt until it was gone, kissing his way down as if he couldn’t get enough.
When he finally slid into her, there was no reason to be quiet, no one upstairs to hear them — and Charlotte didn’t want to be quiet. The first thrust pulled a sharp gasp from her, her hands clutching his back. He gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table so he could drive into her deeper, harder, his own breathing ragged now.
“God, Charlotte—”
Her name from his mouth was rough, wrecked, and she pulled his head down to kiss him through the next sharp wave, both of them too far gone to pace themselves. Each sound she made — each gasp, moan, broken plea — seemed to spur him harder, until the rhythm was messy and perfect.
When she came, she didn’t hold back — head tipped back, mouth open, a cry breaking free as she clenched around him. His answer was a growl into her shoulder before he followed, pulling her tight against him like he didn’t want the moment to end.
They stayed tangled on the table, breathing like they’d run a race, her hair a wild halo, his forehead resting against hers.
“Charting can wait,” he said finally, a crooked smile in his voice.
She laughed softly against his cheek. “You’re impossible.”
Charlotte perched cross-legged on the bed with her laptop balanced on her knees, fingers already flying over the keyboard. Robby had stayed propped against the headboard beside her, hair mussed, bare chest still warm from their earlier tangle.
He watched her for all of thirty seconds before his hand slid from where it rested innocently on her thigh to a slow, deliberate stroke.
She didn’t even look at him. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he said, all false innocence.
“You are doing something,” she muttered, shifting the laptop higher. “This is important.”
He leaned in, his voice warm against her ear. “You can multitask.”
Her fingers paused over the keys when his mouth brushed the curve of her shoulder, kissing once, twice, then letting his teeth graze her skin.
“Robby—”
“Hmm?”
“I’m serious, I have to—” Her protest broke on a sharp inhale when his hand slid higher, thumb skimming bare skin under the hem of her shirt.
He chuckled softly. “Keep typing. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Impossible,” she breathed, trying — and failing — to refocus on the patient note in front of her. Her words started to jumble, her mind short-circuiting as his kisses grew slower, more thorough, trailing up the side of her neck.
The laptop slid a little on her knees. She caught it with one hand; his other hand caught hers, lacing their fingers together before tugging the device gently away and setting it safely on the nightstand.
“Robby—”
“Shh,” he said, turning her toward him. His mouth found hers, and whatever resolve she’d been clinging to unraveled in an instant.
She melted into the kiss, hands curling against his chest, and then he was pulling her fully into his lap, the blanket slipping down to pool at their hips. This time there was no reason to keep quiet — Daisy was at school, and the empty apartment seemed to hum with the heat between them.
His hands skimmed under her shirt, drawing a shiver up her spine. She pressed her forehead to his, breath coming faster. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, “but you like me this way.”
She did. God help her, she really did.
Charlotte finally slid off the bed with a sigh, heading toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Robby asked, still sprawled out, hair a mess, voice lazy.
“To take a shower. Alone,” she added pointedly, grabbing a towel.
He grinned without even opening his eyes. “Mmhmm. Sure.”
She rolled her eyes, but the sound of his bare feet hitting the floor followed her before she even made it to the bathroom.
“Robby—” she started, but he was already there, crowding into the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.
“You’ve got soap,” he said with a smirk, “and I’m filthy. It’s only practical.”
She gave him a flat look, but it didn’t last long — not when he was already stepping closer, plucking the towel from her hand and tossing it onto the counter. His mouth found hers before she could think of a snarky reply, warm and slow, hands sliding down her back to cup her ass through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt.
By the time they made it into the shower, steam was curling up around them, water pounding against tile. Charlotte braced her hands against the wall as Robby’s palms smoothed over her hips, his mouth finding the curve of her shoulder, then her neck.
“You’re supposed to be letting me get clean,” she murmured, though her breath was already hitching.
“Oh, I’ll get you clean,” he murmured against her skin, his hands gliding up over her ribs, then lower again, slippery with soap and heat.
She turned in his arms, water running down her hair and into his face, and kissed him — wet, hot, open-mouthed. He groaned, walking her back until her spine hit warm tile. The water cascaded over both of them, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs.
“Jump,” he said against her lips.
She did, legs wrapping around him, the heat of the water mingling with the heat between them. He pressed in close, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was already hard again.
The kiss deepened, almost messy now, water dripping from her chin onto his chest. One of his hands slid between them, fingers stroking her with slow, sure pressure until her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Robby—” Her voice was high and desperate now, echoing slightly off the tile.
