Chapter 36
36
AMELIA
I was sitting on my couch, a plate of pasta balanced on my lap and a stack of lab notes spread out on the coffee table.
I twirled a forkful of noodles, my mind half on the notes and half on the day’s events.
The baby bump was starting to show now, and I couldn’t help but glance down at it every so often, still adjusting to the reality of it all.
My tank top clung to my curves, and my pajama pants were loose and comfortable—exactly what I needed after a long day.
I wasn’t really trying to hide the pregnancy, but I also wasn’t trying to show it off.
I knew there were still plenty of people gossiping about me behind my back.
They all wanted to know who my baby’s father was.
I wasn’t telling them a damn thing.
Let them gossip and speculate.
I couldn’t care less what they thought about me.
Soon, I would be gone.
Then they could choke on their gossip for all I cared.
At least, I hoped I would be gone soon.
I had to admit I wasn’t trying all that hard to find another job.
I knew I had to leave, but it was so hard to walk away from the job I loved.
I took another unladylike bite of pasta, slurping it into my mouth with zero shame.
Thank God no one could see me eating.
My grandmother would be having an absolute panic attack if she was looking down from eternity.
I went for another massive bite when there was a knock at the door.
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
Who would be here at this hour?
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
It had to be Clair. Setting the plate down, I pushed myself off the couch and padded to the door, peeking through the peephole expecting to find her standing there with a pint of ice cream.
That had become our thing.
But it wasn’t her. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at him.
Jared.
The father of my child was standing on my porch, a file tucked under his arm, his expression blank.
Like he was a door-to-door salesman.
I didn’t see happiness or irritation.
Or excitement. He just stood there.
For a moment, I considered not answering.
I wasn’t ready for this—for him.
But something made me turn the knob and open the door.
“Jared,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked as uncomfortable as I felt in that moment.
Like he wasn’t sure he should be here either.
“Hey, Amelia. I, uh… I was hoping you could take a look at something for me.” He held up the file, as if that explained everything.
I hesitated, then stepped aside, opening the door wider.
“Come in.”
He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room.
I realized this was the first time he’d ever been in my condo.
It felt strange, having him here, so close.
My body reacted in ways I wished it wouldn’t.
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly self- conscious about the tank top and the bump that was impossible to miss.
Then I remembered my pasta dinner and how I was eating.
I quickly wiped my face with the back of my hand, praying there wasn’t any sauce lingering.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied, closing the door behind him.
“It’s home.”
He nodded, still looking around.
I gestured to the couch.
“Have a seat. Do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, I’m good,” he said, sitting down.
He set the file on the coffee table, his eyes flicking to my half-eaten plate of pasta.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”
“It’s fine,” I said, picking up the plate.
“Are you hungry? I can fix you a plate.”
He hesitated, then shrugged.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s just pasta,” I said, heading to the kitchen.
“Nothing fancy.”
I dished up a plate for him.
My hands trembled slightly as I scooped the noodles onto the plate.
I covered it with a ladle filled with the jarred alfredo sauce, a little embarrassed by my meager fare.
I carried it back to the living room and set it in front of him, then sat down on the opposite end of the couch.
“Thanks,” he said, picking up the fork.
He took a bite. I couldn’t help but notice how quickly he ate.
Like he hadn’t tasted a carb in years.
I smirked to myself, but the smile faded as I reached for the file.
“What’s this?” I asked, flipping it open.
“A patient,” he said between bites.
“Late forties, benign brain tumor. I was going to perform surgery, but his symptoms don’t align with the tumor’s location. I’m not sure surgery’s the right call.”
I scanned the notes, my brow furrowing as I read.
“Has he been evaluated for dementia?”
Jared shook his head.
“No. I was focused on the tumor, but now I’m not so sure. I met with him and his wife today and things felt off.”
“Off?” I asked.
“He’s having memory issues that don’t match up with that tumor,” he said.
“Could he have another tumor you can’t see?”
He shook his head.
“He’s had several scans and there’s nothing there. The tumor is benign. It shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Did he have a head injury?”
He slurped the forkful of noodles into his mouth.
“Says he didn’t. No falls. No accidents. Never played football or any other sports in school.”
I leaned forward, my fingers skimming the notes as I tried to piece together what I was missing.
“So, no history of head trauma, but he’s experiencing memory loss? That’s odd. Has he had any recent illnesses? Infections?”
Jared shook his head, swallowing another bite of pasta.
“No. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s been healthy his entire life until this started.”
I frowned, my mind racing through the possibilities.
“What about his medications? Any changes there?”
“He’s on blood pressure meds, but he’s been on them for years with no issues,” Jared said, setting down his fork.
“No new prescriptions, no over-the-counter stuff that would explain it.”
“And his lifestyle?” I pressed.
