Chapter Text
[The first half of this connection, someone named Francesca Bridgerton]
"Francesca, I'll say it again," Mr. Henderson's voice sounded, once more, annoyed. "It's a gala dinner with BMW Group partners. We'll all be there; they're our main sponsors."
"My presence is limited to the stage," she reminded him as she stopped at a red light, sighing. "Do you think I don't know what this has to do with Henry McGregor?"
"Good heavens, Francesca," the man complained again. "It was a bad joke on his part, but we've already made it clear that we won't accept any more sponsorship in exchange for a date with you."
"Great, I'm not going anyway. Did you mention I'm a lesbian, too?"
"Yes, I did, and he knows it. It won't happen again." A few seconds of pause. "Just think about it. He'll probably want to apologize at some point during the evening.”
“I have to prepare for my solo, I’m sorry, I have to prioritize my career,” she replied as the traffic light changed. “My parents are sponsors too, I think that excludes me from any dinners for that purpose.”
Her parents’ letter or her last name always worked wonders when she wanted to get out of something, and even though deep down she was uncomfortable using it, she had to when the situation seemed hopeless.
“Fine… Fine, you win, don’t miss rehearsal tomorrow,” he reminded her before hanging up.
Francesca put her phone away and walked on, a little calmer. Going on stage to perform Ravel’s Concerto for the Left Hand was challenging and exhausting, but a gala dinner with a bunch of people laughing insincerely, hoping for compliments in exchange for more sponsorship, was simply unbearable.
She walked slowly through the crowd that was always rushing through the routine. That morning she had left a little earlier than usual, anticipating the call from her superior in the Orchestra. She handled the matter as best she could, but she was still bothered by that joke that one of the leaders had made a little over a month ago.
Henry McGregor was simply unbearable, domineering, and laughed like a wealthy man. After two drinks, while Francesca was surrounded by her fellow musicians, he made a comment that left her frowning for at least two minutes: "If only Miss Bridgerton would spare me five more minutes of her time, we could do wonders with this semester's sponsorship."
A bargaining chip in the face of the interests of a disgustingly rich man who could definitely have a date with any other woman present but chose to make his move on an openly lesbian woman like Francesca, a man who could have had his soulmate out there but chose to simply disregard the laws of connection to make Francesca uncomfortable.
Soulmates were generally a headache, but Francesca respected them. It was a strange mix of division theory, as explained by Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium, that human beings were divided by the gods, each half eternally searching for its missing part to feel whole, and frequency recognition, which explains that soulmates operate on the same vibrational frequency or "resonance," allowing for instant recognition when they are near each other.
But many years ago, when civilization didn't even exist as we know it now, a group of humans is said to have defied this connection to find those they considered "their chosen ones." They didn't want to be guided by an inexplicable connection, but rather by what they felt and physically sensed. The cosmic force that had been uniting humans for billions of years became so enraged that it decided to punish them, not with eternal singleness and the pain of not having their other half, but by forcing them to spend eternity with an unlikely soulmate.
In UK statistics, one in ten soulmates suffered from that improbable connection. Unlike a genuine connection, which established recognition, an immediate spark, and the so-called butterflies in the stomach, the improbable connection with your soulmate made you physically ill with dizziness, unbearable migraines, and even fever. That was just the beginning, as their personalities were destined to clash, their opinions to be contrary, and to repel each other simply because of that connection that seemed fractured prematurely.
Francesca still hadn't found her soulmate, and the truth was, the idea terrified her. Many people who hadn't yet entered that romantic cycle lived day to day with people they knew weren't right for them, but they defied that norm. Francesca had only been on about five dates since turning twenty, and she hadn't wanted to take any of them any further, always thinking that, by the law of synchronicity, at some point she was destined to meet her other half and live "happily ever after." Now, at twenty-eight, she didn't even bother trying to get dates anymore. She just sat at the piano, and when she had a spare moment, she wondered how much longer she would have to wait.
Her parents had met after they turned eighteen. Her older sister, Daphne, had met her husband at university in a very casual way. Her older sister, Eloise, was in a relationship with someone who wasn't her soulmate, but that didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. Meanwhile, her younger sister, Hyacinth, busy with her university studies, was single, so obviously, she hadn't met her soulmate yet.
She knew that some people didn't meet until very late in life, and although it sounded like an extremely romantic story, Francesca didn't know if she could wait that long. While she enjoyed the tranquility of her home, not doing more than necessary, and not being overly noticed, even so, from time to time, the silence seemed immense to her, and the desire to share a place at the table became unbearable.
She walked into a café and took off her scarf to get in line. It seemed fine to her, yes, it seemed fine to spend her time being a pianist, being a woman who spent more time reading sheet music than attending gala dinners to please sponsors. Life was simpler that way.
"Hello, a latte macchiato, please," she ordered when it was her turn. "And a classic brownie."
