Someone should write a paper on the connection between being in the medical field and divorce, Frank thinks.

He knows it isn’t always the case, that there are plenty of happily married couples in the field. So the paper might be written in his head to make himself feel better about the split from Abby.

He’s doing okay though, he thinks. Like rehab, it’s one day at a time. And he’s not alone.

It’s not that he’s happy you’re divorced too. That’d be weird ㅡ super weird. But if he’s honest, it feels good to have someone in the same boat, at least a little.

Especially when he’s staying with said person. It wasn’t like he’d asked ㅡ he’d been bemoaning the market for a decent apartment near PTMC and you’d overheard, and then offered to let him stay with you.

No strings attached, no stipulations ㅡ just a hand offered to pull him out of a sinking ship and onto dry land.

He didn’t ask much about your own experience with it. He knew the basics ㅡ you’d been married when you started at PTMC, and now you weren’t, and you had custody of your kid. (He was jealous of that, sometimes.)

You were kind, competent ㅡ and your kid was adorable. A little older than Tanner, bright eyed with a thousand questions locked and loaded at all times.

Questions he fields with growing ease as he gets them ready for the school bus ㅡ he was off today, and he’d offered.

“How many people do you think they’ll save today?”

“Dunno. As many as they can, kid.” He ruffles their hair, adjusts the strap of their backpack. They stare at him.

“Are you gonna get married?”

He chokes. “What?”