I shouldn’t have said anything.

The words found their way into Isobel’s sleep, into her dreams, awakening her.

She was alone. The bed was empty next to her, and when she padded out into the kitchen, she found a note:

Isobel closed her eyes and tiredly rubbed her face. She really shouldn’t have said anything. She had seen it in Alexander, suspected it last night. That she’d shocked him. It wasn’t so strange—she was a little shocked herself. She had blurted out the one thing she’d promised herself never to tell anyone again. She should have known it would be too much for him. Jesus, it was too much for her. Of course it scared him. How could she be so dumb?

Though Isobel knew the answer. She had been knocked off balance by all the stress. The danger, the increased tensions, and the panicked evacuation out of Chad had lowered her defenses. And the feeling of having escaped death had set powerful compensatory behaviors into motion. She saw it often enough. People who had been on the verge of death were thankful to be alive, they wanted to live. They wanted physical intimacy, and that invariably led to sex. How could she have given in to such basic urges?

Her sexual preferences didn’t define her as a person; she had made that decision a long time ago and she had stuck to it. A few days’ recovery and she would’ve been herself again. She had made do with normal, boring sex for most of her adult life, so why had she been so stupid? And with Alex, of all people? Because he’d given her some of the best orgasms of her life? But an orgasm lasted a few seconds. It wasn’t worth this.

The shame.

I really shouldn’t have said anything.

There was a new packet of coffee on the kitchen table, next to a bag of freshly baked rolls, a pack of Maryland cookies, and a chocolate bar. When she opened the refrigerator she saw butter, cheese, and expensive orange juice.

She leaned her head against the refrigerator door. She didn’t know what to think. Or feel. Everything was a mess.

She drank her coffee, then cut thick slices of cheese, which she rolled up and ate before she moved on to the biscuits. She kept an eye on her cell phone.

But Saturday passed without word from Alexander. And when Sunday evening came and went and he still hadn’t been in touch, Isobel shuffled down to the store, bought ice cream and chocolate sauce, and ate it on the couch in front of the TV.

I’ll be in touch. Right, sure.

There was something seriously wrong with her. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And now she’d scared off Alexander for good. Great work, Doctor Sørensen.

On Monday morning, Leila called and woke her up.

“You’re free, I’m coming to get you and we’re going for lunch.”

Isobel groaned. Her first impulse was to say no. She didn’t have the energy to take a shower, to talk.

“I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty,” Leila said, and hung up.

And since the idea of calling Leila to explain that she didn’t want to see her felt even harder, Isobel was down on Vasagatan at eleven thirty on the dot. A black sports car, roof down, with the famous jaguar on the hood, swept in and braked abruptly in the middle of the bus stop outside Isobel’s door.

“What do you think?” Leila grinned.

Isobel opened the car door. “Don’t tell me this is where all Medpax’s money has gone?”

Leila snorted. “I borrowed it from Eugene. My Medpax wage barely covers proper shoes.”

Isobel hopped in and Leila tore off just as the bus driver behind them blasted the horn. Leila did a sweeping illegal U-turn and the Jaguar flew off away from the center of town.

“You’ve lost weight,” Leila said, with a quick glance at Isobel before she changed gear and swung in ahead of a truck which flashed its headlights at them.

Isobel gripped the door handle. “It’s an optical illusion. I’ve eaten cookies and ice cream for almost three days.”

“Real Persian food is what you need. Persian women have perfect bodies and that’s because of the food we eat.”

“It’s not one of those restaurants where you sit on the floor, is it?”

Isobel didn’t really want to drive to a far away place to have lunch; she wanted to lie on the couch at home and eat ice cream. A late-night 7-Eleven and a comfortable couch were all a woman really needed. Plus, she didn’t want to be in a car with Leila. Who would have thought that the woman drove like a car thief on crack?

“No. You can sit at a table. Why so grumpy?”

“I’ve got a natural aversion to dying. I’ve been to some of the most dangerous countries in the world and never been in a car crash yet. Please don’t kill me on the way to the suburbs.”

She pulled at the seatbelt to check it was fastened properly, while Leila took a curve well above the speed limit.

“We’re almost there,” said Leila. “As soon as we’re on the freeway, I’ll really get this beauty going.”

Isobel squeezed her eyes shut. If she survived this, she would become a better person, she promised.

“Do you want to talk about how it was?” Leila asked once they sat down. The restaurant was brightly colored, the chairs were red, and the scent coming from the kitchen made Isobel’s mouth water. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to eat something other than sugar and trans fats.

“It was like always, really.”

She scooped up some eggplant purée with freshly baked bread and put it into her mouth. Leila had ordered a table full of small entrées, and Isobel suddenly felt famished.

“Other than the fact that war broke out and you were evacuated,” Leila pointed out. She flashed her patented psychologist look at Isobel over the table.

“You know it’s not the first time. I’ve been through worse things.”

Leila gave her another long look, and Isobel avoided making eye contact.

“How does it feel to be home, then? I know it can be tough.”

