Chapter 6
Liam’s cries woke Maya like a siren in the night.
She barely remembered moving, barely registered the way her body shot up and out of bed before her mind could catch up.
All she knew was fear.
It sank deep into her chest as she sprinted toward Liam’s room, heart hammering, breath already ragged.
Something was wrong.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she burst into the nursery, her stomach dropping at the sight of him.
Liam was curled up in his crib, his tiny hands gripping his blanket, his face flushed and sweaty, his body trembling.
Maya froze.
Her whole body locked up, her hands clenched at her sides, her mind blank with panic.
This was different.
This was bad.
She should have checked on him sooner.
She should have—
“Maya.”
Carina’s voice cut through the spiral, pulling her back into the room, back into the present.
Maya turned her head slightly, barely aware of Carina moving beside her.
Then—Carina was there, calm, steady, taking control.
Maya barely breathed as she watched Carina scoop Liam into her arms, pressing a soft kiss to his damp curls, rocking him slightly.
Carina pressed a gentle hand against his forehead, then his back, checking his temperature.
Maya’s chest tightened.
She should have thought to do that.
She should have—
“He’s okay,” Carina murmured, her voice soothing, knowing.
Maya shook her head, her hands still shaking.
“He’s—he’s burning up.”
Carina nodded, adjusting Liam against her shoulder.
“Yes, but it’s just a fever.”
Maya’s jaw clenched.
Just a fever.
That didn’t feel right.
That didn’t match the sheer terror gripping her throat.
Carina’s hand found hers, squeezing gently.
“Maya, breathe.”
Maya sucked in a shaky breath.
Then another.
She watched as Carina continued examining Liam, so sure of herself, so calm.
Her fingers moved with ease, her voice quiet and steady as she murmured soft reassurances to Liam.
And somehow, that calmness settled inside Maya too.
Her breath evened out, just slightly.
She exhaled slowly, finally—finally—feeling herself come down from the panic.
Carina glanced at her, eyes gentle but firm.
“See? He’s okay,” she said softly.
Maya nodded, swallowing hard.
Carina smiled, shifting Liam slightly.
“He just needs us to be with him tonight.”
Maya hesitated.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Yeah,” she murmured.
They were doing this together.
They settled onto the couch in the nursery, Carina sitting back with Liam resting against her chest, his tiny fingers curled into her shirt.
Maya hovered beside them, still tense but less frantic.
Carina tilted her head slightly, watching Maya with a knowing look.
“You’re still panicking,” she said, not a question, just a fact.
Maya sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.
“I don’t know how to turn it off.”
Carina smiled softly.
“You don’t have to turn it off. You just have to let it… settle.”
Maya let out a weak chuckle.
“That’s not really my thing.”
Carina grinned.
“No, it is not.”
Maya sighed, watching Liam’s tiny chest rise and fall, his body still warm but calmer now.
“I hate feeling useless,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Carina’s eyes softened.
“You are not useless, amore.”
Maya looked at her, eyes uncertain, searching.
“I froze, Carina. You didn’t. You knew exactly what to do, and I—” she swallowed hard, shaking her head. “I just stood there.”
Carina pressed her lips together, then reached out, tugging Maya down to sit beside her.
“You reacted,” she corrected. “You ran to him the second you heard him cry. You held him first. You did exactly what a mother is supposed to do.”
Maya let out a breath, leaning into Carina’s warmth.
Carina smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Liam’s head.
“Parenting is mostly just… winging it,” she murmured. “No one has all the answers.”
Maya chuckled softly.
“You seemed to have them tonight.”
Carina smirked.
“Ah, yes. Years of medical training and delivering babies finally paid off.”
Maya huffed a laugh, shaking her head.
Carina tilted her head.
“Though, I do have a confession.”
Maya raised an eyebrow.
Carina smirked.
“I may be excellent with babies, but…” she sighed dramatically, “I am still very bad at assembling cribs.”
Maya laughed, full and real this time.
