Abigail trudged from the car park to the house. The car park was quite far away. But now that was actually a good thing. At home, Abigail had to explain herself to her mother. She tried to plan the conversation, but discarded every idea at once. Plans never worked with her mother — her reactions were unpredictable. So, more than any plan, she needed strength and determination.

  But she had none left.

  Drained from the meeting with the Warrens and disappointed by unanswered questions, she walked very slowly. Charlie's cane was still in her hands, and Abigail glanced at it with a sense of shame. She felt awkward about having smashed Charlie's favourite porcelain with Charlie's favourite cane. Would she ever learn to control herself?

  But then she remembered Susan's contorted face, and her shame melted away.

  The phone rang. Abigail looked at the screen. The number was unfamiliar — a landline, judging by the code — downtown. Abigail's heart skipped a beat. Maybe Sarah had called the police after all, and they were already looking for her?

  But it turned out to be a call from the Department of Health. The clerk's muffled voice informed her that her documents were ready and she could pick them up from the Department during working hours.

  Dr. Colbert had warned her that the bureaucracy could take a long time. But Abigail seemed to have been lucky.

  Abigail stood there for a few seconds, looking back and forth. She had already reached the house. She was tired, hungry, and a little cold by the time she got there. But she didn't want to go inside. She knew perfectly well that no rest awaited her there.

  She glanced once more at the entrance, then turned and walked back to the parking. Her step immediately became firm and confident, like someone who knows exactly what needs to be done.

  She wanted to get her licence. First of all, she had to find a new job — the bills won't pay themselves. Second, holding the document proving she was now a real doctor might soften her mother's heart. Perhaps. Finally, by the time she got home, it would be late enough to postpone the conversation with her mother until tomorrow.

  Abigail was aware that she couldn't hide her true life forever. And she was tired of lying, and of fearing that her mother would discover the truth herself. There had been many close calls, and it was a real miracle that she had managed to keep her secret for so long. Luckily, although her mother kept her on a tight leash, she showed little real interest in Abigail's life. In fact, her mother had little interest in her own life either.

  Abigail still did everything she could to keep the truth hidden. She monitored every possible leak. She closed her social media accounts, avoided group photos, and any large events where she might accidentally end up in the frame. She even put a lock on the mailbox and made sure that only she had the key. Although it might have seemed completely unnecessary, her mother never checked the postbox. Usually, there was nothing there but advertisements and bills. s annoyed her mother. Bills too.

  The lock, however, soon broke again. The mailboxes in the building were constantly being tampered with, and the stairwell was always littered with colorful paper trash. Abigail repaired the lock two or three times before giving up. Even if a letter from the university arrived, it would end up in that paper grave alongside flyers, envelopes, brochures, and free newspapers scattered across the entrance hall.

  The key to the mailbox still hung on her keychain, a small symbol of privacy in a world that had none. Not only the mailboxes, but even the doors to the flats in their building were rarely locked. Life flowed freely from the flats to the stairwell, into the entrance hall, and even to the dim lift cabin. Children played here, dates were arranged, and fathers could meet over a bottle of beer and, sitting on the steps, pass the time cursing the government and the landlord for raising prices.

  There was no other public space here. No yard. No playground. What should have been a tiny parking lot was filled with trash bins. The buildings were surrounded by garages, abandoned warehouses, piles of debris, and partially vacated but never demolished single-storey houses.

  Abigail used to leave her car in the parking lot by the subway station. A fifteen-minute walk was fine — no one in her building had a car, and neighbours might wonder how a modest nurse could afford one.

  In fact, the car wasn’t hers; it belonged to Charlie. But if her mother ever discovered it, the scandal would be unimaginable. To accept anything from Charlie was strictly forbidden.

  By the time Abigail reached the car, she was slightly out of breath. As her hand reached for the seatbelt, she paused for a moment and closed her eyes. Shame washed over her again — not for the broken porcelain this time. Abigail hadn't expected herself to be so cowardly. Given a chance to avoid an unpleasant conversation, she had rushed away. Almost running.

  Abigail fastened her seatbelt, forcing herself to finish what she had started. But instead of starting the engine, she sank into thought. It was easier for her to decide on the confined space of the car than while standing in the piercing wind, carrying moisture and heavy smells from the river.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  She glanced at the passenger seat where she had put Charlie's cane. But her gaze immediately went to the dark stains on the upholstery — the blood of the man she had picked up on the road and then operated on with Dr. Colbert. She hadn't found time to clean the car. As well as she would never know how her patient was recovering. Both of her patients, whom she had operated on the same day, the day Charlie died.

  “One day you’ll be an excellent doctor,” Dr. Colbert had told her that day.

  Abigail sniffed the air unconsciously. The moment she believed she could still smell the blood of that man, Abigail cast aside her hesitation. She unbelted, got out of the car, and headed for the subway entrance. The Department of Health was located in the city centre. Abigail didn't want to waste time in traffic.