“Any big changes? Stressors? Something that could trigger psychological symptoms?”
Jared hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he thought about it.
“His wife mentioned he took retirement early last year. She said he’s been more irritable since then, but she chalked it up to adjusting to being home all the time.”
“Retirement can be a huge adjustment,” I mused, tapping my finger against the file.
“But memory loss like this? It’s not typical. What about his sleep patterns? Any disturbances there?”
Jared nodded slowly.
“She said he’s been having trouble sleeping. Wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep.”
“Confusion?”
“Yes. A couple incidents, which is how his doctor found the tumor.”
I nodded, flipping through the pages.
“I agree. Surgery would be unnecessary. It could cause pain and lifelong side effects, and if it’s dementia… there’s no cure for that. Not yet.”
He set his fork down and looked at me like he was proud.
“That’s what I was thinking. But I needed a second opinion.”
“You did the right thing, bringing this to me. Surgery isn’t the answer here. You should refer him to colleagues who specialize in therapies that can make the rest of his life more comfortable. It only goes downhill from here.”
Jared nodded, his gaze dropping to the file.
“Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.”
For a moment, it was easy to forget everything that had happened between us.
We were just two doctors, working together to help a patient.
It felt natural, the way we fit together in moments like this.
I loved his brain. I loved his brilliance.
But it wasn’t long before the comfortable silence turned into something else entirely.
“You know, I dedicated my life to trying to find a way to save my mom. She had early onset dementia that I believe was brought on by a head injury. It’s a cruel disease.”
Jared looked up, his eyes searching mine.
“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, Amelia.”
I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady.
It was strange to talk about her with anyone.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“My mom was in a car accident with my dad. He didn’t make it. She survived, but she had a serious TBI. She was in a coma for several weeks. I was just a baby and don’t remember any of it. My grandmother told me my mom was different. We had to live with my grandparents because my mom didn’t always remember how to take care of me. And she would be prone to angry outbursts. Sometimes she would break things because she was so angry.”
He nodded.
“TBI.”
“Yes. My mom had good days and bad. But my grandparents were always there to serve as a backup when my mom was having a bad day. I got used to managing her mood swings.”
He nodded and took another bite.
I couldn’t believe I was telling him everything.
“About fifteen years ago, shortly after my grandfather died, my mom started acting a little strangely. But my grandmother was still there. I was on my way to university and just wasn’t paying attention. My grandmother was handling everything. And then my grandmother died, and I spent more time with my mother. That’s when I started to see the symptoms.”
“Dementia?”
“Yes. But I didn’t know that then. She’s always had trouble with her memory. Ten years ago, things started changing rapidly. She forgot me completely, couldn’t take care of herself, forgot who she was… but she always remembered my dad.”
My voice broke, and I looked down, embarrassed.
I hadn’t meant to say all that.
I hadn’t meant to let him see me like this.
“Amelia, I’m so sorry. That couldn’t have been easy.”
I shook my head, wiping at my eyes.
“It’s fine. It’s just… if my dad had had a surgeon like you, he might have lived. But back then, there was nothing anyone could do.”
“And you’re hoping you can find the connection and ultimately a cure for dementia and TBIs.”
“I’m not sure about a cure but more like some way to prevent it. I know that sounds silly, but I just feel like we have to find a better way to deal with brain injuries. We’re all about the wait and see. I don’t like that.”
“I agree,” he said.
“Anyway, your patient, I would?—”
Jared reached out and pulled me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tight.
I froze for a moment, then let myself relax, the warmth of his embrace breaking through the walls I’d built around myself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath tickling my hair.
“I wish I’d known. I would have done better. I would have been there for you.”
I pulled away after a moment, unable to let myself stay in his arms for too long.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Things were very advanced when I met you.”
Jared looked like he wanted to say something, his eyes filled with emotions I couldn’t quite read.
But he stayed silent.
I wished, not for the first time, that he would just be honest with me.
That he would tell me what was in his heart, why he couldn’t just be with me.
But I thought I understood.
He was a physician, just like me.
Doctors were all the same, weren’t we?
Always putting our careers first, always holding something back.
We were so used to compartmentalizing our feelings to keep from getting emotionally drawn to our patients, it was hard to be normal in our daily lives.
“Sorry about your patient,” I said.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I got up, a clear indicator that I wanted him to leave.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said and stood as well.
He picked up the file and walked to the door.
“I’ll let you know what I decide about the patient.”
I nodded.
“Please do. Goodnight, Jared.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob.
“Goodnight, Amelia.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the quiet of my condo.
I sank back into the couch, my appetite gone.
My hand drifted to my stomach, the baby bump a constant reminder of everything that had changed—and everything that hadn’t.
I wished things were different.
I wished I could let go of the hope that still lingered, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.
But he didn’t even mention the baby.