Carina grinned proudly.
“There she is.”
Maya shook her head, reaching over to rub a gentle hand down Liam’s back.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Carina smiled, squeezing Maya’s hand.
“Always.”
They sat in companionable silence, the weight of the night still lingering but not as heavy anymore.
Liam let out a small sigh, shifting slightly in Carina’s arms.
Maya exhaled, watching them, something soft and overwhelming settling in her chest.
She pressed a kiss to Liam’s temple, then one to Carina’s shoulder.
“We’re okay,” she murmured, like she needed to say it out loud.
Carina smiled, squeezing her hand again.
“Yes, my love."
And for the first time that night, Maya believed it.
Maya watched over Liam, her heart overflowing with love and fear.
The nursery was quiet now, the chaos of the night replaced with the soft rhythm of Liam’s breathing.
His fever had gone down—not completely, but enough for now.
Maya let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing lightly over his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his small chest.
She had been terrified tonight.
Paralyzed by the idea of losing him, by the thought that she wouldn’t be able to help him, that she would fail him.
It had shaken her more than any fire ever had.
But now, as she knelt beside his crib, watching his tiny features relax in sleep, she felt something else creeping in.
Something deeper, stronger.
She leaned in, brushing her lips softly against his forehead, whispering against his warm skin.
“You scared me, little man,” she murmured. “You really scared me.”
She swallowed hard, watching him, waiting for any small reaction.
He stayed still, except for the softest sigh, his tiny fingers twitching in sleep.
Maya smiled, running a gentle hand over his curls.
“You’re so small, but you have no idea how much space you take up in my heart,” she whispered. “How much I love you.”
Her voice wavered slightly, thick with emotion.
She exhaled, pressing another kiss to his temple before pulling back, just enough to look at him.
“I’m new at this, buddy. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I don’t always feel like I’m getting it right,” she admitted.
She swallowed, shaking her head.
She traced one gentle finger over his tiny hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers.
She took a slow breath, then reached for his blanket, tucking it around him one last time before standing.
Her body was aching with exhaustion now, her limbs heavy, her emotions raw.
And then her gaze landed on Carina.
Still curled up on the tiny couch, barely fitting, her arm tucked under her head, her breathing slow and steady.
Maya’s chest tightened.
She had held them together tonight.
She had been the calm when Maya felt like she was unraveling.
And God, she loved her.
She moved toward the couch, kneeling beside her, just watching her for a long moment.
Her wife.
Her home.
Maya reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from Carina’s face.
“Carina,” she whispered.
Carina stirred slightly, her nose scrunching in sleep, her lips parting in a quiet sigh.
Maya smiled softly.
“Come to bed, baby,” she murmured.
Carina hummed, her eyes barely opening, still lost in sleep.
“Mmm, but you are here,” she mumbled, voice thick and drowsy.
Maya let out a soft chuckle.
Carina peeked up at her, a slow, sleepy smile pulling at her lips.
“Lie down with me,” she whispered.
Maya hesitated, glancing at the couch.
“Babe, we won’t fit—”
“Shhh,” Carina murmured, tugging at Maya’s wrist.
Maya huffed a small laugh but let herself be pulled down.
She shifted carefully, pressing close against Carina, her head tucking under her chin.
Carina let out a content sigh, her arms wrapping around Maya.
“This is better,” she mumbled sleepily.
Maya smiled against her skin.
“We’re half off the couch.”
Carina shrugged lazily.
“Still better.”
Maya let out a small, breathless laugh.
Then, slowly, she let her own exhaustion catch up with her.
Carina ran slow fingers down her back, grounding her.
Maya exhaled.
“I was scared tonight,” she admitted softly.
Carina pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.
“I know.”
Maya swallowed.
“I hate feeling helpless.”
Carina shifted slightly, pulling Maya in closer.
“You weren’t helpless,” she murmured. “You were here. You held him. You loved him. That’s all he needed.”
Maya closed her eyes, letting those words settle into her bones.