The barista processed her order and payment, then gave her a ticket. She nodded and focused on how they were preparing her order, crossing her arms. The music in the café was so soft she could play it on the piano in less than five minutes. She shook her head at the thought; even away from the orchestra, she was thinking about the piano.
She took her order and turned to leave. The path to the door was relatively short, but even there people were in a hurry. In a clumsy movement, trying to avoid a large bag on someone's back, Francesca bumped into another customer, and thanks to the lid, only a portion of her latte spilled onto an occupied table, staining a folder.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she apologized hurriedly, setting down the cup and the brownie, searching in her bag for wipes to clean up the small mess.
"Damn it, if the medical records are ruined, then I'm going to get my ass kicked," the woman complained, placing a Rubik's Cube on the table, which Francesca didn't even have time to process.
She dropped the damp towel suddenly as a sharp pain shot through her temples. She closed her eyes and brought her hand to the area, wincing at the sudden ache. The woman remained silent; Francesca hadn't even looked at her.
"Are you okay? It sounds like your... Shit."
The woman couldn't finish her sentence because a groan escaped her lips. Francesca opened her eyes with difficulty; the lights in the shop were unbearable for her throbbing temples, but she needed to know if the woman was suffering as much as she was. In front of her, a Black woman, much smaller than her, held her head in both hands, cursing under her breath. Her face was clear, and her hair was styled in Bantu knots. She was wearing scrubs, and Francesca's eyes quickly returned to the folder she had stained with coffee.
"I'm sorry," she apologized again, blinking rapidly. The pain only intensified. "I... It was careless.”
"Yes, I'll tell the head of service when he sees that... Damn it."
She complained again, and Francesca had to grab the table as she felt a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. Her head felt like it was about to explode, and her feet suddenly felt like jelly. Someone Francesca didn't have time to notice approached quickly. She felt a hand on her forehead and heard murmurs around her. The world was definitely spinning, and she had no way to steady herself.
"I think it's an unlikely connection," a male voice said. "We need the emergency kit."
Francesca sat down with someone's help in the available chair, feeling the murmurs intensify, which worsened her physical discomfort. Heat rose up her neck, and another groan escaped her lips. An unlikely connection? Of all the scenarios Francesca had created in her mind about meeting her soulmate, she never thought it would be like this, nor that her luck would be so bad as to suffer over an unlikely connection.
The emergency kit for an unlikely connection had to be (by mandate and law) present in all public establishments because unlikely connections could happen at any time of day as long as soulmates met; it consisted of medications that kept the symptoms at bay for a few hours before doing the definitive connection test.
"Open up," a woman said, and Francesca opened her mouth just enough—one pill, a little water, and she swallowed quickly.
A few seconds of silence passed, and when she opened her eyes, she felt as if the world had at least stopped spinning.
"Good heavens," she whispered anyway, touching her forehead with the back of her hand.
"What the hell was that?" the woman in front of her asked, seeming a little more agitated than Francesca herself.
"Oh, darling, don't you know what an unlikely connection is?" a middle-aged woman asked. Francesca swallowed hard.
"I know, of course I know," she murmured, running her hand over her face, which was surely just as hot as Francesca's. "I thought I was going to die, damn it."
"You need to go to a medical facility soon for the examination and to find out how to proceed," said the man who seemed to be the cafeteria manager. Francesca nodded, still somewhat dazed.
She stood up, a little nervous. The possibility that it was a mistake and that they had both magically felt ill at the same time was a ridiculous idea. She studied the woman in front of her carefully. The embroidery on her apron gave her name before she could formally ask: Michaela Stirling, Radiologic Technologist.
"My... My name is Francesca," she finally said when they stepped outside.
Both had gathered their things as best they could before going outside, Francesca with half of her latte and a brownie still in its wrapper while Michaela had examined the folder while grabbing her bag and putting away her Rubik's Cube, both looked at each other without saying anything else after that, Francesca's presentation floating in the air.
"Francesca, great. Super brain or something? There's no way that migraine was normal."
"What? The frequency is mutual; you contribute to the improbability clash." Francesca frowned, almost offended.
"My brain is fried after hours operating diagnostic imaging equipment, Francesca, so I'm just going to blame you," she huffed wearily, running a hand over her forehead. "Haven't you felt like this before? I'm guessing you don't have a soulmate."
"No, not as good or as bad as I am now," she replied honestly, looking at her. "So you don't have a soulmate either."
Michaela simply shook her head, and Francesca let out a humorless chuckle. If it hadn't been for her embroidered name, the radiology technician wouldn't have even bothered to introduce herself.
“This is awkward,” she said simply. “I just got off a super long shift, I wanted a coffee to revive me, finish that damn cube, and check the medical records… And now it turns out I have a soulmate with two left feet and terrible taste in coffee.”
Francesca blinked, surprised.
“Excuse me? What’s wrong with my taste in coffee? Latte macchiato is a favorite for many,” she defended, frowning. “And I don’t have two left feet, it was the fault of the person in line with the huge bag. You would have noticed if you hadn’t been so focused on that ridiculous colored cube.”
