Chapter 5
Brielle’s POV
Tim leaves with a cheerful goodbye, thanking me for a great start to the morning before heading off to work. His words linger in my mind as I finish loading the dishwasher, thoughts of the spots he mentioned sparking my curiosity. I decide to take a walk, explore the area, and map the route to my workplace. It’s practical too-I want to know how much shelter the streets offer during winter’s inevitable downpours. Fifteen minutes later, I find that the path to work is short and manageable, flanked by storefronts and trees that promise some cover from the rain.
I decide on an impromptu visit to my new boss. As the overseer for both sections of the hospital, I want to introduce myself before my official start. I take the elevator to the fifth floor, unsure if he’ll actually be in the office on a Sunday-my previous boss was notorious for being a nearly permanent fixture in his. Outside the office, I pause to read the name engraved boldly on the placard: Dr. M Rellan.
“Come in,” calls a deep, commanding voice from the other side. I step in, my eyes landing on a man in his sixties seated behind a desk cluttered with papers. His sharp, well-trimmed beard and sparkling eyes lend him a dignified charm, despite my usual indifference to facial hair.
“Hi,” I start with a smile, “I was passing by and thought I’d come introduce myself. I’m-”
“Brielle Pendry,” he finishes, standing to shake my hand before sitting again. I flush, embarrassed that he knows me while I struggle to recall him.
“Two years ago, you gave a brilliant presentation at Rosemount comparing open-heart surgeries to keyhole procedures. Cutting-edge stuff-your articulation was impressive.”
“Oh! That was a while ago. Honestly, I don’t remember you being there.” I stammer, my usual skill with names and faces betraying me.
“You wouldn’t-theater audience members seldom make an impression in reverse. Since then, I’ve been nudging your former boss to transfer you here. Now that you’re finally on board, I’ve no intention of letting you leave.” His laughter is warm, contagious, and I find myself chuckling along as he gestures to the chair opposite him. Settling into it, I wait for him to continue.
“Everything’s pre-arranged with your transfer from our sister hospital. No forms to fill out, fortunately,” Rellan explains. “You’ll be heading the research side while Dr. Morris focuses purely on surgery-the job was too much for one person. He’s an exceptional surgeon and, frankly, so are you. You’ll still find yourself in the operating theater often despite your research role, but we’ll see how time and workload balance out. I suspect Morris and you will work well together. He’s in surgery now, so introductions will have to wait.”
He rises, smiling as he says, “Let me show you to your office and introduce you to the team.”
The hospital sprawls across five floors-its patient rooms resemble well-appointed motel accommodations, though some simpler ward options exist for those who can’t afford private suites. The canteen resembles more of a cozy restaurant, its enticing aromas filling the air. As we walk, I meet several staff members, all polite, their demeanor shifting to subdued awe when they realize who I am. My office is spacious, even sporting a window I doubt I’ll have time to notice once work ramps up. Then, the research lab steals my heart. It’s immaculate, equipped for detailed autopsy analysis of hearts donated to science, complete with photographs and patient histories. My excitement crescendos-I can’t wait to dive into work.
By the time I return home, the day has slipped toward evening, and the clock reads seven. Dinner beckons, so I reach for the steak and begin peeling vegetables, only to freeze as the front door swings open. Tim steps in, damp-haired and weary, as though fresh from a shower. His tired eyes tell more than his composed manner, though I resist the temptation to ask about the details of his Sunday workload. He’s off-limits-thanks to Freyara-whether as anything beyond a friend or even a fleeting source of happiness. I remind myself sternly that rebound entanglements lead nowhere good.
“Got enough for two?” he asks, already making a beeline for the coffeemaker.
“Sure, grab another steak from the fridge,” I reply, watching him comply. With practiced ease, he adds the second steak to the marinade before joining me at the counter, peeling potatoes alongside me. As we work, I tell him about my walk, omitting mention of my visit to the hospital and office. I mention the quaint café I discovered, and Tim lights up-apparently, they serve his favorite cheesecake. Challenge accepted, I tell myself-I’ll prove my culinary prowess and best their recipe. I’d missed having foodie competitions since Balen, who steadfastly refused anything beyond steak and fries, dulling my creative streak.
Dinner is served on the balcony, paired with wine Tim produces from his stash. I rarely indulge in alcohol alone, untouched by the habit, but decide a vacation mindset warrants exception. Naturally, I ensure Tim enjoys more of the wine than I do-his tipsy grin surfacing as I shepherd him toward the door.
“Behave, or I’ll start locking this,” I tease as he finally leaves, no resistance offered. Moments later, my phone buzzes, distracting me as I turn the lock. Without checking the caller ID, I answer.
“Hey, honey. Won’t be home tonight-flights are canceled because of the storm here. I’ll call when I’m heading back. Talk later.” The words tumble out like an afterthought before he hangs up, the din of a party in the background impossible to miss. My chest tightens briefly; he clearly hasn’t gotten wind of
the divorce.
Exhaustion creeps in, the toll of roaming, meeting people, and processing emotional baggage settling over me. Doctors learn to compartmentalize feelings for the sake of their patients’ families-a defense mechanism I lean on now to separate myself from the pain of my dissolved marriage. A flawed approach, perhaps, but effective. The reminders to stay strong come unbidden. I’ve endured enough gaslighting and secondhand emotions-I refuse to let my past dictate my future. What I feel, I own, and I intend to keep it that way.