People often assumed it was nothing but nice to come home. That it was a relief to return to a functioning society. But the truth was much more complicated. You left home with so many ideas about making a difference. Come back and feel like you’d barely scraped the surface. True, she hadn’t been away from Sweden for so long this time. Still, it took a while to find your feet. To get used to the fact that the children you saw on the street were healthy, clean, and safe and that people counted shopping and spending money as a pleasant hobby. That people wouldn’t hesitate to pay fifty kronor for a paper cup of coffee, an amount that could mean the difference between life and death in another part of our shared world. That people moaned about the weather and other meaningless things on social media while children died because no one had time to care.

“I’m trying to take care of myself,” she said, though she wished she was better at it. Doctors who didn’t became cynical and blunt. That was her nightmare, becoming a fieldwork cliché who’d lost her belief in the possibility of changing things, even in a small way, for the better.

“Alexander was worried about you. Did you talk?”

“Mmm.” Isobel reached for a bowl of yogurt, scrupulously avoiding Leila’s sharp look.

We talked. And other things.

“Isobel? What is it? You know you can tell me if something happened.”

Leila’s voice was so confidence-inspiring that Isobel could feel herself falter. Would it be so bad to ask? To get advice about how to escape the turmoil bubbling away inside her? She didn’t believe in talking about her feelings. Or rather: She believed in it when it came to other people, people who were normal. She didn’t talk about her feelings, because she was a freak. She’d known that since she was a teen. It had been like a growing insight, that she had fantasies and thoughts the other girls didn’t seem to share. But she was a highly functioning freak. She didn’t burden anyone else. She saved lives and did no one any harm. As long as she didn’t say or do anything wrong, it made no difference what she was like on the inside.

“How are things at the hospital?” she asked instead, although she had spoken to Idris that morning. He had a horrible cold but everything else was under control.

“It’s stable. You know it’s my responsibility to keep an eye on how you’re doing?”

That was the downside to brilliant psychologists—they weren’t easy to throw off.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry.”

Leila took off her glasses, breathed onto them, and wiped them with a napkin.

“But it’s my job to worry.”

Did she never blink, or was that just Isobel’s imagination? Surely everyone blinked. Fifteen times a minute, on average, if she remembered correctly.

“I know you have trouble trusting people,” Leila continued once their main meal had arrived. Bowls and plates of steaming food and cool side dishes.

“That’s not true,” Isobel said as she filled her plate with saffron rice, spinach stew, chickpeas, and garlic-scented yogurt sauce. “I trust people all the time. It’s not my fault most people are so unreliable.”

“I only want the best for you. You know that, right?”

Isobel nodded.

“And I promise, you can’t shock me, not even if you try. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me think less of you.”

“Not even if I turn out to be a bad person?”

“But you’re not a bad person.”

Isobel shook her head. She hated declarations like that. They didn’t mean anything.

“We’ve known each other for only two years. There’s plenty you don’t know about me.”

“I probably know more than you think. But why do we have to be good or bad, kind or evil? People are complex. Most of us are both. It’s impossible to be just one of them.”

“I don’t agree. There’s a line between being good and bad, and there’s always a choice.”

Leila smiled. “Now you’re talking about how things should be, not how things are. Do you think you’re a bad person? Really?”

“You just said everyone was good and bad.”

“Why do you think you’re bad?”

Leila’s jet-black eyes were fixed on her.

Isobel stuffed more food into her mouth. Leila waited. Isobel swallowed, wiped her mouth.

“You’re right, I don’t like to expose myself,” she said reluctantly.

“That’s an interesting choice of words.”

“If you tell people things, they can use them against you. Don’t you want more?”

“I eat until I’m seventy-five percent full. How does it feel when I question what you say? When I say that people don’t automatically want to use your secrets and weaknesses against you?”

“Like you’ve taken a course in how to deal with difficult doctors.”

“Yeah, it was pretty useful.” Leila smiled. “What are you worried might happen?”

People might realize how bad I actually am.

The thought came to her automatically. She was a woman who fantasized about things no woman should like. What normal, modern woman got turned on by that kind of thing? Not playful kink, but real pain and submission. No, there was something wrong with her, and if Leila knew she would agree. Maybe not openly—she was much too professional for that—but quietly, to herself. And then Isobel would be left. Exposed. Defenseless. Ashamed.

“I’m not afraid, Leila. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Is dessert included? If I die on the way back, I at least want some sugar and caffeine in me.”

When Leila dropped her off outside her door, Isobel paused with the key in her hand. The conversation had woken her from some kind of trance. She was an independent woman, a competent doctor, and a reliable coworker. She was all that. But she was also a walking cliché. A good girl with a sense of self based on performance. A grown woman who, at the age of almost thirty-one, still thought she was good enough only when her mother gave her confirmation.

Which she never did.

Isobel looked around. All about her, early summer was in full swing. Stockholm was in glorious bloom, and the first tourists were already arriving. Streets and sidewalk cafés were full of people late into the evening. Enough with the self-pity now. She had made up her mind. She would go out tonight. Not wallow at home. So what if Alexander had dumped her? Again. Life in the field had taught her to appreciate people who kept their promises. Kindness, loyalty, and stability were the best things she knew. Not men who ran away when things got complicated. Screw him. And the horse he rode in on. She would get dressed up, drink alcohol, and meet men, loads of men. If her body wanted to live, well then it was time she lived a little. She opened the door and ran lightly up the stairs.

A damn good plan if she said so herself.