“Ridiculous colored cube? It’s very effective for de-stressing.” It was her turn to defend herself, looking offended. “Thank goodness the medical records weren’t ruined, or I would have had to come back for a copy.”
“You shouldn’t even take them out of the hospital,” Francesca remarked, and Michaela raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing looking at patient records in a place where accidents are highly likely to happen? It's very careless of you.”
"It's none of your business, Francesca," she snapped, taking a step back. "We have to take that damn test to see if we're really soulmates, so whatever you were supposed to do, you have to cancel it. Come on."
"Yeah, because I really don't want to follow a stranger."
She was surprising herself. She'd never answered in such a sullen tone, never raised her voice, and never been so eager to have the last word. Michaela looked at her, puzzled, but didn't approach, nor did she say anything for at least a few seconds.
"Fine, screw it. I'll get it done myself. I need that prescription for inhibitors somehow because I'm not going to have that migraine again. Good luck with your impending dizziness... Or fever, whatever."
Michaela walked on without looking back, and Francesca just stood there watching her, thinking she'd stop or turn around at some point, but that didn't happen. When she lost sight of her at a traffic light, she started to panic.
"Oh God, give me patience."
She practically ran and was grateful she was wearing shoes without any extra platform. She found her two blocks further up and was surprised; for someone so small, she was moving quite fast. Michaela turned briefly, noticing the pianist's ragged breathing, a small smile playing on her lips that she didn't allow herself to show more than necessary.
"Two left feet and you lose your breath with a simple trot. I'm definitely paying some kind of cosmic karma," she muttered, still with her arms crossed. "Maybe my ancestors were to blame for the existence of romantic improbability."
"Really? How much do you know about the subject?" Francesca ignored the new insult; she'd let it go for just a few minutes.
"Just like the internet... Humans who wanted to be with those they believed they had a genuine romantic connection with, but since the cosmic connection is greater than human thought, everything went to hell."
"Why us? It's... Unfair," she blurted out without thinking, and only then did Michaela turn to look at her.
"It's a game of Russian roulette with possibilities, Francesca," she said simply, still looking at her. "Bad luck? Of course, but I'm not going to drive myself crazy thinking it's somehow my fault. I just want to make this process bearable and for it to be over soon."
"How are you going to make that possible? The inhibitors have a limited duration, and distance is just as bad as closeness. We'll hate each other a lot before the weekend is over."
"Those are questions the experts should answer, Francesca," she murmured, looking straight ahead.
The unlikely connection was very difficult to sever completely; the pain became unbearable, and the inhibitors, although a great help, gradually lost their potency until only injections were effective. In the long run, this became a painful and unsustainable routine. The unlikely couples who, despite everything, wanted to maintain and improve their bond had to endure hours of neurological treatments and pills that could have side effects. Francesca never thought she should study the subject further, and for Michaela, the idea seemed simply absurd.
Finally, they arrived at St Thomas' Hospital, and the atmosphere pulled Francesca from the comfort of silence. Hospitals were too stimulating for her because so much happened in such a short time, so she crossed her arms and simply followed Michaela around. They stopped at a reception desk, Michaela asked the nurse something, who gave her a simple affirmative response, and then they walked through the corridors again.
“Miss Stirling, I thought you were already home resting," a gray-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard stopped beside them with a kind smile.
"Dr. Alwyn, I'd love for that to be possible, but... Things happened on my way home." Michaela cleared her throat, pointing at Francesca with her thumb. "We need a quick improbability test."
The man's gaze traveled between the two women before he opened his mouth slightly, nodding slowly.
"Let's go then, it won't take more than five minutes," he said cheerfully, turning around.
They followed him down the hall to a locked room. He took the key from his pocket, unlocked it, and once inside, closed the door with a smile, immediately searching for what was needed for the test: swabs and a needle for the blood sample.
The test really didn't take long: a quick blood draw and saliva samples to check for the first level of mutual resonance. The man hummed casually as the machine made small noises. Michaela shifted her legs anxiously on the examination table while Francesca remained impassive at her side.
"Okay, here it is," the man announced with a smile.
"Spare us the blah blah blah and give us the percentage," Michaela interrupted, clearing her throat. "Excuse me, Dr. Alwyn, please continue.”
The doctor simply chuckled and quietly read the technical term before clearing his throat.
"No doubt about it, 99.9% probability of a match. Congratulations or I'm sorry, Michaela." He shrugged and held the paper out in her direction.
Neither of them seemed keen to hold it, but Francesca finally relented, clearing her throat as her eyes met the precise percentage that had just confirmed that the woman beside her was her soulmate—not the romantic version, but her nemesis, her archenemy, whom she would be hating in less than an hour for how different they were.
Michaela exhaled slowly, running a hand over the back of her bare neck. She looked at the doctor for a few seconds, unsure what to say, and then simply clasped her hands together, almost pleadingly.