He smiled against her mouth, picking up the pace, the slick slide of his fingers matched by the steady grind of his hips against hers.
When she came, she buried her face in his neck, biting back the sound — though here, with Daisy at preschool, they didn’t have to. He held her through it, murmuring her name like a prayer before setting her down gently on her feet again.
“Now you’re clean,” he said, brushing wet hair from her face.
“Uh-huh,” she breathed, leaning against the wall. “And you’re not.”
Her smirk was all the warning he got before she dropped to her knees right there in the shower, water streaming over her hair and down her shoulders.
“Charlotte…” His voice came out low, half warning, half plea.
She ignored it, hands sliding up his slick thighs until her fingers curled around him. The hiss he let out as she stroked him, slow and deliberate, sent a bolt of satisfaction through her.
The water beaded on her lashes as she leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the head before taking him into her mouth, slow and steady.
“Christ—” His hand braced against the tile, the other finding her hair, not guiding, just holding, like he didn’t trust his legs to keep him upright.
She set a languid pace at first, letting her tongue trace him, savoring the way his breathing shifted, the way his hips twitched forward despite himself. Then she quickened, deeper now, swallowing him down until his head tipped back under the spray.
“Charlotte…” He was losing his grip on control, his voice fraying.
She hummed around him, the vibration pulling a sharp groan from his chest. His fingers tightened just enough to make her look up at him — and the sight of her there, on her knees in the steam, water cascading over her skin, nearly undid him.
He tried to warn her, tried to give her the out, but she only took him deeper, hand pumping in rhythm with her mouth until his control snapped completely.
He came with a low, guttural sound, his hand in her hair, eyes squeezed shut. She swallowed, slow and unhurried, then pressed a kiss to his hip before standing, wiping water from her face.
“You,” he said hoarsely, “are going to kill me.”
She smiled sweetly, stepping into his space again. “Not today.”
Robby pressed one last kiss to Charlotte’s damp temple before stepping out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips. She was perched on the edge of the bed now, hair still wet from the shower, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as if she wasn’t watching his every move.
“I should probably…” he gestured vaguely toward the door, “go change. Maybe get some actual clothes on that aren’t wrinkled from yesterday.”
Charlotte’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Right. Yeah. That’s probably… good.”
He paused, halfway into his shirt, and studied her. “Can I come back?”
The question hung in the quiet. Not casual. Not flippant. A deliberate choice.
Her first instinct was to hedge, to keep space between them, to protect herself. She fiddled with the hem of her robe, stalling. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Robby crossed the room in three strides, crouched in front of her, and tipped his head until she met his eyes. “It doesn’t have to mean anything you’re not ready for. I just… I don’t really want this morning to be the last time I see you until the next consult call.”
Something in his tone — earnest, unpolished, almost boyish — pulled at her chest.
She exhaled, long and shaky. “Okay. You can come back.”
His grin was small but real, softening the lines around his mouth. “Good.”
He kissed her quickly, like he couldn’t help himself, then stood. “I’ll be back in an hour. Coffee order?”
She tried not to smile, but failed. “Surprise me.”
“Dangerous thing to say to a man like me,” he teased, tugging on his jacket.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Charlotte sat very still, staring at the space he’d just left, wondering when exactly she’d lost the ability to keep him at arm’s length.
The preschool doors swung open, and Daisy tore across the sidewalk, barreling into Charlotte’s legs with her usual post-nap ferocity.
“Mama!” she squealed, then spotted Robby standing a step back with his coffee in hand. Her face lit up like the sun.
“Daddy!”
The word slipped out so easily, so naturally, Charlotte’s breath caught. She froze mid-crouch, blinking at her daughter.
Robby’s entire body went still. For a second, he looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Daisy didn’t notice. She just shoved her crayon drawing into his chest, proud. “Look, Daddy, it’s us! It’s me and Mama and you!”
Robby crouched slowly, carefully, like moving too fast might shatter the moment. He took the paper with shaking hands. “You drew this?”
“Mhm,” Daisy hummed.
Charlotte’s throat tightened. She wanted to correct her, to pause, to say not yet—but the joy on Daisy’s face, the way Robby’s eyes shone like he’d just been handed his entire world in construction paper crayon—it undid her.
He swallowed hard, voice thick. “It’s perfect, kiddo.”
Charlotte bundled Daisy into her coat while Robby tucked the drawing carefully into his pocket like it was gold. He looked up at her once, and the weight of his gaze said everything. He hadn’t expected to hear it—not tonight, not ever—but now that he had, there was no going back.
