Chapter 3: "I'm On Call 24/7 For My Patients"

Emma's POV

Port Haven is still asleep when I pull on my running shoes. The sky is that pale gray color before sunrise. I slip out of the cottage and head down the wooden boardwalk along the coast.

My breath comes out in small clouds. The air is cold and clean, nothing like Boston. My feet hit the boards in a steady rhythm. The ocean crashes against the rocks below.

I breathe deeper. No one watching. No schedule to keep. No cold marble halls.

Morning runs were my only escape at Blackwood Manor. That massive house with its pristine gardens and empty rooms. I could only claim the stretch of driveway where I ran. Everything else belonged to the family. To Nathaniel. To the name I wore like a costume.

I push my pace faster. The lighthouse appears in the distance.

And that's when the memory hits.

The hospital room. Fluorescent lights too bright. The doctor saying exercise might help with the chemo side effects. My hair already gone, head wrapped in a scarf, body so weak I could barely stand. I'd shuffle around the manor gardens, one hand gripping the stone wall for support.

Nathaniel had been watching from the second-floor window. I looked up, tried to smile. He pulled the curtain shut.

At the time, I told myself he was busy. Now I know better. He just didn't want to see me like that.

My chest tightens. I run faster, trying to shake off the images. My breathing gets louder, harsher.

Then it happens.

Air stops reaching my lungs. My chest constricts. I stagger. My hand flies to my pocket.

Empty.

I forgot the inhaler.

I drop to my knees on the sand. Vision blurring at the edges. My fingers claw at the ground. The buzzing in my ears gets louder.

I thought being reborn could change everything. But some things are carved into your body. The asthma from my past life is still here.

Footsteps. Fast. Coming closer.

"Hey! Miss, can you hear me?"

A voice. Male. Urgent.

Someone drops down beside me. Warm hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. The touch is firm but gentle.

I try to speak but only manage a wheeze.

"Stay with me. I've got you."

I see a blur of brown hair, concerned eyes. Then everything goes black.

When I wake up, there's a plastic tube under my nose. Oxygen. My chest doesn't feel crushed anymore. I can breathe.

I blink and look around. Small exam room. Clean white walls. Posters about hand-washing and flu shots.

Someone's sitting at a desk in the corner, back to me, writing something. Blue scrubs. Brown curly hair a bit messy.

He turns around.

Warm brown eyes. A face that looks like it smiles a lot. He's younger than I expected, maybe early thirties. There's still sand on his scrubs.

"Welcome back." His voice is gentle. "You scared the hell out of me out there."

I try to sit up. My head spins.

He's on his feet immediately, one hand on my shoulder. "Easy. You're at my clinic. Severe asthma attack on the beach."

His touch is natural, careful. Not cold. Not distant. Just present.

I notice the sand again, stuck to his clothes, his shoes. He carried me here.

"How long have you had asthma?" he asks, pulling a chair closer.

"A few years." My voice comes out raspy. "I usually have my inhaler, but I forgot."

His expression shifts. "Usually? That's not good enough. You could've died out there."

I freeze.

When was the last time someone cared if I lived or died? Nathaniel never asked about my health, never noticed when I was sick. During that final year in my past life, he didn't visit once.

This stranger is lecturing me about safety. And his eyes aren't angry. They're worried.

My throat tightens for a completely different reason.

He seems to realize his tone was harsh. His face softens. He extends his hand. "I'm Dr. Liam Hayes. Everyone calls me Liam. You must be the new neighbor at the cliff house. Mrs. Fletcher mentioned you."

I take his hand. It's warm, rougher than Nathaniel's surgeon hands. Real. "Emma. Emma Watson."

I almost say Blackwood. The name nearly rolls off my tongue out of habit. But I catch myself.

If Liam notices the hesitation, he doesn't show it. He just smiles. "Welcome to Port Haven, Emma Watson. Though I wish we'd met under better circumstances."

---

He insists on driving me home. His car is an old SUV, clean but well-used. The back seat is full of medical supplies and grocery bags. Country music plays softly from the radio.

"So what brings you to Port Haven?" he asks. "Not many people move here, especially not in October."

I watch the trees pass outside. "I needed a change. A fresh start."