"How many inhibitors can you prescribe us? I know the maximum is six months, but with the intensity of our symptoms, those inhibitors won't even last three months.”
"Then you need something more frequent from private labs," the man said, his gaze shifting between the two women. "The injections are more successful, and you can live without the discomfort, but the treatments must be started soon, or the mere thought of being apart will be horrifying."
"It's the same if we're together; we'll want to kill each other," Francesca said, still with her arms crossed. "I almost fainted from the headache, so this connection is much more intense than the tests can measure.”
The doctor remained silent for a few seconds. Michaela glanced sideways at Francesca and then sighed. The pianist was lost in her own thoughts about how terrible this Friday was turning out for her.
"I assume you know about the Bond Disconnection Program, right?" the man finally asked.
The Bond Disconnection Program (BDP) was an elite center about which few details were known unless you participated. This was because unlikely soulmates joined the program to achieve a successful disconnection that took no more than a month. It was known that they could achieve the impossible and that they had cutting-edge technology, but the cost of joining to sever that bond sometimes made couples decide to back out. Guaranteed success came at a price that not everyone could afford.
"Oh, the psychiatric hospital for rich people," Michaela said. "Or the hippie center. There are a lot of rumors about it."
“It's a magnificent place that manages to reach the very depths of the connection in order to break it; definitely what you need if you don't want to try to fix your unlikely connection.”
"There's no point in trying to fix the connection if we can barely stand each other," Francesca said, raising an eyebrow. Michaela nodded in agreement.
As hard as they tried, it would be a long process. Their connection meant they were destined to repel each other and clash constantly. In fact, they were both surprised they hadn't argued for a single minute since arriving at the hospital.
"Then the healthiest thing to do is cut it off at the root," the doctor said as he walked away again to rummage through his things. "Are you enrolled in the improbable health insurance?"
"Yes, because the idea of shelling out 100 pounds a month seemed like a delightful one," Michaela said, and Francesca almost giggled but held it back.
"I am. I've been paying for it since I was 25," Francesca said, feeling Michaela's gaze on her.
"Oh, so you're really rich," she chuckled, and Francesca looked at her. "Pocket change for you."
"I work like everyone else in this country, Michaela," she said, a little annoyed, holding her gaze.
"Hmm, I don't know... You have a familiar look," she intuited, and Francesca rolled her eyes. "What's your last name?"
"That's none of your business," she replied, surprised, but Michaela, far from being offended, looked at her amused.
"Alright, girls, no need to stir things up," Dr. Alwyn said as he approached again.
A brochure in Michaela's hand and another in Francesca's; both women sat silently, studying its contents. Everything they could know about BDP was summarized in a structured way, but its fees remained a mystery.
"I can refer you right now. You'll have a teleconsultation that will answer your questions quickly," the man said.
"Any idea how much this hippie center for rich people might cost?" Michaela asked impatiently.
Dr. Alwyn seemed thoughtful as he gently scratched his beard.
"Well... A lot is said, but as you know, it's quite secretive," he murmured, looking at them. "But you can ask those questions once we schedule the teleconsultation, which is free.”
The referral had to come directly from a doctor who had determined that the patients didn't have the necessary conditions to try the genuine connection treatment, so this was the moment. Francesca had her Friday off, and Michaela was just finishing a shift, so both were available for the teleconsultation. They glanced at each other briefly and nodded slowly; it was now or never.
The man approached his desk and, while humming a song, typed rapidly. Michaela remained impassive on the examination table, swinging her legs, while Francesca paused to look at the decorations on the walls. After a few minutes, without knowing what the doctor was actually doing, they were both called to the desk and sat in the available chairs.
"Okay, the video call will begin in five minutes. Due to professional ethics, I shouldn't be present, so... Good luck."
Francesca cleared her throat as her fingers tapped in her lap. Michaela, beside her, fidgeted with her knee, both of them unsure of what to expect from the video call.
"Good morning, I'm Taylor Rogers, and you've been referred by Dr. Alwyn directly from St Thomas' Hospital," a white man with impeccably styled hair greeted them. "Please tell me your names."
"Is it just me, or does he look like a..."
"Michaela," the pianist said, nudging her with her elbow. "This is Michaela, and I'm Francesca."
The man smiled, his teeth barely showing, clasping his hands on the desk.
"Well, Michaela and Francesca, it's a pleasure to meet you. An unlikely connection on a Friday morning has its charm, doesn't it?" he said calmly. "If you could rate your physical discomfort on a scale of 1 to 10, what score would you give it?”
"A 10," they said simultaneously, glancing at each other.
"Are you feeling anything right now? Tired? Dizzy? Any migraine symptoms?"
"No, we took an emergency pill a little while ago," Francesca replied, looking at the man through the screen.
"Great, since you're both in your right mind, we can talk business."
Taylor, with a rather enigmatic air, began with the basics: what the program consisted of, how long it lasted, what the final outcome was, and roughly how each week progressed toward the goal. Francesca listened attentively, wanting something to write down so she wouldn't forget anything, while Michaela sat with her arms and legs crossed, listening, surprisingly silent.