She pressed a kiss to Carina’s shoulder, whispering, “And I love you.”
Carina smiled, brushing her fingers through Maya’s hair.
“And I love you,” she whispered back.
Maya sighed, letting herself relax.
Letting herself believe.
Liam was okay.
Carina was here.
And tonight, that was enough.
Because they had each other.
Always.
She entered her office, rolling her shoulders to shake off the stiffness of a long morning already filled with patients, charts, and hurried coffee sips between consults.
She had barely reached for her white coat when she noticed something out of place.
A single, white rose sat in a slim glass vase, positioned perfectly on her desk.
Beside it, a small folded note, placed neatly against her keyboard.
Carina frowned slightly, her steps slowing.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to receive small tokens of gratitude—flowers, thank-you notes, chocolates—from patients she had helped.
It was always touching, a reminder of why she loved what she did.
But there was something different about this.
She reached for the note, her fingers grazing the smooth, expensive-feeling paper.
Unfolding it, she saw a single line written in elegant, careful handwriting.
"A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman."
She blinked.
No name.
No signature.
Just that.
Carina tilted her head, her smile fading into something more puzzled.
Her first instinct was that it was from a patient—perhaps one of the many women she had assisted in deliveries, or someone who had been deeply moved by her care.
But usually, those notes were more personal.
This one… felt different.
Before she could think too much about it, her office door swung open.
“Wow. Someone is feeling romantic today.”
Carina looked up to find Amelia grinning as she strode in, eyes flicking immediately toward the flower.
Carina let out a small chuckle, shaking her head.
Amelia crossed her arms, smirking.
“Okay, spill. Who’s leaving you love notes?”
Carina sighed, holding up the note between two fingers.
“There’s no name,” she murmured.
Amelia raised an eyebrow.
“No name?” She stepped forward, plucking the note from Carina’s fingers to read it.
Her smirk deepened.
“This is very... intentional,” she mused.
Carina rolled her eyes.
“It’s probably just a patient being appreciative.”
Amelia tilted her head.
“Maybe,” she said. “But this?” She gestured to the perfectly arranged rose and neatly folded note. “This is classic secret admirer material.”
Carina let out a soft laugh, but something in her stomach stirred uncomfortably.
She didn’t know why.
Maybe because whoever left it had gone out of their way to make it anonymous.
Maybe because it was different from the usual patient thank-you cards.
Maybe because it was too… intimate.
She shook off the thought, forcing a small smile.
“It’s sweet,” she admitted. “I just don’t know who it’s from.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes playfully.
“Well, if some lovesick Grey Sloan doctor is trying to sweep you off your feet, let me know.”
Carina laughed, shaking her head.
“I think I’ll survive.”
Before Amelia could respond, Carina’s pager beeped.
She glanced down, sighing.
“Emergency consult. I have to go.”
Amelia nodded, stepping back.
“Well, don’t get too distracted by your secret admirer.”
Carina rolled her eyes playfully, pushing open the door.
But as she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a patient’s appreciation.
That it was… something else.
Maya didn’t want to be here.
The walls of Diane’s office felt too close, too quiet, too suffocating.
She could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the distant hum of voices from the hallway, but inside this room, there was only silence.
Silence and expectation.
Diane was watching her, waiting for her to speak, her notepad resting lightly in her lap, pen between her fingers.
Her posture was relaxed, her expression calm, but Maya knew Diane’s patience was endless.
She wouldn’t push.
Wouldn’t pry.
Would just… wait.
Maya hated that.
She hated this.
Hated the way she felt like she was on the edge of something dangerous, something she couldn’t control.
Hated the way she already felt like she was losing.
She crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her back against the chair, forcing herself not to fidget, not to bolt.
She hadn’t wanted to come.
Had tried to avoid it.
But Andy had all but ordered her to sit down with Diane.
And Carina—
Maya exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together.
Carina had begged her.
Not in words.
Not in outright demands.
