Healing Mr. Ashford

Chapter Three: The Pattern

NATALIA GEORGETTE

By the time I got home, it was already past seven.

I slipped off my heels by the door, tied my hair into a messy bun, and headed straight to the kitchen. The apartment was unusually quiet, and after spending the entire day listening to patients talk about their aches, worries, and endless complaints, the silence felt comforting.

I had barely taken a few bites of dinner when my phone started ringing.

Ethan ❤️

A smile found its way onto my lips as I answered the video call.

"There you are," he greeted. "I was beginning to think you forgot about me."

"I just got home."

"You look exhausted."

"I am."

"Are you eating?"

I held my spoon up for him to see.

"I am now."

"Good."

For a while, we talked about our day. He told me about a hearing that had been moved to next week, while I shared a funny story about a little boy who refused to let me examine him because he thought my stethoscope was a snake.

Then, just as I thought the conversation was about to end, Ethan reached for a stack of papers on his desk.

"I emailed you the updated guest list."

"You updated it?" I asked. "All right. I'll check it after dinner."

"And the seating arrangement." He said.

"I saw it."

"I also sent the florist's revised quotation. Compare it with the first one and let me know which package you prefer."

"Okay."

"Oh, and don't forget to call the caterer tomorrow. We still need the final headcount."

"I will."

He paused for a second before adding, "After you're done eating, finish everything tonight."

I looked at him.

"Tonight?"

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"It won't take that long. You can rest afterward."

I glanced at my plate.

"I was actually hoping to sleep early."

"You can do that once you're finished."

His tone wasn't harsh, he wasn't angry either. If anything, he sounded perfectly reasonable.

"I have court tomorrow, Nat. I wouldn't ask if I had the time."

I swallowed the words I wanted to say and simply nodded.

"All right."

His face immediately softened.

"I knew I could count on you."

We stayed on the call for another few minutes before saying goodnight.

The apartment fell silent after we ended the call. My dinner had already gone cold, but I finished it anyway before carrying the plate to the sink. There was no point complaining. Ethan wasn't asking for anything unreasonable. We were getting married in a few months, and wedding preparations weren't exactly something one person could handle alone.

I opened my laptop and went through everything he had sent. The updated guest list. The revised seating arrangement. The florist's new quotation. By the time I was done comparing prices and making notes for tomorrow's call with the caterer, it was almost midnight.

I leaned back in my chair and stretched my aching shoulders. My eyes felt heavy after hours of staring at the screen, so I reached for my phone, thinking a few minutes of mindless scrolling might help me unwind before going to bed.

At first, I did exactly that. I reacted to a few posts from old friends, skimmed through engagement photos, and smiled at pictures of babies I'd never met.

Then, somewhere between one post and the next, f*******: suggested the official page for Binibining Masbate. I don't know why I tapped it, maybe it was simple curiosity, or maybe I just wanted to see who had made this year's list.

One by one, the candidates appeared on my screen, each undeniably beautiful in her own way. Some had delicate features, others carried themselves with the kind of effortless confidence that naturally drew attention. They looked like women who never had to wonder whether someone would notice them.

I kept scrolling until a thought suddenly crossed my mind.

What exactly was I looking for?

I let out a quiet laugh.

Evren had mentioned there was someone. If she was the reason behind his improvement, then good for him. I set my phone on the bedside table and turned off the lamp. Who she was shouldn't matter, after all, I was only his doctor.

I wasn't expecting him until Friday but he came a day early. Maximo walked into my office carrying a brown envelope in one hand and a small black notebook in the other.

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ashford."

He placed both items on my desk. "My laboratory results. And... the journal."

"You actually kept one."

"You told me not to miss anything."

"I did."

He settled into the chair across from me while I opened the envelope. One by one, I went through every page, comparing values and making mental notes.

Everything else was equally unremarkable.

I read the report one more time before setting it aside.

"These are actually reassuring."

He leaned forward. "Meaning?"

"It means there's nothing in your laboratory results that explains your symptoms."

"So..." He gave a dry laugh. "I'm healthy?"

"As far as these tests are concerned, yes."

"I don't know whether I should feel relieved or frustrated."

"You should feel relieved." I reached for the notebook beside the envelope. "It also means we've ruled out several possible causes."

He watched as I flipped it open.

"So this is the homework you gave me."

"I prefer calling it a symptom journal."

"I still think homework sounds more accurate."

A smile escaped me before I started reading.

The entries were surprisingly brief. There were no lengthy explanations, only a date followed by a few words.I read the entries again, this time more carefully. The pattern was impossible to ignore. Every reaction happened after seeing or interacting with her. There were no random episodes, no unexpected triggers, and not a single incident that occurred when she wasn't around.

I slowly closed the notebook and looked up at him.

"Mr. Ashford..."

He straightened in his seat.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"It appears there's only one recurring trigger."

If anything, he looked like he'd been waiting for me to reach that conclusion.

I rested both hands on the desk.

"Who is she?"

For a few seconds, he said nothing.

He simply held my gaze before the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.

"Would you like the professional answer..."

He paused just long enough for my curiosity to grow.

"...or the honest one?"

I frowned.

"Is there a difference?"

"A huge one."

"Then I'll take the honest answer."

He let out a quiet laugh, lowered his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time since he'd become my patient, he looked genuinely unsure of himself.

"I don't think you're going to like it."

The room fell silent.

Outside, I could hear nurses chatting at the reception area and a telephone ringing somewhere down the hallway. Inside my office, however, neither of us spoke.

I waited more.

"So?" I asked gently. "Who is she?"

Maximo slowly lifted his head until our eyes met again.

"I..."

He stopped, swallowed, then laughed softly under his breath.

"I'm still trying to figure out how to tell her."