Francesca asked a few standard questions: the cost, what changes their personalities would experience by the end of the program, and whether there were any risks of it not working. Taylor answered slowly, omitting the fee for the moment. Michaela seemed to notice because she looked at Francesca with a raised eyebrow before settling back in her chair. After what felt like hours, the man clasped his hands again with a satisfied smile.
"I hope I've been clear enough for both of you. As you know, we are very careful about what the center means to the community, which is why I can speak to you in general terms... At least until you sign the confidentiality agreement."
"Even if we decide not to participate?" Michaela finally asked. Francesca looked at her, confused. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."
“Hypothetically speaking, no. So far, I haven't revealed the name of the technology we use, nor what you'll see in your private sessions to undo the bond... You know how it progresses each week, but not the methodology for achieving it, right?" he asked, smiling slightly. Francesca cleared her throat.
"I understand... Well, how should we proceed now?" she asked, playing with the ring on her thumb.
"The confidentiality agreements can be sent right now along with the contract between you and us," he indicated. For a few seconds, only the sound of typing could be heard in the background. "Francesca Bridgerton, you can check your email. And Michaela Stirling, you can check your email."
Michaela straightened up and looked at Francesca as if she had two heads.
"I knew you were rich," Michaela said, narrowing her eyes. "You're a Bridgerton. Your family practically controls half this city."
"Michaela Stirling, daughter of Helen Stirling, the logistics and international shipping magnate," Taylor interrupted, and Francesca raised an eyebrow. "I think we can talk about rates then."
"Where are you reading that? It's very invasive," Michaela complained without looking at Francesca.
“You weren’t saying the same thing when he mentioned my last name,” Francesca complained, and Michaela shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “And I have nothing to do with the family business, by the way.”
“Well, I’m not on a boat, so…” Michaela said, relaxing her posture slightly. “Anyway, how much is this hippie retreat going to cost us?”
“You can print your documents,” Taylor said. They exchanged a glance. “I’m sure Dr. Alwyn has a printer. Go for it.”
Michaela huffed as she stood up, grabbed her phone, and logged in. She then sent both documents to the print queue. Francesca did the same, her knee tapping anxiously. For several minutes, the only sounds were the whirring of the papers and the man’s carefree humming on the screen.
“Great, let’s get started,” Michaela said, handing Francesca a stack of papers. “Wait, this one's yours... Is your middle name Violet?”
"Just give it to me, Michaela," Francesca complained, annoyed at not having managed to snoop around to find out Michaela's middle name.
Michaela sat down after letting out a little laugh. Taylor watched them without saying anything, perhaps simply understanding a little of the dynamic the professionals would have to face when they both arrived at the center.
They reviewed new points: the importance of not sharing the name or physical descriptions of their unlikely soulmate with anyone else, and not mentioning names either. Francesca nodded slowly, keeping up with the conversation, while Michaela seemed to be moving at her own pace, skimming and flipping through the pages faster.
"10,000 damn pounds in total," she blurted out, then covered her mouth. "At this price, I'll definitely forget what year it is. What the hell?"
"I see Michaela managed to get to page seven without any problem." Taylor leaned back in his chair, and Francesca curiously flipped to the same page. “It's a reputable center with cutting-edge technology, the best professionals, and you'll be in the best possible conditions... Believe me, it's worth the price.”
"Will there be caviar for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?" Michaela asked, and Taylor chuckled. "Because it's disgusting, no matter how much rich people love eating it."
"Only on certain days, and patients are consulted in advance." Taylor shrugged. Michaela opened her mouth slightly before looking at Francesca.
"Francesca's lack of response indicates that this fee is pocket change," she remarked, and Francesca cleared her throat.
"No, it's... Expensive, I consider it expensive," she denied, running a hand through her hair. "But I've been paying for health insurance, so I'm more prepared."
"Of course you are." Michaela chuckled, refocusing her attention on the documents. "Anyway, where is this located? The Caribbean?”
Taylor chuckled. Francesca was irritated, but Taylor seemed amused by Michaela's attitude.
"Classified location even after your treatment is complete. We'll handle the transfer at all times," she said, leaning forward. "You don't need to worry about anything. You're in the best hands to ensure that connection disappears and no longer causes you physical discomfort."
They looked at each other for a few brief seconds. Francesca, studying the technologist's amused expression, could feel her brow furrow at the mere thought of inevitably arguing with her over something absurd. She straightened up in her chair and picked up a pencil, quickly flipping through the pages to where her name was.
"Thank you. I'm sure it will be a rejuvenating experience," she said, signing firmly and extending the pencil toward Michaela.
"Sounds like something a hippie would say," Michaela joked before taking the pencil and turning to the last page, signing in the same manner.
