Chapter 24
I frowned.
“That I’d been away too long?”
“Among other things.”
She crossed her arms.
“You told me you weren’t sure you deserved another chance.”
I looked down.
“I remember.”
“And what do you think now?”
I considered the question.
A year earlier, I would have answered that I was grateful.
That I hoped I was good enough.
That I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
Now I looked at the equipment beside me.
At the notes covered in corrections.
At the work I had done without anyone buying me shortcuts.
“I think I deserved the chance to try,” I said.
Evelyn nodded.
“Good.”
She handed me the evaluation.
“Then keep earning it.”
I smiled.
“I intend to.”
The afternoon I received confirmation that I had successfully completed a major stage of my clinical reentry requirements, I went home and opened a box I hadn’t touched since leaving Westchester.
Inside were photographs from my medical career.
Graduation.
Residency.
My first year as an attending surgeon.
Birthday celebrations in hospital break rooms.
Colleagues sleeping in uncomfortable chairs between shifts.
I found the photograph from my old medical bag.
The one I had held on the bedroom floor the night Vincent asked for a divorce.
I studied the woman in the picture.
Her messy hair.
Her tired eyes.
Her enormous smile.
Then I walked to the mirror.
I looked older now.
There were lines beside my mouth.
Gray strands appeared near my temples when I didn’t color my hair.
My face had changed.
So had my life.
I could never become that younger woman again.
And for the first time, I didn’t want to.
She had been brave.
But she had also been willing to abandon herself for love.
She had believed that sacrifice proved devotion even when it slowly erased her.
I could honor what was good in her without repeating what had hurt her.
I placed the photograph on the desk.
Then I took a new one.
No expensive dress.
No diamond necklace.
No ballroom or carefully arranged lighting.
Just me, standing in front of my desk with my training materials, wearing the same exhausted smile I remembered from years ago.
I put the pictures side by side.
And I realized something that made me cry.
I hadn’t lost myself completely.
I had only stopped believing I was allowed to choose myself.
A few weeks later, I returned to the Westchester estate for the last time.