The restaurant glowed with warm light against Seattle's perpetual gray sky. The same place where Grey had taken me on our first anniversary, where he'd promised we'd build a life together. Now it was filled with my colleagues—people who'd known me for less than two years but somehow understood me better than the man I'd given five years of my life to.
"Speech! Speech!" Dr. Martinez called, raising his glass.
I shook my head, suddenly shy. "No, I couldn't possibly—"
"Come on, Olive," Sarah urged, nudging me forward. "You're leaving us. We need to hear something profound."
Laughter rippled through the private dining room we'd reserved. Twenty faces looked back at me—nurses, doctors, administrators who'd become family during my time at Seattle General.
"When I came here," I began, my voice wobbling slightly, "I thought I was supporting someone else's dream. But you all showed me that I could have my own." I swallowed hard. "The way you've rallied around me these past weeks... I don't know how to thank you."
Sarah stepped forward, holding an envelope. "Actually, we do."
"What's this?" I asked as she pressed it into my hands.
"Open it," she urged, her eyes bright with emotion.
Inside was a check—a collective donation from everyone in the room. My vision blurred as I read the amount: $50,000.
"For your mother's care," Sarah explained. "We know insurance won't cover everything."
The room swam before me. These people had watched me fall apart for weeks—skipping meals, dozing in on-call rooms, crying in supply closets when the stress became too much. And instead of judgment, they'd offered this.
"You didn't have to do this," I whispered, tears streaming freely now.
"Of course we did," Nurse Patel said firmly. "That's what family does."
Family. The word hit me like a physical blow. While Grey had been nowhere to be found, these people—who had no obligation to me beyond professional courtesy—had shown up in every way that mattered.
"Where's Grey tonight?" someone asked quietly.
The question hung in the air. I wiped my eyes, forcing a smile. "He had prior commitments."
More likely, he was with Annika again. The thought burned like acid.
* * *
The Uber dropped me off at my apartment just after ten. The party had gone longer than expected—stories shared, promises made to visit me in Millbrook, contact information exchanged. Their kindness had left me exhausted but warm, a feeling I hadn't experienced in months.
I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the sofa, reaching for my phone. No messages from Grey. No explanation for his absence.
On impulse, I opened Instagram. Annika's profile was at the top of my feed—she'd posted stories throughout the evening.
My finger hovered over her avatar. I shouldn't look. Whatever I found would only hurt me more.
But I tapped it anyway.
The first story showed a delivery truck outside a sleek apartment building. "New beginnings!" the caption read.
I swiped to the next. Grey and Annika struggling with a massive box labeled "Bed Frame."
"Assembly required," she'd written. "Thank goodness for handy friends!"
The next showed them in her new bedroom—Grey tightening a bolt on her bed frame, his face concentrated in that way I knew so well. The way he looked when he cared about something.
"When your 'little brother' knows how to build anything," Annika had written, followed by a heart emoji.
My stomach twisted. The timestamp showed it was posted just thirty minutes ago.
I kept swiping. Another story: Grey and Annika sitting cross-legged on her new bed, surrounded by takeout containers.
"Late night fuel," the caption read. "Couldn't have done this without you, Grey."
The final story was a selfie of the two of them, Annika's head resting on Grey's shoulder. His arm was wrapped around her, protective and intimate.
"Best friends make the best memories," she'd written.
I threw my phone across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack.
Best friends. Little brother. The lies we tell ourselves when what we really want is something else entirely.
I slid to the floor, arms wrapped around my knees. The check from my colleagues lay on the coffee table—a tangible expression of care and support that Grey had never once offered.
Not when my mother was dying. Not when I needed him most.
And suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty that I was making the right decision to leave.
My phone buzzed from where it had fallen. Probably Annika posting another story about her evening with Grey.
I didn't need to see it. I already knew exactly what it would show.