Taylor smiled at them, looking delighted with the decision. After a few technical details on how to proceed, the connection finally ended. Francesca stood up as if the chair were burning hot, while Michaela stretched lazily before getting up. Dr. Alwyn entered a few seconds later, with a half-smile.
"I assume everything went well, right?" he asked, shoving both hands into his lab coat pockets.
"More than perfect, Doctor. We'll be lobotomized soon," Michaela joked, checking the time on her phone.
Francesca glanced at her, feeling slightly dizzy. Michaela seemed to feel it too, because she braced herself against the chair before complaining. Dr. Alwyn chuckled and walked to his desk drawer. Seconds later, he returned with two capsules and a bottle of water.
"Oh, girls, this connection is definitely much more intense than I thought," he remarked after they both took their respective capsules.
[The second half of this connection, someone named Michaela Stirling]
Michaela opened her apartment door, careful not to drop anything she was carrying. She almost stumbled inside, then closed the door with her foot. She reached out to place her key in the keyhole and sighed dramatically. Michaela should have been home two hours ago, but fate had decided to make an emergency stop.
"Pascal, Rune," she called as she walked over to place the groceries on the coffee table. "You'd better have kept an eye on the house and not slept all morning."
Michaela walked slowly to her bedroom, where the door was ajar. She let out a mock-disappointing sigh when she found Pascal (her Bombay cat) and Rune (her Tabby Mackerel cat) sleeping peacefully on the blanket neatly arranged at the foot of the bed. She giggled as she entered and opened the curtain a little more, the noise being of no concern to either feline.
"You two sleep like you have a 9-to-5 job," Michaela joked. She really wanted to pet them, but she knew there was another way to get their attention, even with both of them asleep.
Michaela went back to the living room and took a medium-sized package of salmon-flavored cat treats from one of the shopping bags. A quick shake was all it took to hear both cats meow and then see them come running into the living room. Michaela laughed as she bent down to pet them. Pascal purred while Rune sniffed at the package. After giving each cat a kiss on the head, Michaela decided to give them the treats.
"I had the craziest morning ever," Michaela said, laughing as she got up, determined to put away the groceries before exhaustion took over.
Calmly, she grabbed some bags and carried them to the kitchen, opening the drawers to put each item away, doing the same with the refrigerator. She was checking her mental shopping list and then the note on her phone when she realized she'd forgotten to buy lettuce.
"No, the lettuce," she said, putting a hand to her forehead and shaking her head. "Whatever."
But then she remembered that she was planning to have lettuce with tuna tomorrow (simply because she felt like having lettuce with tuna) and she genuinely complained as she picked up her phone again. She'd have to ask for help from whoever was visiting her later.
11:14 am Michaela: Hiiiiiii, before you come later, could you stop by and pick up some lettuce for me? Thanks!!!
11:16 am Elizabeth: Sure, what kind?
11:17 am Michaela: The green one!
11:18 am Elizabeth: Yes, but what kind?
11:19 am Michaela: ?
11:19 am Elizabeth: Michaela, there are like six kinds of lettuce, which one do you need?
“Right.” She laughed while shaking her head, deciding to go on Google to check exactly which one she needed for her recipe.
11:21 am Michaela: Batavia lettuce, thank you, dear!!!
11:23 am Elizabeth: Okay, see you later!
Rune appeared in the kitchen, just to snoop around. Michaela squinted. Of her feline children, Rune was the most mischievous. Less than a week ago, he'd knocked over the coat rack, which landed dangerously close to the robot vacuum cleaner. Pascal, on the other hand, was a true angel—always affectionate, calm, and sleepy. He loved to eat, play with Rune, play with his toys, and sleep. It was an interesting dynamic, but Michaela didn't complain. Despite everything, she loved them both equally.
Michaela was about to put on her pajamas to catch up on the sleep she'd missed because of her night shift when she remembered the center's fee. She grumbled again as she grabbed her phone, her eyes already feeling heavy. She had money, yes, but no one was financially prepared to shell out 5,000 damn pounds in a single second, and she wasn't about to touch her savings. Instead, she'd use the money she never touched, the money she only kept for emergencies: the family fund she had access to thanks to her mother's businesses.
11:33 am Michaela: Remember that time I told you all that excess capital would lead this world to ruin? I've been thinking deeply, and I believe that if we have money, we should do productive things with it, right? Fund research, help those in need, donate to a top-secret hippie project... You know the drill, doing good without expecting anything in return, as John Maxwell said: We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.
11:36 am Michaela: With that said, I'm going to withdraw £5,000 from the fund in my name, just so you don't think it's a scam or fraud, thanks!
11:38 am John: LMAAAO A message the size of a Bible verse just to say you're going to use money that belongs to you, oh Michaela, never change!
11:39 am Mom: Of course, honey, it's your money, enjoy it, we love you xo
11:40 am John: Which foundation will you be supporting with your donation?
11:41 am Michaela: I want to invest in a cure for homosexuality, I hope I get lucky!