“Pizza?” Charlotte asked once they were in the car, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Pizza!” Daisy chanted immediately.
Robby chuckled low in his chest. “I could be convinced.”
So they went. A little hole-in-the-wall place Daisy liked because the waiter always made smiley faces in pepperoni. They squeezed into a booth—Charlotte and Daisy on one side, Robby across from them.
Daisy stuck her straw in her soda and grinned so wide her cheeks hurt. “This is the best family dinner ever.”
Charlotte pressed her napkin to her mouth, pretending to wipe, when really she was hiding the wobble in her lips.
Robby, though—he didn’t hide a damn thing. He just looked across the table, meeting Charlotte’s eyes with a softness that felt like forever.
The apartment was dark except for the glow from the streetlamp outside the window. Daisy had collapsed into bed with a full belly and pepperoni-stained fingers, out before Charlotte even finished the bedtime story.
Charlotte padded back into the living room, pulling her sweater tighter around her. Robby was already there on the couch, long legs stretched out, jacket draped over the armrest. He looked up when she entered, and for a second it felt—dangerously—like home.
“Come here,” he murmured, holding out his arm.
She hesitated, then curled into the space beside him. His body was warm, solid, and the second his chin dipped to rest against the top of her head, she thought—this is what Daisy sees. This is why she called him that word.
Her chest squeezed.
Too much. Too fast.
She shifted in his arms, pulling back enough to look at him. “Robby… this is moving too quickly.”
His brow furrowed, but his voice stayed calm. “What do you mean?”
“Daisy calling you that.” She rubbed her temples. “You being here for dinner, for bedtime—this—” she gestured weakly between them, “—all of this. It’s only been weeks. I don’t want her to get attached and then…” She trailed off, throat tight. “And then lose you.”
Robby studied her, quiet, steady. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, catching her hands before she could tuck them away. His thumbs smoothed over her knuckles.
“Charlotte. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” His gaze held hers, firm but gentle. “I know what it felt like to walk away before, and I’d rather die than do it again. Not to you. Not to her.”
Her throat worked. She wanted to believe him so badly it scared her.
He softened, tugging her back into his chest until her cheek pressed over his heartbeat. “You’re spiraling. I can feel it. But it’s okay. We don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in.
“I’m here,” he whispered into her hair. “As slow as you need me to be. I can wait.”
The tension in her chest cracked—just a little. Enough for her to melt against him, to let herself be held. His arms stayed tight around her, not demanding, just steady, until her breathing evened.
Chapter 14
Notes:
There is a c-section in this chapter. Not really graphic, but it is medically accurate.
Chapter Text
The ED was buzzing the way it always did on a weekday evening—paramedics rolling stretchers in, overhead calls paging residents, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.
Charlotte walked briskly beside Dr. Singh, one of her colleagues from OB. She scanned the triage note on the tablet as they pushed through the doors.
22-year-old female. 34 weeks by LMP. Severe headache, vision changes, swelling. BP 178/112. Positive protein on UA.
“Classic preeclampsia,” Charlotte murmured.
They pulled back the curtain on Room 12. The patient, a young woman with puffy fingers and tearful eyes, was curled on the bed, her mother sitting next to the bed.
Charlotte pulled up a stool, her tone calm and steady. “Hi Mara, I’m Dr. Adamson. This is Dr. Singh. I hear you’ve been having some headaches?”
Mara nodded, wincing. “Bad ones. And… I see little flashes sometimes. Like sparkles.”
Charlotte glanced at the monitor—182/115, climbing.
“Okay,” she said softly. “That, along with your blood pressure and the swelling in your hands and feet, tells me we’re dealing with preeclampsia. Have you heard of that before?”
The woman shook her head, eyes wide.
Charlotte leaned closer. “It means your blood pressure is dangerously high during pregnancy. The safest treatment is delivery—but first, we need to stabilize you and your baby.”
The curtain rustled behind her. Robby stepped in, chart in hand, his presence immediately grounding the room. He gave Charlotte a quick nod, then crouched beside the bed opposite her.
“I’m Dr. Robinavitch,” he said to the patient. “I run the trauma side down here. I saw your labs pop up—your liver enzymes are elevated, and your platelets are a little low. That tells us this is serious, but you came in at the right time.”
The mother’s voice trembled from the corner. “Is the baby in danger?”
Charlotte’s gaze flicked briefly to Robby, and he held it before she answered.
“Right now, your baby’s heart rate looks strong. We’ll keep monitoring closely. Sometimes we deliver a little early to keep everyone safe, but we’re going to do everything step by step.”
