I look at Cami—really look at her—and see the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She has a mortgage. Medical school bills. Dreams that don’t include going down with my boat that’s rapidly taking on water.
“Go home, Camille,” I say softly. “Have a glass of wine. I’ll handle this.”
“But—”
“Please.” I force a smile. “I just need to think.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Camille nods and stands. “For what it’s worth, Liv, I think you’re ten times the doctor Walsh is. And a hundred times the human being.”
The compliment stings worse than Ms. Chopard’s insults.
At least those were deserved.
When Camille closes the door, I pull up our financial spreadsheets again. The numbers haven’t changed in the last two hours, unfortunately for me. It’s mostly masochism that has m