11:42 am John: A lesbian with internalized homophobia? Never seen before in history lol
11:43 am Michaela: Women are dangerous and that's why I want to be cured! Anyway, you'll hear from me soon, love you, bye!
11:45 am Mom: I love you, sweetheart! See you soon xo
Michaela giggled and after minutes of answering security questions on her phone, the 5,000 pounds were finally in her bank account. With that sorted, she put on her pajamas and satin scarf and collapsed onto her bed. Pascal soon arrived and lay down beside her. He was always sleepy, while in the background she could hear Rune running and jumping with one of his toys. Michaela just hoped he wouldn't break anything.
She woke up somewhat disoriented by the sound of her phone. Pascal stretched dramatically beside her and noticed that Rune had joined her for a nap but was lying at the foot of the bed. Michela groaned as she slowly sat up, picking up the phone with squinted eyes.
"Hello?" she asked hoarsely, without looking at who was calling.
"Hello, welcome to our group call," Taylor's now-familiar voice greeted her. Michaela decided to get out of bed. "Francesca is on the line, as are you, Michaela."
"Yes, hello. What's the reason for the call?" she asked, confused.
"We have good news. The program will start for you on Monday," he announced, and Michaela thought the man was smiling.
"What? But you told us on the video call that we'd probably start the program in two weeks," Francesca asked through the phone.
"Yes, but a spot opened up because a couple changed their minds, so you're in," Taylor explained, Michaela still feeling sleepy.
She put on her slippers and walked to the living room, held her phone a little further away, and noticed it was 5:25 p.m. Elizabeth would be arriving in an hour.
"Taylor, I just finished grocery shopping. What am I supposed to do with all my food?" Michaela asked, checking that everything was in its place.
"We can reimburse you. Everything is negotiable, don't worry, Michaela," the man replied. "You need to be ready at your respective addresses by 9:00 a.m. on Monday. We've already sent the notifications to your workplaces, so your month off, paid, starts next week.”
“I had to practice a solo for the orchestra,” Francesca murmured. “Tomorrow, actually… Not anymore, I shouldn’t, right? I won’t be there for the performance.”
“That’s right, Francesca, but when you get back you’ll be as good as ever. The center has a piano so you can keep practicing,” the man reassured her. “We’ve sent an informational file to your emails for your loved ones. It has all the necessary information so they know you’ll be okay. The program may be private, but it’s not a place based on lies.”
“Okay…” Michaela said, suddenly remembering something. “Yes, see you then, goodbye.”
Michaela hung up as quickly as she could to search for another contact in her list. Without thinking twice, she clicked on Cheryl’s name, hoping the woman had her phone handy.
“Michaela Stirling,” came the reply seconds later. Michaela breathed a sigh of relief. “I suppose you’re calling to let me know you can’t make it to the appointment on Tuesday.”
"Well, I... Oh, how do you know?" she asked nervously, and the woman chuckled.
"The BDP sent me an explanatory email fifteen minutes ago. Sounds like quite a topic to discuss in an upcoming session, don't you think?"
"It's been crazy, Cheryl," she admitted, letting out a disbelieving chuckle. "I don't know how, but I have to survive this experience and heal. I've never felt so awful as when I bumped into my unlikely soulmate."
"I can imagine, but don't worry. As long as you have the inhibitors and follow the treatment to the letter, your life will be back to normal in a month.”
"I hope so," she sighed, running a hand over the back of her neck. "Cheryl, I... What if I need you?"
"They told me they have specialized therapists, but if you really need reassurance from someone who's been with you for the past two years, then they promised to contact me," she reassured her, and Michaela nodded even though she couldn't see her. "I'll be there for you, maybe not physically, but in thought and just a phone call away. Do you think it's a manageable situation?"
Michaela closed her eyes for a moment, placing two fingers on her temple, tapping the area three times as she processed the question. She didn't know if she could handle it, but at least she could promise she would try.
"I'll try, yes," she finally said, taking a deep breath. "But I'm glad you're my lifeline anyway, in case of an emergency."
"That's what we're here for, Michaela," she said softly. "Now pack your suitcase because Monday will arrive sooner than you think.”
"Yes, you're right." Michaela laughed briefly. "Thanks, Cheryl, see you soon."
"See you soon, good luck with this experience." She said goodbye and hung up.
She was about to put her phone down on the coffee table when a vibration announcing a new message stopped her.
5:38 pm Francesca: Why did you rub your temple three times? Now I'm afraid it's an impending migraine.
Michaela sat up on the sofa and turned slowly, as if the idea of Francesca Bridgerton herself spying on her from the heights of a fifth floor were possible.
Due to health issues and symptoms, they had exchanged numbers after leaving Dr. Alwyn's office, because at that time treatment seemed far off and they had to manage the symptoms remotely.
5:40 pm Michaela: ??? You felt that?? That's strange, I didn't do it because of physical pain.
5:41 pm Francesca: I felt it as if I had done it myself, three times, as if you wanted to remember something, I don't know.