Charlotte straightened, her voice brisk but kind as she turned to Dr. Singh. “Let’s get IV access, start magnesium sulfate—4 gram bolus, then 2 grams an hour. Labetalol, 20 milligrams IV push. Labs—CBC, CMP, uric acid, LDH, urine protein-to-creatinine ratio. And call upstairs—we’ll admit her to L&D.”
Dr. Singh nodded, already moving to coordinate the nurses.
Robby rose too, folding his arms, his dark eyes flicking between patient and doctor. “You want me to loop in anesthesia in case we’re headed to an urgent section?”
“Please,” Charlotte said, voice low but certain.
Their eyes held a fraction too long before she turned back to the patient, resting a hand on the young woman’s arm. “I know this is overwhelming. It's going to get busy, but try to stay calm. You’ve got a team behind you now—me, Dr. Singh, and Dr. Robinavitch. You’re in good hands.”
The woman exhaled shakily, some of the panic easing.
As magnesium began to drip and the monitor steadied, Charlotte stood shoulder to shoulder with Robby. Professional, clinical—yet she could feel the heat of him beside her, that unspoken current she couldn’t quite shake.
“She’s lucky you caught this,” Robby murmured, pitched only for her.
Charlotte’s lips twitched, but she didn’t look away from the monitor. “She’s lucky her mom dragged her in.”
Still, when she finally glanced sideways, his eyes were already on her.
Upstairs on L&D, things changed fast.
Charlotte had barely finished signing off orders when the fetal monitor blared—late decelerations, minimal variability. The strip dipped again, a slow crawl back up.
She froze, watching the paper spool. “Damn it.”
The patient whimpered, clutching her belly. “What’s happening?”
Charlotte was already at the bedside. “Your baby’s heart rate is dropping and not recovering well. That tells me your baby isn’t tolerating this anymore. The safest thing to do now is a cesarean section.”
The young woman’s face went pale, tears spilling over. “A c-section?”
Charlotte crouched low, steady but urgent. “Yes. It’s surgery, but it’s what will keep you and your baby safe. We’re going to do this quickly, and you’re not alone. We’ll be with you the entire time.”
“Time of decision?” Dr. Singh called from the desk, pen poised.
“10:44,” Charlotte said. “Decision-to-incision, let’s move.”
The room snapped into motion—nurses wheeling the bed, anesthesia paged overhead, a scrub tech rushing down the hall.
The door swung open, and Robby stepped in, coat shed, ID badge clipped back on. His gaze took in the strip, the patient’s face, Charlotte already gloving up.
“Section?”
“Emergent,” Charlotte confirmed. “Non-reassuring strip.”
He nodded once, decisive. Then his gaze flicked behind him, where Javadi and Whittaker hovered uncertainly in the doorway, scrub caps on, eyes wide.
“Dr. Adamson,” Robby said evenly, “do you mind if the med students come along? Observation only.”
Charlotte’s instinct was to snap no—it was too raw, too fast, too messy for an audience. T hese were students. Learning mattered.
She exhaled, clipped but firm. “Fine. You stay out of the sterile field, no questions until we’re closed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Javadi stammered, adjusting her mask. Whittaker just swallowed and nodded.
Robby clapped a hand lightly to each of their shoulders, grounding them. “You’ll never forget your first crash section. Watch, learn, and respect the space.”
The patient’s mother clung to her daughter’s hand as the team rushed toward the OR. “Please—please save them both.”
Charlotte squeezed her shoulder briefly. “That’s the plan.”
The gurney rattled through the double doors of the OR, the patient pale and trembling on the table. The anesthesiologist was already there, prepping for a rapid spinal.
Charlotte was already at the sink, methodical but quick. She felt the adrenaline sharpen her focus. This was what she trained for—the pivot, the urgency, the line between risk and safety.
Within minutes, she was gowned and gloved, stepping to the sterile field. Singh stood opposite her, ready. The drape went up, anesthesia called spinal block effective, and Charlotte nodded once.
"Mara, we're going to start now. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"
"Okay," her small voice said.
“Scalpel.”
The nurse placed it in her palm.
Her incision was swift but controlled, layers parted with practiced precision. Singh suctioned as she worked, Charlotte’s voice low and calm even as the heart rate on the fetal monitor dipped again.
“Baby’s not happy—let’s move,” she murmured.
The retractor spread the field, her hands steady even as her pulse pounded. She felt the tension in the room, the silence around the monitor, but she kept her tone even. “Uterus. Incising.”
