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Malva's eyes flick to the empty plate, and she frowns. "You need more than a snack."
The doctor's jaw tightens. ”It’s all she can handle for now."
Malva ignores him, turning to the counter to start preparing something. ”That’s just nonsense. She needs proper nourishment. I'll whip up a quiche."
I glance nervously between the two of them, sensing the brewing tension. The doctor watches Malva with a look of thinly veiled dislike, his eyes narrowing as she works.
"Mal, it’s okay—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"No, Ave. You can’t live on fruit," she insists, bustling around the kitchen with determined efficiency.
The doctor’s patience is visibly wearing thin. ”Didn’t you hear what she just said? She said she’s had enough.”
Malva turns to him, her hands on her hips. ”You don’t know her as well as I do, Doctor. I’ve been taking care of her for years. I know what she needs."
The doctor stands, his expression icy. "I’m her physician. The only one capable of taking care of her needs around here is me.”
The air in the kitchen grows thick with tension. Malva continues to ignore him, cracking eggs and mixing ingredients for the quiche. Doctor’s irritation is palpable, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
I try again to protest, my voice wavering.
But she’s already pouring the mixture into a pan, sliding it into the oven. ”It’ll be ready in a few minutes. You’ll feel much better after I’ve fed you."
The doctor’s gaze hardens. ”If you try to force her to eat that, I’ll force you to clean up her vomit when she pukes.”
Malva turns to face him fully, her eyes blazing. "You may be her doctor, but nobody takes care of her better than I do. So, back off!"
He does the opposite, and steps closer, his presence looming. ”Make me."
Their voices rise, echoing in the kitchen. I feel trapped between them, their argument spinning out of control.
”Cut it out!" I finally blurt, my voice breaking through their argument. "Both of you, stop."
They both turn to look at me, surprised. My heart is pounding, and I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.
"Mal, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need more food right now," I say, my voice firm but gentle and then I turn to the doctor. "And you…thank you for making sure I ate."
Malva’s shoulders slump slightly, and she nods, clearly reluctant but acquiescing. The doctor’s expression softens a fraction, and he steps back, giving Malva some space
"Alright," Malva says quietly. "But I was just trying to be a good friend."
"I know," I say, offering her a reassuring smile.
The room is still thick with frustrations. I try to relax, but my body is tense, every muscle tight as I feel the doctor's eyes on me as if he’s my silent guardian.
Suddenly, the back door to the kitchen creaks open, and a guy in a brown jacket slides inside. The doctor is immediately on high alert, his eyes narrowing and his posture stiffening.
”Who’s that?" he demands to know, his voice cold and authoritative.
"It's just Joe," I interject quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "He's Malva's boyfriend. He comes by with the groceries every week."
Joe gives the doctor a once-over, clearly sizing him up. He then turns to Malva, a questioning look in his eyes. "Everything okay, pussycat?”
Malva nods, though her expression is still troubled. "Yeah. Just a bit of a disagreement, that’s all."
Joe begins to unpack the groceries, placing items in the fridge with practiced efficiency. His eyes dart from Malva to Darren and then back again, sensing the tension.
The doctor remains standing, his presence imposing and he glances at me. ”Do you always let people walk in and out of your house as they please?” he mutters.