But in the way she looked at her, in the way she had been watching her carefully for weeks now.
Maya clenched her jaw, staring at the floor, willing her heart to slow down, willing the walls to stop closing in.
And then, softly—Diane spoke.
“Tell me about the wildfire.”
Maya inhaled sharply.
She almost laughed.
It wasn’t a question.
It wasn’t an invitation to share.
It was a command wrapped in gentle encouragement.
Maya swallowed, forcing herself to take a slow breath.
Her fingers curled against her arms, her nails pressing into the fabric of her sleeve.
She stared at the floor for a long moment.
Then, finally—she spoke.
"I Was Going to Die."
The words came out flat, detached, weightless.
Like she was talking about someone else’s life.
Like she was reading a passage from a book, something fictional, something that didn’t belong to her.
Diane didn’t speak.
Didn’t interrupt.
Just waited.
Maya swallowed, her throat tight, her body wired, her heart pounding.
“I was trapped,” she said.
She exhaled, her hands shaking now.
“I couldn’t get out. The fire—it was everywhere.”
She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake.
Because she could see it.
The flames curling around the trees, hungry, unstoppable.
The smoke choking the air, thick and inescapable.
The heat pressing in, suffocating, unbearable, closing in on all sides.
“There was no escape,” she whispered, her voice shaking now.
Diane nodded slightly, her eyes steady, unwavering.
Maya let out a sharp breath.
“I knew it was over.”
Diane tilted her head slightly.
“What do you mean by ‘over’?”
Maya exhaled, clenching her hands together to keep them from trembling.
“I mean—” she swallowed hard, her throat burning.
“I mean, I was going to die.”
The room felt too small.
Her breath came too fast, too shallow.
Diane leaned forward slightly, careful.
“And in that moment, what did you feel?”
Maya let out a hollow, humorless laugh.
“What do you think?” she muttered.
Diane’s voice remained calm, even.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Maya’s jaw tightened.
She exhaled slowly, but it didn’t help.
Because she was back there.
Back in the fire.
Back in the terror.
Back in the moment when she realized she wasn’t going to make it.
And she—
“I was afraid,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Diane nodded.
“Afraid of what?”
Maya blinked, frowning slightly.
“Of dying,” she said automatically.
Diane didn’t react.
Didn’t correct her.
Just waited.
And then, suddenly—Maya understood.
And it hit her like a punch to the chest.
Her breath shook.
She swallowed, blinking rapidly, her fingers digging into her arms.
“No,” she whispered.
Diane leaned in slightly.
“No?”
Maya exhaled, her whole body trembling now.
“I wasn’t just afraid of dying.”
Diane nodded.
Maya clenched her jaw.
“I was afraid of leaving them behind.”
Her voice broke at the end.
Diane stayed quiet, giving her space.
And now that the words had started coming, Maya couldn’t stop them.
“I thought about Carina,” she whispered. “I thought about Liam. I thought about—” She swallowed hard. “I thought about how they wouldn’t even know what happened to me.”
She let out a small, choked laugh.
“I thought—” Her breath hitched. “I thought Carina wouldn’t know that I was thinking about her when I died.”
Diane’s gaze softened.
Maya pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stop the tears before they could form.
She was exhausted.
She was so goddamn exhausted.
She let out a slow, shaky breath, lowering her hands.
Diane tilted her head slightly.
“And now?” she asked.
Maya exhaled heavily.
“She’s hurt,” she admitted. “That I didn’t tell her. That I—” She swallowed. “That I kept it from her.”
Diane nodded.
“And you?”
Maya felt something collapse inside her.
“I feel like I never left,” she admitted.
She let out a shaky, breathless laugh.
“I wake up and I’m still there. I hear a radio call and I feel the heat on my skin again. I close my eyes and—”
She swallowed hard.
“I’m still in the fire.”
Diane didn’t hesitate.
“Maya, you’re experiencing PTSD.”
Maya flinched.
She clenched her jaw, shaking her head automatically.
