My mind was racing, calculations spinning through possibilities I hadn’t considered. Leadership. Autonomy. The chance to build something from the ground up, to implement the ideas I’d been developing for years.
“The center’s based here in the city,” Daniel added. “You wouldn’t have to relocate.”
I wouldn’t have to leave or choose between my career and everything else, the way I had five years ago.
“I don’t need an answer now,” Daniel said gently. “Just think about it.”
“I will. Thank you.”
We talked for another hour about the center’s vision, the funding structure, the timeline for implementation. By the time I left, my head was spinning with information I didn’t know how to process.
The next day, I met Cassian for our scheduled protocol review.
Something was different. He seemed distracted, kept checking his phone, his usual warmth replaced by coolness. Distance. The ease we’d found at lunch had evaporated, leaving behind the stilted professionalism we’d been maintaining for weeks.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” He didn’t look up from his notes. “Let’s just get through this.”
We worked in tense silence for twenty minutes. I reviewed the data. He made comments. We agreed on next steps without any of the collaborative energy that usually marked our sessions.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Cassian looked up. “No. Why?”
“Because you’re acting different. Like you’re angry with me.”
“I’m not angry. I’m just tired. Long week.”
“Cassian.”
“Can we focus on the work?”
I backed off, but the shift was obvious. We finished the meeting in record time, Cassian packing up his things before I’d even closed my laptop. He was out the door with a mumbled goodbye, leaving me alone in the conference room wondering what had changed.
That evening, I stopped by the coffee cart on my way out of the hospital. Cassian was already there, ordering his usual black coffee, no sugar. He turned when I approached, and his expression flickered with something before going carefully blank.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
We stood in uncomfortable silence while the barista made our drinks. The easy rapport from two days ago had vanished, replaced by something tight and brittle.
“So,” I tried. “Daniel Hargreeve reached out. Remember him? My fellowship supervisor.”
Cassian’s jaw twitched. “Yeah. I remember.”
“He offered me a position. Leadership role at a new trauma center he’s building.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
His tone was flat. Hollow. I frowned.
“You don’t sound happy for me.”
“I’m thrilled. Really.” He grabbed his coffee from the counter, not meeting my eyes. “Are you taking it?”
