Since the funeral, Naosa had deliberately kept herself busy—carefully avoiding the pediatric ward and the quiet ache that lingered there like an unhealed wound.
A few days later, Deb called out to her at the office with unexpected gentleness.
“It’s about Maggie. I’m truly sorry for your loss… but her performance was absolutely incredible.”
Naosa was deeply touched—grateful that someone remembered Maggie with such warmth, and genuinely moved by Deb’s unexpected kindness. She almost broke down, but held herself together and managed a small, grateful smile.
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Later that afternoon, Amanda approached with uncharacteristic hesitation.
Naosa instinctively stiffened, bracing herself.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Relax. I’m not here to start anything, okay?”
She paused, then added—surprisingly softly—“She was really amazing, you know.”
Naosa nodded, her heart lightening just a little. “Thank you so much.”
Amanda walked off, a trace of warmth lingering in her voice.
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That evening, Naosa approached Deb nervously.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Deb was surprised—they didn’t usually work closely—but she agreed. They found a quiet conference room for privacy.
Once seated, Deb asked gently, “What’s troubling you?”
Naosa hesitated, then finally opened up. She admitted she was terrified of returning to the pediatric ward.
The thought of walking in and not seeing Maggie—not hearing her voice, not playing one last song—felt unbearable.
As she spoke, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over.
Deb didn’t interrupt. She simply listened—patiently, respectfully.
When the moment felt right, she spoke, her voice soft but steady.
“I know I was the one who initially opposed your volunteering. I told you I wouldn’t make exceptions. But… I made a promise to Maggie too. And I know how deeply this hurts.”
She met Naosa’s tear-filled gaze.
“But I don’t want you to quit—not because of grief. For your own sake, and for theirs. The other children—they’re grieving too. And if you suddenly stop coming, they’ll feel that loss even more. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to focus only on Maggie’s absence and forget the rest?”
Naosa sat quietly, the words settling deep in her heart.
She thought of Maggie’s laughter, her bright voice, her determination.
Then she thought of the other children—waiting, wondering, hoping.
After a long pause, she gave a small but certain nod. “You’re right.”
Deb continued, “I’m not saying you need to continue forever. But don’t make this decision while your heart is still so raw. Wait until you’re certain—until the reason feels right.”
Naosa wiped her tears and looked up, steadier now.
“I’m really glad I talked to you. Thank you for listening.”
Deb smiled warmly. “And what did Dr. O’Neill say when you told him about it?”
Naosa gave a wry smile. “I didn’t ask. He’d probably just agree with whatever I want.”
Deb chuckled. “Oh, dear me.”
As she returned to her office, Deb found herself smiling.
She’s so beautifully pure… but wiser than she knows. No wonder even Dr. O’Neill turns into a fool around her.
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At the end of the next managers’ meeting, Deb called out purposefully.
“Dr. O’Neill, do you have a moment?”
Alex stayed behind as the others filtered out. Deb had been thinking about their earlier conversation and wanted to hear his thoughts directly.
“About Dr. Nao,” she began. “What are your specific plans for her after this term?”
Alex didn’t hesitate. “I’d like her to remain on our team permanently. Everyone agrees.”
“In what capacity?”
“I was thinking… she could become my assistant. Miguel’s essentially functioning as a assistant manager now—he should be leading his own project.”
Deb’s expression shifted—concern flickering in her eyes.
“I understand about Dr. López. But appointing someone who just finished her intern term as your direct assistant—that blurs the line between personal and professional, doesn’t it?”
Alex didn’t respond right away. For the first time, a flicker of doubt crept in—one he hadn’t let himself entertain.
He pushed it aside.
“Well… that’s my opinion,” he said quietly, less certain now. “But I’ll respect whatever she wants.”
Deb gave a small nod.
“I have high hopes for her too. I’d like her to join my team when this term ends. And I thought it would be unfair not to tell you directly.”
With that, she stood and left him alone in the silent conference room.
Her words lingered.
Had I really thought about what was best for her career?
He wanted her close—that much was clear.
But had he really thought about her future?
The room felt colder than before.
I can’t let my feelings decide her path. I need to be careful. I owe her that much.
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