“I—”
“Maya.”
Diane’s voice was gentle but firm.
Maya froze.
Diane sighed softly.
“You survived something that should have killed you,” she said carefully. “And now your mind is trying to survive it all over again.”
Maya inhaled sharply.
Her whole body felt drained.
Empty.
Diane gave her a long look.
“And now,” she said, “we do the work.”
Maya felt like she had nothing left to give.
Her body ached in a way that had nothing to do with firefighting, nothing to do with training.
This exhaustion was different.
It was mental. Emotional. Bone-deep.
She had spent an hour sitting in Diane’s office, saying things she never wanted to say.
Diane had pulled the wildfire from her chest, forced her to relive it, to pick apart the fear and the helplessness.
And now, she felt stripped bare.
Like someone had hollowed her out and left her with nothing but silence inside.
So when she walked into the house that evening, she did what she always did when she didn’t know how to handle something.
She pretended.
She forced a small smile when she saw Carina standing in the kitchen.
She dropped her keys on the counter like it was any other night.
She kissed Carina’s cheek like she wasn’t unraveling inside.
But she didn’t fool her.
Not for a second.
Carina noticed immediately.
She saw it in the way Maya’s shoulders sagged just slightly.
In the way she moved too slowly, like she was carrying something heavier than usual.
In the way she smiled just enough to be convincing but not enough to be real.
She didn’t ask about therapy.
Didn’t press.
Didn’t push.
Instead, she tried to bring her back.
Tried to lighten the weight between them.
She wrapped her arms around Maya’s waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.
“You’re home,” she murmured.
Maya nodded.
Carina pressed a soft kiss against her neck, letting her lips linger.
“I made your favorite,” she said lightly. “Pasta with that sauce you always steal from my plate.”
Maya chuckled—or at least tried to.
It didn’t quite reach her eyes.
But Carina let it go.
She reached for Maya’s hand, pulling her toward the dinner table.
“Come,” she said softly. “Eat with me.”
Maya hesitated for half a second.
Carina felt it.
But then Maya nodded.
She sat down.
She picked up her fork.
She went through the motions.
And Carina tried to pretend she didn’t see the exhaustion behind her wife’s eyes.
Dinner was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Not tense.
Just… quiet.
Maya wasn’t avoiding conversation, but she wasn’t really engaging either.
Carina talked about work, about a patient, about something ridiculous Amelia had said earlier.
Maya smiled at the right moments.
Nodded when expected.
But she didn’t add much.
She ate slowly, absently, pushing the food around her plate more than actually eating it.
Carina noticed.
Noticed every little thing.
But she let it be.
She didn’t want to push.
Didn’t want to make Maya shut down more than she already had.
So she kept her voice light, teasing.
She reached for Maya’s hand across the table, brushing her fingers over hers, grounding her.
But Maya barely held on.
And Carina felt it immediately.
Felt the distance, the weight of whatever Maya was carrying.
And she knew, without Maya saying a single word—she wasn’t ready to talk.
"I think i'm gonna rest for a bit."
The words were soft.
Casual.
Like they weren’t a quiet admission of how drained Maya felt.
Carina blinked, watching her.
Maya set her fork down, pushing her chair back.
“I’m just… tired,” she murmured.
Carina opened her mouth—to ask, to stop her, to tell her she didn’t have to keep everything inside.
But then she saw it.
Saw the way Maya’s body sagged, the way she looked ready to collapse under her own exhaustion.
So she swallowed back the words.
And she let her go.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Maya nodded once.
Then turned.
And walked away.
Leaving Carina alone at the dinner table.
Maya heard Carina cleaning up.
She was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, too tired to sleep, too awake to rest.
And from down the hall, she could hear it.
The soft clink of dishes being gathered.
The faint sound of running water as Carina washed them alone.
The quiet shuffle of footsteps as she moved around the kitchen, putting everything away.
Maya’s stomach twisted.
Because she should be out there.
Should be helping.
