seemed too quick to me. A wild, crazy impulse. There were some things going on in my life—I won’t bore you with details, but taken together with what I already knew about Rosie, I felt I knew her mind better than she did. I was scared for her.” She thrust her hands into her pockets. She’d eaten so much humble pie in one day she felt bloated. “I’ve always seen her as vulnerable. All those times when she was little and I held her when she couldn’t breathe—well, that’s an image that’s hard to shake off.” She saw that his expression had changed.
Because she sensed he was listening, she kept talking.
“I was determined to find out more about you, because I was sure that Rosie couldn’t possibly know you properly after such a short time. So I asked questions.”
“I noticed.”
“I asked a lot of questions, and you were gracious and patient and—” she breathed “—and more polite than I deserved. You answered everything I asked. I thought maybe it was time I told you a bit about me.”
He frowned. “Katie—”
“Hear me out. I need you to understand why I behaved the way I did. I need you to understand that it wasn’t personal. I’m quick to judge. Too quick. I often start with the worst-case scenario and work backward. I’m fiercely protective of the people I love. I’m a perfectionist, which isn’t good and I’m working on it.” She sat down on the sofa, staring at her hands. She didn’t have a plan for what to say, but she knew she had to keep talking. “The first time Rosie had an asthma attack, I thought I was going to lose my little sister. I felt this huge sense of responsibility.” She glanced up. “When she went to college, she didn’t want to worry our mother so she used to call me when she was in trouble. And that was fine, I was pleased she turned to me—”
“But it cast you in the role of parent, and meant that you carried the burden by yourself.”
Katie nodded. “I’m not even sure that I would have gone into medicine if it hadn’t been for her.”
“She says you’re a great doctor.”
Katie wasn’t going to argue that fact. Her issues weren’t important here. This was about Rosie. “I kept at it, because that’s what you do when you’ve had a long and expensive training and you’ve made a career choice that society assumes will be forever. You’re not sure you’re enjoying it, but hey, most of your colleagues are burned out and exhausted, too, so in the end it becomes normal. You justify the way you’re feeling. And why not, because no one ditches medicine after a decade of practice, do they?”
He sat down opposite her. The defensive look in his eyes had gone. “They do if they no longer want to do it.”
“You think it’s okay to change your mind about things? You see that as a strength, not a weakness?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Good.” She stood up. “So go and find my sister and tell her you made a mistake. Tell her you still love her and finally have the talk that you probably only need because I interfered. And if after that talk, you still believe it’s not the right thing, then we’ll handle it.” Her eyes filled. “I can’t be the reason you both break up.”
“Because she’d never forgive you?”
“No. Because I can see now that the two of you are perfect together. I think you need to each find a way to improve your communication, but hopefully you’ll have plenty of years ahead to practice. I want her to be happy. I want you to be happy. Despite appearances, I really like you, Dan, and I hope eventually you might grow to like me. Or at least, forgive me.”
“I do like you, Katie, and I respect how much you love your sister.”
But he hadn’t changed his mind. “You have to understand her.” She knew she sounded desperate. She was desperate. “Rosie is so kind. She never wants to hurt anyone.”
“I know that. I know her. Why do you think I’m in love with her?”
“I—you’re still saying that in the present tense.” She felt a burst of hope that was instantly quenched by the expression on his face.
“Turns out you can switch off wedding plans, but you can’t switch off love.”
“But if you’re in love, why wouldn’t you get married?”
“Exactly for the reason you said. Rosie hates hurting anyone, so if she can’t