And then—relief. The baby slid free into her hands, wet and squirming, a thin wail piercing the tension.
“It’s a boy,” Charlotte said, her voice softer now, almost reverent. She handed the infant off to the pediatric nurse, who immediately suctioned and wrapped her. APGARs were called out—7 at one minute, 9 at five.
Charlotte exhaled, shoulders loosening, and turned her attention back to closing. “Placenta delivered. Singh, why don’t you take the repair?”
His eyes widened. “Me?”
“You assisted well. Time you got your hands in. I’ll walk you through.”
He swallowed, nodded, and set to work under her steady direction.
The recovery bay was calm now, soft monitor beeps and the low hum of a warmer cradling the newborn. The mother lay propped up on pillows, pale but stable, eyes glued to the tiny pink bundle at her chest.
Charlotte finished jotting orders into the chart when the curtain drew back.
Robby stepped in with Whittaker and Javadi trailing behind, both looking equal parts exhausted and exhilarated.
“Thought we’d come up and check in,” Robby said, his voice quieter here. His eyes flicked to the mother and baby, then back to Charlotte. “Heard it went beautifully.”
Charlotte arched a brow, half-teasing, half-deflecting. “You get OR gossip that fast?”
“Please,” he said. “ER hears everything first.”
She gave a small smile despite herself, stepping aside so the med students could peek at the swaddled infant. Javadi looked like he might faint from happiness; Whittaker tried to look professional, but his grin betrayed him.
“APGARs were solid,” Charlotte said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the patient. “Placenta delivered intact, small uterine repair—Singh did good work. They’ll both be just fine.”
“Because you were there,” Robby said simply, watching her.
It wasn’t just praise—it was pointed. He meant it.
Charlotte felt the warmth of it, dangerous as it was, and covered it with a wry look. “Do you hit on all the attendings, Dr. Robinavitch, or am I just special?”
Robby’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Only the ones who terrify me.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a smile. Instead, she closed the chart with a snap and handed it off to the nurse.
“You’ll have to work on your lines,” she said, brushing past him on her way to check the IV.
“Or maybe I don’t,” he murmured under his breath, watching her move with that unshakable composure that had always undone him more than anything else.
Whittaker and Javadi exchanged a glance. They weren’t stupid.
Charlotte slipped out of the recovery bay, tugging off her gloves as she walked. The med students scattered toward the nurses station, buzzing with adrenaline, leaving her alone in the hallway.
She didn’t hear Robby until his hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist.
“Hey—” she started, half turning, but he was already steering her through the nearest door.
The exam room was dark, empty, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The door clicked shut behind them.
“Robby—”
He didn’t give her time to finish. He backed her gently against the counter, one hand still at her wrist, the other braced beside her hip. His mouth found hers with no preamble, a hot, urgent kiss that stole every ounce of air she had left.
Her fingers curled into the front of his scrubs before she even thought about it, pulling him closer. He kissed her like a man making up for lost years—hungry, insistent, but reverent too, like he couldn’t quite believe she was letting him.
“Robby—this is insane,” she whispered against his mouth, though her lips chased his even as she said it.
“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing her again, slower now but deeper. “Completely insane.”
Her head tipped back when his mouth grazed her jaw, her pulse hammering. She hated how easy it was to forget where they were, how quickly she melted into the heat of him.
He pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her—eyes dark, voice low.
“You can keep pretending you don’t feel this, Charlotte. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Her chest rose and fell hard, the truth of it knocking the wind out of her. She wanted to argue, to deflect—but his lips brushed hers again, gentle this time, and the protest died in her throat.
Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang. A reminder of where they were. Who they were.
She exhaled, shaky. “We can’t—”
“Then tell me to stop,” he whispered.
Charlotte didn’t tell him to stop.
She kissed him again, hard, heat rushing to her skin as his hand slid from her wrist to her waist. He pressed her back against the counter, his lips hot, insistent, and her fingers fisted in the front of his scrubs, dragging him closer.
It was reckless. It was absolutely reckless.
And she couldn’t make herself care.
“God, Charlotte…” Robby murmured into her mouth, his forehead dropping against hers like he was trying to catch his breath.
She swallowed hard, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “We shouldn’t…” but the rest dissolved when his thumb stroked a slow circle just under the hem of her coat.
The door handle rattled.
They froze.
“Dr. Robinavitch?” a voice called—Javadi’s, tentative. “Dr. Singh said we should—oh. Uh. Sorry!”
The door cracked open an inch, then slammed shut again. A muffled whisper followed, Whittaker’s this time: “Told you he was flirting with her.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flamed. She shoved at Robby’s chest, not hard but enough to make space, her breath still ragged.