Should be sitting across from Carina, talking to her, letting her in.
Shouldn’t have left her alone at the table, pretending she was okay when she wasn’t.
She clenched her jaw, swallowing against the guilt crawling up her throat.
But she still didn’t move.
Didn’t get up.
Didn’t go to her.
Because she couldn’t.
Because she felt too raw, too fragile, too exhausted.
Because she didn’t know how to be the person Carina needed her to be right now.
She had heard the door open, but she hadn’t turned.
Hadn’t spoken.
Hadn’t had the energy to do either.
Then, warmth.
A soft, steady presence pressing against her back.
Arms slipping carefully around her waist.
A familiar, grounding weight settling over her, holding her together before she even had the chance to break.
And then—Carina’s voice, soft and unwavering.
"I’m here, amore."
Maya exhaled slowly, shakily, but she still didn’t move.
Didn’t trust herself to.
Didn’t trust that if she turned around, if she let herself see the worry in Carina’s eyes, she wouldn’t fall apart completely.
Carina’s arms tightened slightly around her, her breath warm against the back of Maya’s neck.
“I know how much today took from you,” she whispered.
Maya swallowed hard.
Felt her throat burn with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.
Carina pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her shoulder.
Then another.
And another.
Like she could feel how much Maya was struggling to hold herself together.
Maya let out a shaky breath, barely audible, barely there.
And then, finally, she whispered:
“I feel drained.”
Carina didn’t say anything at first.
She just tightened her hold, letting Maya feel her warmth, her presence, her unwavering love.
Then, finally—she spoke.
“That’s because healing takes energy, amore.”
Maya let out a small, breathless exhale.
“It doesn’t feel like healing,” she admitted.
Carina sighed softly, her fingers trailing slow, careful lines over Maya’s stomach.
“I know.”
Maya let out another slow, uneven breath.
Carina pressed closer, her warmth easing something restless inside Maya.
“But it is,” she whispered. “It’s exhausting. It’s painful. It strips you bare and makes you feel like you have nothing left. But it is still healing.”
Maya swallowed, her throat tightening even more.
She had thought that finally talking about it—finally admitting what had been haunting her for months—would make her feel lighter.
But instead, she just felt…
Hollow.
Empty.
Like the words had taken something from her that she would never get back.
She let out a small, broken laugh.“It doesn’t feel like I’m healing,” she whispered.
Carina sighed again, pressing another soft kiss against Maya’s shoulder, like she was trying to ground her, trying to make her believe her words.
She squeezed Maya’s waist gently.
“You are.”
Maya shook her head, her fingers gripping the blanket beneath her.
“I don’t know how to keep doing this,” she admitted, her voice so quiet it almost wasn’t there.
Carina’s lips brushed against her skin.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” she whispered.
Maya’s breath hitched.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears build behind her lids but refusing to let them fall.
Carina sighed, shifting slightly, pulling Maya even closer.
She pressed their foreheads together, her fingers slipping under the hem of Maya’s shirt, resting against her bare skin—grounding her, tethering her.
“You don’t have to carry this alone, Maya.”
Maya let out a small, shaky breath.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of Carina’s shirt, holding on like she was afraid to let go.
Carina kissed her again—slow, careful, patient.
Like she had all the time in the world to wait for Maya to believe her.
Maya swallowed hard, her throat burning, her chest aching.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
Carina nodded slowly.
“I know.”
Maya let out a small, broken laugh.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
Carina smiled softly, her thumb brushing away a tear Maya hadn’t realized had fallen.
“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
Maya exhaled shakily.
Carina tucked a strand of Maya’s hair behind her ear.
“You just have to let me be here,” she whispered.
Maya’s throat closed up completely.
She looked at Carina, at the depth of love in her eyes, at the quiet patience in every single touch.
And she felt something inside her shift, just slightly.
She wasn’t okay.
She wasn’t whole.
But Carina was still here.
Still holding her.
Still choosing her.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
For now.