Chapter 12
The property arrangements appeared straightforward, though ownership and transfer details needed confirmation.
The confidentiality language was broader than she liked.
Most importantly, there were still steps to complete before the divorce would become final.
“We can deal with those issues,” she said.
I felt my shoulders relax.
“I don’t want a war.”
“Then we won’t start one.”
She looked at me.
“But I need you to understand something.”
I waited.
“You are allowed to ask questions, Mara.”
I almost laughed.
It was astonishing how often people had to remind me of that.
Vincent agreed to the changes Elise requested.
There was no dramatic battle over the settlement.
No shouting between attorneys.
No attempt to take back the apartment.
In some ways, that made everything worse.
He could make the end of our marriage financially painless.
He simply hadn’t known how to make the marriage itself emotionally bearable.
Meanwhile, I began the long process of returning to medicine.
My mornings belonged to textbooks.
My afternoons belonged to coursework, meetings, assessments, and the paperwork required to explore a formal clinical reentry pathway.
I studied anatomy again.
Revisited emergency management protocols.
Read about surgical techniques that had evolved during my absence.
I found subjects I had once understood instinctively that now required concentration.
At first, I hated it.
I hated reading the same page three times.
I hated discovering how much I had forgotten.
I hated feeling older than the physicians whose careers had continued while mine stopped.
There were nights when I stared at my notes and cried.
Not because the material was impossible.
Because I remembered when it had been familiar.
Sometimes, I closed my eyes and imagined the woman in my old photograph.
She would have known the answer.
She would have recognized the complication.
She would have walked into the operating room without questioning whether she belonged there.
Then I remembered Evelyn’s words.
Wanting something back isn’t the same as being ready for it.
So I studied.
And when I didn’t understand something, I studied again.
I kept a notebook of everything I needed to relearn.
The list grew longer before it grew shorter.
For once, I didn’t allow that to become a reason to quit.
Vincent called twice during the first month.
I didn’t answer.
He sent messages instead.
Did you receive the property documents?
Are you comfortable in the apartment?
Do you need anything?
The questions were practical.