He nods like he understands completely. "I get that. I came here three years ago for the same reason."

I turn to look at him. This warm, steady man with his easy smile has a past he needed to escape too? But I don't ask. He doesn't elaborate. We fall into comfortable silence.

When we reach the cottage, he helps me out and hands me a paper bag. "I grabbed your prescription and a spare inhaler. Keep one on you at all times."

Our fingers brush when I take the bag. His hands are warm, calloused. Hands that work.

He follows me inside, glancing around. His eyes land on the mostly empty first aid kit on my kitchen counter.

"Okay, this won't do."

He pulls out a notepad and starts scribbling. "These are essentials for someone with asthma. I'll have Patterson set them aside at the store."

I stare at the list. "You don't have to."

"I'm a doctor," he says simply. "And in small towns, we look after each other. Besides, I'm on call 24/7 for my patients. That includes you now."

Something warm spreads through my chest. Not romantic. Not yet. Just safe.

He heads to the door, then turns back. "Get some rest. And Emma? Don't forget the inhaler tomorrow."

The next day, my kitchen sink explodes. Water everywhere. I'm on my knees with a wrench I barely know how to use when there's a knock.

"Emma? I was just passing by and... oh shit."

Liam appears, takes one look at the flood, and rolls up his sleeves. Five minutes later, he's under the sink fixing the pipe.

"You really don't have to."

"Small town," he says from under the counter. "Everyone helps everyone."

On the fourth day, I'm trying to wrestle Mom's old upright piano out of my car when a truck pulls up. Liam jumps out with two other men.

"Heard you needed some muscle. This is Mike and Tom."

"How did you..."

"Patterson mentioned you asked about movers. Small town."

They carry the piano inside and set it by the window. When they leave, I sit down and play, and the cottage feels like home.

On the sixth day, I'm standing in the grocery store's seafood section, completely lost, when a familiar voice says, "The lobster's fresh today. Want me to show you how to cook it?"

An hour later, Liam is in my kitchen teaching me to boil lobster. We're both laughing, sleeves rolled up, steam rising from the pot. His laugh is loud and genuine.

I pin a flyer to the community center bulletin board. "Piano Lessons for Kids." Within a week, three parents call. My first student is a seven-year-old girl named Lily who grips the keys like they might run away.

I'm teaching again. Earning my own money. Building something that's mine.

In my past life at Blackwood Manor, I had everything. A grand piano in a locked room I couldn't touch. Chefs who cooked meals Nathaniel never ate with me. Closets full of clothes that were just costumes for playing Mrs. Blackwood.

Here, in this broken cottage, teaching kids chopsticks, eating simple dinners I cook myself, I feel alive for the first time.

A week after I arrive, I'm finishing a lesson with Lily. Sunset pours through the windows. Her small hands stumble through the scales, but she's trying so hard.

The doorbell rings.

"That must be my ride," Lily's mother calls from outside. "See you next week, Miss Watson!"

I walk them out and open the door wider.

Liam is standing there. He's not in his scrubs. Dark blue hoodie, jeans. He's holding a picnic basket and a blanket, and his ears are turning pink.

"Hey." He shifts his weight. "I know this is last minute, but there's a bonfire at the beach tonight. The whole town goes. Would you want to come? As my guest?"

He's fidgeting, rubbing the back of his neck. Not confident like a doctor used to emergencies. More like a teenage boy asking someone to prom.

My heart does something strange in my chest.

In my past life, I was never invited anywhere as myself. At Nathaniel's events, I was always Mrs. Blackwood. A title, an accessory. No one cared what I wanted. No one asked. They told me I needed to be there.

But Liam is looking at me like I'm Emma. Just Emma. His eyes are hopeful and uncertain. He's asking, not demanding. He's giving me a choice.

My pulse picks up.

"I'd love to."

His whole face lights up. That brilliant, easy smile. "Great! I'll pick you up at seven?"

I nod.

He practically bounces back to his car. I close the door and lean against it, hand pressed to my chest, feeling my heart race.

Through the window, I watch him walk away. Just before he reaches his car, he does a little jump, fist pumping the air.

Like a kid who got exactly what he wanted.