Michaela swallowed hard, bringing her hand to the area but without touching it.
5:43 pm Michaela: Maybe I just wanted to test how powerful the connection was.
5:45 pm Francesca: Well, it's really powerful!!! Despite everything, I'm glad the admission date was moved up. This is really going to be the end of us, whether we're in the same room or in different places.
5:47 pm Michaela: Yes, you're right... Well, see you on Monday, Francesca.
5:48 pm Francesca: Really? Without any words to get on my nerves?
5:49 pm Michaela: I'll have plenty of weeks to get on your nerves. Enjoy your weekend!!
Michaela locked her phone, seriously considering taking a shower before Elizabeth arrived. She got up to gather the essentials just as Pascal appeared in the living room. Rune followed him but stopped in the hallway to freshen up. Michaela walked past them and petted them both before grabbing her towels and getting in the shower.
Less than fifteen minutes later, she was back in the living room in comfortable clothes, adjusting the knot of her satin hat, checking that her hair hadn't gotten wet. Her phone vibrated on the coffee table, and Michaela bent down to pick it up.
6:09 pm Elizabeth: I have your lettuce. Can Edwina come over? She left work early.
6:11 pm Michaela: It would be strange if you came without her.
6:13 pm Elizabeth: You're just mad because you haven't found your soulmate yet!
6:14 pm Michaela: Yes, about that...
6:16 pm Elizabeth: ??? Context, Michaela.
6:18 pm Michaela: Just come soon, and I'll give you some context.
Michaela slipped her phone into her sweatpants pocket and walked to the kitchen. The cats darted out as soon as the automatic feeder dispensed their food. Michaela chuckled as she decided to put the kettle on to make some tea.
She was about to head to the living room to continue with her Rubik's Cube when something very much like a sharp pain in her jaw stopped her. She groaned dramatically, clutching the area and cursing under her breath.
"Francesca," she whispered through gritted teeth as she made her way to the living room, still rubbing the sore spot.
She grabbed her phone and, after unlocking it, went straight to the chat with the woman.
6:25 pm Michaela: What the hell are you doing? I feel like my jaw is going to open!
6:27 pm Francesca: Sorry, I guess I was overthinking it. Did it hurt as much as it hurt me?
6:29 pm Michaela: It was almost like a jerk! Don't do that often or you'll get bruxism. (While you're tied to me, do whatever you want afterward.)
6:31 pm Francesca: How thoughtful, I suppose. Have a good weekend, and please don't touch your temple.
6:33 pm Michaela: And you, don't clench your jaw, Francesca Violet.
6:35 pm Francesca: You're so...
6:37 pm Michaela: Incredible? I know!
Francesca didn't respond, and Michaela considered it a victory. She placed her phone on the coffee table and began to analyze the day's events: the crash, a monumental headache, dizziness, and the urge to repel Francesca. She wasn't constantly thinking about her soulmate; lately, she seemed to have erased her from her mind, but the blow of reality had been harsh and unbearable.
Michaela didn't deny that Francesca was beautiful. With her height and expressive eyes of a color Michaela couldn't identify, she seemed like a good prospect, an artistic woman who, in person, appeared more reserved, more herself, while the world kept turning. Michaela knew that these thoughts came and went because her brain kept projecting images of rejection and the urge to run in the opposite direction.
Running while feeling the urge to scream at her or find a way to anger her just to provoke a reaction, she had noticed that for Francesca it was "new" to get involved in a conflict; she saw it in her expression when she answered her rudely in the hospital. Perhaps she was bringing out a side of her that she didn't know existed, perhaps she was being a Francesca who didn't intend to stay silent in front of anyone, but at the end of the day they were just assumptions. Michaela didn't know her completely and it was difficult to see the whole picture when she had only been in her company for a little over two hours.
With a final sigh, she pulled her Rubik's Cube from her bag and slumped onto the sofa, patiently waiting for Elizabeth to arrive with Edwina. She needed to tell her best friends, in short, that finally, almost thirty years old, she had found her romantic soulmate. But, as life was the greatest karma of all, the woman was actually her unlikely soulmate, as beautiful as she was unbearably different from her in every sense of the word.
"Well, it could always be worse," she sighed, moving a piece, just as a noise made her shift in her seat. "I won't say anything next time... Rune Arthur Stirling, you'd better not have thrown away that new flowerpot!"
Rune had already fled the scene when Michaela spotted an empty dessert bowl on the floor, the metallic clang slowly fading away. She sighed deeply before shaking her head. It was definitely going to be a challenge—the distance, being away from the hospital, away from her cats—but she knew it was for the greater good. She'd only had the symptoms for less than a day, but she already wanted to feel well again. She wanted to break the bond that made her instinctively bring her hand to her head, fearing a new, unbearable migraine would begin. She wanted to be as free as ever, she wanted independence, and if all of that came with the absolute truth that Francesca Bridgerton would be erased from her mind and that her connection would be severed, then she would happily accept all the consequences.