Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
The grief never goes away. The loss is always with me.
But it does begin to hurt less.
I didn’t believe anyone at the time. I certainly never believed that idiot psychiatrist who promised me she could help Lindsay.
Day by day, I’ve learned to cope, to exist.
To exist in a world without Julia and Lindsay.
To exist in a world where I can no longer perform surgery.
Of course, that was all it was. Existing.
But now I have hope.
But I have something else as well.
Something I’m not keen to give up.
I’ve met a woman. A woman who speaks to me in ways I never imagined I could hear again.
A woman who is different from Lindsay.
But a woman who almost makes me believe I can feel again.
Because already I’m feeling things. Feelings I’ve never felt before.
It frightens me. Especially since she’s a student.
And that is why I left her in the middle of the night. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but…
I’m finding it harder and harder to make excuses for my behavior.
Because quite frankly, I’m not sorry it happened. And while I’ve been focused on the surgery and the hope that it’s given me, just as much of my focus has been on Angie Simpson.
It’s forbidden.
Taboo.
And I’ve given that some thought. Is that why I’m so attracted to her? Because it’s so wrong?
But I’ve been teaching for two years. Four semesters. I’ve taught many beautiful women, but not one of them has affected me like Angie Simpson has.
We finish up lab, and as I give the instructions, I deliberately look away from Angie.
The students did well today. Most of them were excited to start cutting—all of them except for Angie.
But she did it.
She faced her fears, and she made the cut with as much precision as I’ve seen any first-year medical student make.
She has the gift. She may not want to be a surgeon, but she could be.
The other two students in the class who seem to be the most gifted are her lab partner, Tabitha, and Elijah Garrett.
But they all did well.
“Excellent work,” I say as I dismiss the class. “Same time tomorrow, and we’ll continue this exercise.”
Then they applaud.
I’m not sure what they’re applauding. Certainly not my lecture. They’ve heard me lecture before. They must be applauding the fact that they cut today for the first time.
But Angie’s not clapping.
She’s looking down at her cadaver as she covers it. And I see her mouth the words thank you.
She’s something else.
I made it clear in our first lecture what a gift this was, how we should be grateful for these amazing people who gave us the ultimate gift of their bodies to study and learn from.
She took it to heart.
This is a woman who probably thanks the animal before she eats a steak.
In fact I wouldn’t doubt it, since she comes from a family of beef ranchers.
She’s something else, Angie Simpson.
Emotions coil through me—emotions I haven’t felt in so long. Emotions I didn’t think I was capable of feeling any longer.
And some of it…
Some of it’s not familiar.
And because it’s not—because I’m feeling something that I don’t think I ever felt for my wife—guilt overwhelms me.
How can I feel something for another woman that I never felt for Lindsay? I always thought Lindsay and I were soulmates. Perhaps we were. Perhaps you don’t have just one soulmate.
I’m not in love with Angie Simpson. I barely know her.
But I feel a pull. A magnetic attraction that yanks at my chest, twisting my heart in perplexing directions. I feel a connection, an undercurrent of shared understanding that seems to bind us like an invisible thread.
It’s different from what I had with Lindsay. Our love was comfortable, solid as the ground beneath our feet. Perhaps it lacked the raw intensity I’m grappling with now, but it had a quiet strength, a resilience that lasted through good times and bad. Until it got too bad for either of us to handle.
With Angie, everything is new and disturbingly intense. There’s an odd familiarity about her that has nothing to do with memories or past experiences. It feels more like a deep-rooted knowledge, as if some part of me recognizes her from other lives lived long ago. And since I don’t believe in that stuff, it’s all the more frightening.
Guilt gnaws at me, making every breath a struggle. Is it fair? Is it right to have such feelings for someone else when my love for Lindsay still lingers?
But then again, isn’t love supposed to be selfless?
Isn’t love supposed to be a celebration of another’s existence, rather than an obligation driven by guilt? Perhaps it’s not my attraction to Angie that belittles my feelings for Lindsay, but the guilt itself. It’s the guilt that makes me question, that breeds self-doubt and regret.
I haven’t told Angie about Lindsay. About Julia.