“Great,” she hissed. “Now the med students think I’m your—”
“—favorite attending?” Robby finished, smirking despite the situation, still a little breathless.
She shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, but her lips betrayed her with the faintest curve.
He leaned down once more, stealing a quick, unapologetic kiss. “Worth it.”
She shoved at him again, but this time her laugh slipped out before she could stop it.
“Get out of here, Ravioli, before they write you up for fraternizing.”
His grin turned wolfish as he opened the door and slipped out, leaving her flushed, flustered, and fighting the smile tugging at her mouth.
Charlotte straightened her coat, yanked her stethoscope into place, and schooled her face into what she hoped was stern professionalism before stepping out of the exam room.
Javadi and Whittaker were loitering a few feet down the hall, pretending very badly to study their clipboards. Javadi’s ears were bright red; Whittaker was biting his lip like he was trying not to grin.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Everything okay out here?”
“Yes, Dr. Adamson,” Whittaker said, voice pitched just a shade too high.
“Totally fine,” Javadi added, shuffling her notes.
Charlotte’s face burned. She opened her mouth—
But Robby strolled out right behind her, adjusting his cuffs like he hadn’t just had his tongue down her throat two minutes ago.
“Kids,” he said, clapping a hand on Whittaker’s shoulder, “do yourselves a favor…” He leaned in, dropping his voice just enough. “Get lost.”
Javadi blinked. “Sir?”
“Take a lap, grab a snack, get some water—whatever you’ve gotta do. Just not here.”
Whittaker coughed into his fist, grinning. “Yes, Dr. Ravioli.”
Charlotte smacked a hand over her face. “Oh my god.”
Robby glanced back at her, utterly unbothered, smirk tugging at his mouth. “What? They’re not wrong.”
Javadi and Whittaker exchanged a look and scuttled off, whispering furiously.
She groaned. “Congratulations. Now the whole med student grapevine is going to have us married by lunch.”
Robby only chuckled, leaning close enough for her to feel his breath against her ear as he murmured, “Could be worse rumors.”
Charlotte shoved him lightly in the chest, trying not to laugh.
Chapter 15
Notes:
Short but sweet!
Chapter Text
A few weeks later
The cemetery was quiet that morning, the kind of stillness that pressed against Robby’s ribs and made him acutely aware of his own heartbeat. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he made his way along the gravel path, his shoes crunching against spring frost on the grass.
He found the headstone without even trying. He always did. The name—Montgomery Adamson—was carved in neat, steady letters, still sharp even after a few years.
Robby stood there for a long time without speaking, his breath clouding in the chilly air. His throat tightened just looking at it. Adamson hadn’t just been his mentor. He’d been… more. The kind of man who had quietly held Robby together when he’d been fraying at every seam. The kind of man who had believed in him before he ever believed in himself.
And now Robby was here, feeling like a nervous med student all over again, asking for something he couldn’t quite say aloud.
He cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous. “Hey, Doc.” His voice came out rough. “It’s been a while. I… uh. I don’t really know how to do this.”
The wind stirred the bare branches overhead. He shoved a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before stopping again.
“Charlotte,” he said, and just saying her name steadied him. “She’s… you’d be proud of her. You already were, I know. You told me a hundred times she’d end up better than both of us. You weren’t wrong.”
He swallowed hard, jaw tight.
“And Daisy—” He stopped, pressing his lips together. A laugh slipped out, hoarse and broken. “Christ, she’s almost five and already has more attitude than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s… perfect. She’s yours too, you know. Every time she says ‘Pop Pop’ I can hear you laughing.”
The ache in his chest spread sharp and hot, and he dug his palms against his eyes, willing himself not to come apart.
Finally, he crouched in front of the headstone, resting a hand on the cold stone as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I need to ask you something,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It feels insane, saying this to a rock in the ground, but… I need your blessing. For her. For them.”
He sucked in a breath, shaky.
“I want to marry her, Doc. I love her. I love Daisy. I don’t know if I deserve either of them, but I want to spend the rest of my life trying. And I figured… if anyone needed to hear that first, it was you.”
The silence stretched, heavy but not empty. Robby let his forehead drop against his arm, resting it on the stone. He stayed there until the chill in his bones finally forced him to stand.
As he turned to leave, a cardinal sang from a branch overhead—clear, startling in the chill. Robby stopped, looking at the bright red bird and then back at the headstone with a faint, watery smile.
“Thanks, Doc,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of them. Promise.”
