My to-do list is a mile long, but getting rid of that expiry date is the priority. And it’s not just that. Mia flickers through every thought—between exercises, between conversations, in the spaces where I’m supposed to think about anything but her. Her laugh. The curl that always slips from her messy bun. Even her scribbled lists I find everywhere in my house.
Did I say too much the other night? Did I go too hard, too fast?
I know she feels something too. Difference is, I’m not scared. Maybe that’s where our ages show. I know howprecious time is, and I’m not about to waste or gamble it. I know better by now.
Surviving losing Blake would look like a walk in the park compared to a future without Mia. She’s shown me who I want to be, not the hollow man I thought I had to perform as.The righteous one. The ghost in his own house.
Mia’s given me a taste of what life can be, and now I know what happy feels like. And I want nothing more than to make my family happy. I want Lily proud of my Sunday pancakes, of the many voices I pull off while reading her stories, not of my doctor’s accolades gathering dust at the hospital, while she falls asleep without me. And I want Mia right beside me for it all.
By the time I walk into the hospital to check on Kate, I’m focused, but still checking the clock every ten minutes like some rookie intern counting down to lunch. Only I’m counting down to when I can text Mia without looking too desperate.
Kate’s propped up straighter, color back in her face. We talk, I scan her chart, tell her I’ll check in again after the physio sees her. She squeezes my hand and says she’s glad to see me. The feeling is mutual, and my smile genuine.
April tracks me down next, clipboard hugged to her chest like a shield. “Well, well, look who’s fitting right back in.”
“Don’t get too used to me,” I mutter with no bite in it. She’s held the fort just fine without me, and I plan to keep leaning on her. No more killing myself with crazy hours.
She quirks a brow. “Don’t even joke about it, Pres.”
“I’m back, A. Just… not doing the same hours as before. I’ll be delegating a lot more. Ready?”
“As ever.”
Wouldn’t expect any other answer.
Time for the board meeting. I brace for resistance—snide comments about my leave, digs about my stability—but instead, I get handshakes and nods. Relief and excitement.
“Good for the hospital,” one says.
“Good for the stocks.”
“Good to seeJettwritten on the surgery board again.” Someone grins.
My name, my career, reduced to a brand for these people. It used to bother me, but today it doesn’t sting.
Today I know where my real values lie, and they aren’t here, performing for suits.
The more they talk, the more my mind drifts to Mia. Is she still in her pajamas? Did she braid Lily’s hair this morning or put it up in a ponytail? How many hair clips did my kid demand? Are they scribbling birthday plans on that notepad she adopted? I’m sure she named the thing by now. Each image works under my skin until the ticking clock drowns out their chatter.
I don’t want to be in this meeting. I want to be either there or with my patients.
Still the day drags. Meetings blur, one bleeding into the next. So much bureaucracy. Things improve once I get together with Kate’s physio, her neuro, and Kate herself. I show her the same respect and consideration I’d expect if I was her patient.
By the time I finally check my watch, it’s past the point of no return. One last check-in with April and a goodbye kiss on Calista’s forehead that leaves her speechless forprobably the first time in her life. One can only hopeGood Mood Preswon't stick as my new nickname. I wrap things up and head out to pick up Lily, my priorities no longer screwed.
Anticipation turns my pulse wild. Tonight, then. Tonight, I’ll show Mia exactly what I mean—without scaring her off, without pushing too hard. Something between proof and temptation.
* * *
I make a quick pit stop before Lily’s school. It’s the best-smelling shop I’ve ever walked past, yet I’ve never felt compelled to go in—until now. The shop assistant overwhelms me with options, but I’m out in minutes, packing jasmine oil, jasmine bubbles, and a ridiculously expensive candle, big enough to outlive me. It smells of orange and patience—a reminder of what I need now. I smile at the glass jar, lift it to my nose, and breathe in. The perfume steadies my pulse, and I imagine how the orange will mix with Mia’s own citrusy scent.
At home, the three of us end up in the kitchen. Lily climbs onto her stool and reminds everyone she’s the official house sous chef at least ten times before we even decide on what we’re having. Mia ties a dish towel around her waist, and Lily plays the part with full authority. I season the chicken, pass ingredients around for chopping, and lean close enough to brush Mia’s arm, reaching for the salt. And again on the way back. She pretends not to notice, but her pressed lips tell me otherwise.
“Dad, don’t your cheeks hurt?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, without giving it a second thought.
“You know, from smiling since you walked in?” Lily explains, flour smeared across her cheeks.