  ***

  When Abigail emerged from the subway, darkness had already fallen. It felt as if she had traveled not only through space, but through time itself.

  The streetlights were already on. In the drizzle-thickened air, the lanterns looked like fluffy balls of pure light, suspended beneath the dark blue vault of the sky. A slight wind blew between the tall downtown walls. The front part of the city had never had such bad weather—or even a bad season.

  Life was always in full swing here. And it wasn’t the chaotic bustle of the streets—every particle moved along a predetermined trajectory toward its predetermined destination. Abigail adjusted her scarf, tightened her coat belt, and merged into the stream flowing toward the government quarter.

  When she arrived at the Department of Health, the working day was already drawing to an end. However, the corridors of the Department were still bustling with activity. Abigail approached the reception desk, gave her name, and was directed to a long corridor, at the end of which was the Licensing and Certification Division she needed. Following the signs, Abigail reached the right door.

  She entered the office and found herself in a fairly spacious hall, divided by transparent partitions. Several pairs of eyes glanced indifferently at her and immediately returned to their monitors and papers. Abigail stopped at the threshold—she always felt terribly awkward in public places.

  She mumbled a greeting, to which no one responded. Then she cleared her throat and prepared to explain her case, addressing no one in particular—just the inert bureaucratic space. But before she could open her mouth, a young woman jumped up and rushed towards her. Abigail recoiled in surprise. But the woman hung on her neck.

  “Congratulations!” she shouted right into Abigail's ear. “I always knew you'd be the first of us to do it!”

  Abigail stepped back and looked the clerk in the face.

  “Tally?” she said, confused. “What are you doing here?”

  Tally had studied with them at university until her fourth year. After that, she was forced to leave her studies—her mother had suffered a stroke, and Tally could no longer afford to pay for her education.

  Abigail, who was friends with Tally, was immersed in her own studies at the time. She was preparing for the exams required to enter residency. But more importantly, she was absorbed in her personal life. Her romance with Chuck was on the rise, and she was completely consumed by it.

  Now, looking at Tally, she felt a pang of shame—she had completely lost touch with her after Tally was forced to drop out of school. It must have been a difficult time in her life.

  “How's your mum?” she asked.

  Tally looked at her, slightly surprised.

  “My mum? Oh, you don't know… She died. About a year ago.”

  Abigail's heart sank.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Tally shook her head.

  “You shouldn’t. She was completely paralysed after her stroke. So it's even better that it happened quickly.”

  Abigail had met Mrs. Chawrelly several times. She was a petite, active woman, and Abigail couldn't imagine her confined to bed. Perhaps Tally was right—death does sometimes come at the right time.

  “I’m so sorry,” Abigail repeated automatically. But she caught herself thinking more about Charlie than Mrs. Chawrelly. She looked closely at Tally's calm face. She no longer seemed to feel the pain that had lodged itself under Abigail's ribs the moment she learned of Charlie's death. Does it really go away?

  Meanwhile, Tally returned to her desk, picked up a transparent folder with documents, and handed it to Abigail.

  “Congratulations, Dr. Martinez,” she said solemnly.

  Abigail took the folder from her hands and stared at the certificate. The folder was quite thick—in addition to the licence, there were other papers inside. But Abigail couldn't take her eyes off her name on the document.

  “So quickly,” she said, bewildered. “My supervisor said that the bureaucracy could drag on for months.”

  Tally snorted.

  “What do you think friends are for, Dr. Martinez?”

  Abigail stared at her, frowning playfully.

  “What are you implying, Miss Chawrelly?” she said. “Was it you who pulled some strings?”

  Tally made a mysterious face. Then she laughed.

  “It wasn't really up to me,” she admitted. “I just tried to make sure your documents ended up on the right desks at the right time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What for? I was so happy to know that you did it. And—surgeon! It’s so great.”

  Abigail looked down. For some reason, she felt awkward at the thought that Tally herself had never managed to become a doctor.

  “I was not surprised, of course,” Tally noted. “You always were the best.”

  There was not a trace of jealousy in Tally's voice or on her beaming face. She, too, had probably wanted to become a doctor. Instead, she became a clerk in the health department. But that did not prevent her from being happy for Abigail.

  She stuffed the documents into her bag and said decisively, “I owe you the celebration. Are you finishing work soon?”

  “Are you inviting me?” Tally asked with a hint of surprise.

  Abigail nodded.

  “But what about…” Tally began, then stopped short. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I thought you'd want to celebrate with Chuck,” Tally said after some hesitation. “I forgot that you two… aren't together anymore.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Sylvia's Instagram,” Tally grimaced. "Two bloody candy lovebirds in every post."

  Abigail smiled wryly, imagining a photo of Sylvia and Chuck. She hadn't seen them—she avoided social media so as not to run into any of her mother's acquaintances who might tell her mother or ask what her daughter’s real life was like.

  So Tally might know even more than she did.

  “So, what about some humble party with an old friend?” she asked.

  “I finish after half an hour,” Tally replied. “There is a very decent pizza place nearby...”