Chapter 16
Notes:
And this one is wrapped up! I have had the majority of it written for awhile, it was just smoothing and refining. Debating on an epilogue... let me know what you think about that.
Chapter Text
Robby was stretched across the couch, one arm draped lazily around Charlotte’s shoulders, the other resting on Daisy’s pink dinosaur plush she’d left behind. The TV murmured in the background, some cooking show neither of them were paying attention to.
Charlotte’s legs were curled under her, laptop balanced precariously as she tried to chip away at charting. Robby had been watching her more than the screen — the way her brow furrowed, the way she sighed and muttered under her breath at herself.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”
She hummed distractedly. “Mhm?”
He shifted so she had to look at him. “What would you think about me… moving in?”
Her hands froze on the keys. Slowly, her head turned. “What?”
“I mean, I’m here all the time anyway.” He offered a half-smile, trying for lightness. “I’ve got a toothbrush in your bathroom, a drawer in your dresser, Daisy keeps calling dibs on me at breakfast like I’m part of the package deal…” His voice softened. “Feels like I’m already here.”
Charlotte blinked, mouth parting, but no words came out.
Robby leaned forward, elbows on his knees, not pressing—just putting it out there. “It wouldn’t have to be tomorrow. Or next week. Just… eventually. I want to be here. With you. With her.”
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. She shut the laptop a little too quickly, setting it aside because she needed both hands to steady herself. “Robby…”
“I know, I know.” He lifted a hand, palm up in surrender. “Too fast. I can see it on your face. I just—wanted to say it out loud. Because I mean it.”
She exhaled slowly, staring at her hands in her lap. “It’s not that I don’t want you here,” she whispered. “It’s just… this is Daisy’s home. It’s her safe place. And if we do that—if you move in—it can’t be something we undo. She’d never forgive me for giving her something like that and then taking it away.”
Robby’s chest tightened. He reached over, covering her hands with his. “I get it. I swear, Charlotte, I get it. And I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to hurt either of you. I just… love being here. With you. With her.”
Her throat worked, eyes bright as she finally met his. “Let me think about it. Please.”
He nodded, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “Take all the time you need.”
Still, later, when she crawled into bed and found the corner of his T-shirt in her laundry basket, her chest tightened all over again. Because the truth was—he already felt like he lived there. And that scared her more than anything.
Charlotte paced the kitchen, arms folded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Robby leaned against the counter, trying not to look like he was holding his breath.
Finally, she stopped, faced him head-on. “Okay.”
His brows lifted. “Okay…?”
“Okay, you can move in,” she said, the words tumbling out before she lost her nerve. “I’ve been making excuses because I was scared, but—” she exhaled, shaking her head— “the truth is, you’re already here. You’re already part of our routine. And Daisy…”
As if on cue, Daisy came padding in, dragging her blanket behind her. “Daisy what?”
Charlotte crouched down, smoothing her daughter’s hair back. “Sweetheart, we wanted to talk to you about something important.” She glanced up at Robby, who swallowed hard, then crouched too, so they were eye level.
Charlotte said softly, “We were thinking… Maybe Daddy could live here with us. All the time.”
Daisy blinked, then gave them both the most unimpressed look. “Well, yeah.”
Charlotte’s mouth opened. “Well, yeah?”
“He already does,” Daisy said matter-of-factly, shrugging. “His socks are in the dryer. He makes pancakes. He’s loud when he brushes his teeth.” She wrinkled her nose. “So… duh.”
Robby let out a laugh, rough and relieved, scrubbing a hand over his face. Charlotte pressed her lips together, fighting a smile that broke through anyway.
“See?” Robby murmured, brushing a kiss to Daisy’s hair. “Smart kid.”
Daisy beamed at him, then at her mom. “So can we have pizza tonight to celebrate?”
Charlotte laughed, pulling her daughter into her arms. “Yes, Bug. We can have pizza.”
Robby’s hand slid into Charlotte’s as Daisy chattered about toppings, her palm warm against his. For the first time, it didn’t feel like something fragile they could break by breathing wrong. It felt real. Solid.
The apartment had finally gone quiet. Daisy was asleep upstairs, a stuffed dino clutched to her chest. The pizza box sat abandoned on the counter, empty juice cups tipped on their sides.
Charlotte was rinsing plates at the sink when she felt him come up behind her. His arms slipped around her waist, chin brushing her shoulder.
“Kitchen’s closed,” she murmured.
“Good,” Robby whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I wasn’t hungry anyway.”
Her breath caught when he kissed her again, slower this time. She turned in his arms, and then his mouth was on hers — warm, insistent, tasting faintly of wine. The kiss deepened quickly, years of waiting and weeks of holding back collapsing into something neither of them wanted to stop.
He carried her to the bedroom, careful not to bump the doorframe, and set her down on the edge of the bed. The lamplight spilled across her hair as she looked up at him, and he thought — not for the first time — that she was the most devastating thing he’d ever seen.
Clothes slipped away in pieces. His mouth traced the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breast, lower still until she gasped his name. Her hands threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, and he smiled against her skin before worshiping her properly, taking his time until she shook beneath him, muffling her cries into the pillow.
When he finally slid into her, it was slow, deep, deliberate — as though he wanted to carve the memory into both of them. Her legs tightened around his waist, drawing him closer, her breath ragged in his ear.
They moved together, urgent but unhurried, savoring every shiver, every whispered plea. When she shattered, he followed, holding her so tight their heartbeats seemed to pound in sync.
For a long moment, they just lay tangled in the sheets, catching their breath. Her head rested against his chest, his hand stroking lazy circles at the small of her back.
“Charlotte,” he said finally, his voice quieter than the hum of the heater.
She tilted her head up, sleepy-eyed, lips still swollen from his kisses. “Hm?”
He hesitated — then reached for the nightstand. From the drawer, under a sock, he pulled a small velvet box. Not new. Not flashy. Something he’d bought weeks ago, carried with him every day, waiting for the right moment.
Her eyes widened as he opened it. Simple. Timeless. A ring that looked like her.
“Marry me,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Not because of Daisy. Not because we’re already halfway there. Because I love you. Because I don’t ever want to walk back out that door without knowing I get to come home to you.”
Charlotte froze, her breath catching.
Her breath caught. For a moment, she just stared at him — wide-eyed, her lips parted, her heartbeat wild under his hand.
And then she whispered, almost to herself:
“I’m sorry.”
Robby blinked, frozen, the ring still poised between them.
“Please forgive me,” she continued, tears brimming now. Her voice cracked, but the words spilled out like they’d been waiting years. “For keeping her from you. For not letting you in sooner. For being so afraid.”
He opened his mouth, but she took his face in her hands and moved her thumbs over his lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me come back. For loving her. For loving me, even when I wasn’t sure how to let you.”
Her hand dropped, and she leaned in close, her forehead against his, tears slipping warm onto his cheek.
“I love you,” she said.
Robby’s chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He pulled her into him, ring box crushed between them, kissing her with a desperation that was part joy, part relief, part years of waiting.
When he finally pulled back, breathless, he murmured against her lips:
“Is that a yes?”
Her laugh came wet and shaky. “Of course it’s a yes.”
She laughed again, softer this time, her thumb brushing his jaw as if to reassure herself he was real. “We’re really doing this.”
“We are,” he said, his forehead resting against hers. “And I’m never letting you go.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she held her hand up between them, trembling, gleaming in the low light. Daisy stirred faintly in the next room, a soft reminder of everything they’d built without knowing it.
spomjam on Chapter 2 Sun 10 Aug 2025 09:47PM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Aug 2025 01:17PM UTC
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mimssio on Chapter 5 Tue 12 Aug 2025 04:20PM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 5 Tue 12 Aug 2025 05:12PM UTC
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GGGG23 on Chapter 6 Tue 12 Aug 2025 06:01PM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 6 Tue 12 Aug 2025 07:18PM UTC
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lilyvessel on Chapter 6 Wed 13 Aug 2025 01:13AM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 6 Wed 13 Aug 2025 02:35PM UTC
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GGGG23 on Chapter 7 Wed 13 Aug 2025 02:37PM UTC
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mimssio on Chapter 7 Thu 14 Aug 2025 12:18AM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 7 Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:29PM UTC
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Boysenberryunicorn on Chapter 7 Tue 26 Aug 2025 07:25AM UTC
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mimssio on Chapter 9 Thu 14 Aug 2025 06:45PM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 9 Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:31PM UTC
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ShakedownStreet on Chapter 9 Thu 14 Aug 2025 10:58PM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 9 Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:30PM UTC
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orleyactor14 on Chapter 9 Fri 15 Aug 2025 12:58AM UTC
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orleyactor14 on Chapter 15 Wed 20 Aug 2025 05:02AM UTC
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greenkiwibird on Chapter 15 Wed 20 Aug 2025 11:52AM UTC
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Scribbled_with_love13 on Chapter 16 Sat 20 Sep 2025 02:46PM UTC
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