Chapter 8
Eight
S ophie handed Tristan his steaming coffee in a travel cup. "Are you sure you have everything you need for your trauma lecture?" They were standing in the kitchen, sunlight beginning to stream through the windows.
Tristan took a sip and nodded. "I've checked and double-checked. Everything's ready." Seeing the worry etched on her face, he reached out to touch her hand. "It's not just the lecture, is it?"
She sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor. "No, it's your family. Are you comfortable seeing them?"
He shrugged, leaning against the counter. "Not thrilled, honestly. They're expecting me to stay in New York, you know? My father thinks I should focus on franchising the Blackwell Institute now."
Sophie frowned. "But you're happy where you are, right?"
He caressed her cheek. "Yes, I am. They are proud of my success, but they always want more. This lecture is important to me, and I plan to give it my all. I'll spend a day with them and then come home to you."
She smiled, relieved. "And Easter?"
Tristan's expression softened. "I want my family to come here for Easter in April. I want them to get to know you, Sophie."
A car horn beeped outside, breaking the moment. Tristan leaned in, kissing her deeply. “I'll be back soon. I love you.”
* * *
“I love you too,” she said, watching him grab his bag and head to the Uber waiting to take him to the airport. With a heavy heart, she turned and headed back into the house. She missed him already.
In a couple of hours, Sophie walked into the hospital, her mind still on Tristan and his family. She barely noticed Damon Whitlock and his family until they were right in front of her. Damon’s tall frame blocked her path, his dark eyes looking her up and down.
"Sophie," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to thank you. My dad's been looking better than he has in years. The new medication regimen is really working. They should be sending him home soon. But first we need to find him a new doctor."
She smiled, feeling a bit flustered. "I'm glad to hear that, Damon. Your father has been a model patient. I’m sure the doctor treating him in the hospital can find you someone.”
As they spoke, she noticed his family standing a few feet away, giving them space but clearly curious. Damon’s mother was being escorted inside by a woman, who glanced at Sophie with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity.
"Really, Sophie, it’s all thanks to you," Damon continued, his tone sincere. "We owe you a lot."
Before she could respond, a nurse called her name, reminding her of the time. "I have to go, Mr. Whitlock. But I'm really happy your dad is doing well."
He nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. "Thank you again, Sophie."
Inside the locker room, she sat on the bench and dropped her head in her hands. Damon Whitlock had unsettled her again.
* * *
A day later, Tristan stood at the podium in the auditorium at the Irving Medical Institute, Columbia University's health sciences campus in upper Manhattan. The room was packed, every seat filled with eager faces, all there to hear his lecture on a topic close to his heart: "Techniques to Aid in the Survival of Emotional Trauma." He felt a sense of pride and responsibility as he began his presentation.
"Emotional trauma is often more debilitating than physical injuries. At the Blackwell Institute, we focus on holistic healing, integrating physical, emotional, and psychological therapies to help our patients recover fully," Tristan began, his voice steady and passionate.
The audience was captivated, hanging on his every word. Tristan’s dedication to his work was evident, and his innovative techniques had earned him widespread respect in the medical community. He spoke with authority and compassion, sharing insights and methods that had transformed many lives.
After the lecture, Tristan made his way to his parents' home. His family had gathered for a rare reunion, and he was conflicted about spending time with his parents; his two sisters, Claire and Amelia; and his brother, James. But he was pleasantly surprised. The house was filled with laughter and the smell of good food, a comforting backdrop to the day.
Millicent hugged Tristan tightly. "It's so good to have you home, even if it's just for a short visit."
Tristan smiled warmly. "It's good to be here, Mom. I've missed you all."
Claire, holding a glass of wine, grinned at him. "Big brother, we saw your lecture online. You were amazing."
"The work you're doing is incredible, Tristan. We're so proud of you," Amelia added, her eyes shining with admiration.
James patted Tristan on the back. "Yeah, bro. You're making a real difference."
Tristan, though slightly uneasy with the praise, had learned to accept it graciously. "Thank you," he said, a modest smile on his face.
The Blackwell family gathered around the large dining table in their elegant Manhattan apartment, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The evening was still buzzing with the energy of Tristan’s successful lecture at Columbia, and the pride in the room was palpable.
Richard Blackwell, the family patriarch, sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes observing each of his children as they engaged in light conversation. He was a man of few words, but his presence commanded respect. Millicent sat beside him, her gentle demeanor complementing Richard’s quiet authority. Tristan, who had just delivered a compelling lecture, was seated across from Amelia and Claire, while James was next to Richard.
As the last of the dinner plates were cleared away, Richard leaned back in his chair, a rare smile playing on his lips. “Tristan, you did an excellent job today. I’m proud of you.” His deep voice carried the weight of genuine admiration.
“Thanks, Dad.” Tristan felt a warmth in his chest that only his father’s approval could bring.
Amelia, always the lively one, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “So, Tristan, we’ve been hearing some interesting things. Word is you’re seeing someone—a certain twenty-nine-year-old, if I’m not mistaken. Are we finally getting the scoop?”
Before Tristan could respond, Claire jumped in, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Yeah, what’s she like? And isn’t she a bit... young?”
Richard’s voice cut through the room, firm and unyielding. “Enough of that, Claire. Age isn’t what defines a person. Let’s not judge someone based on something so trivial.”
Claire immediately backed down, recognizing the authority in her father’s tone. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Richard nodded, then turned his attention back to Tristan, his expression serious but not unkind. “But I am curious, Tristan. Sophie, you said her name is? You know I trust your judgment, but I have to ask—how capable is she? The ER is no easy environment, and she can’t have been out of her fellowship for long.”
Tristan met his father’s gaze, understanding the concern behind the question. “Sophie is more than capable, Dad. Yes, she’s young, but she’s already proven herself in some of the toughest situations. She’s quick on her feet, sharp, and has an incredible instinct when it comes to patient care. The staff in the ER and at the Institute respect her because she’s earned that respect.”
Richard nodded slowly, processing his son’s words. “That’s good to hear. You know how important it is to me that you’re surrounded by competent professionals, especially in the ER. It’s a place where there’s no room for error.”
“She’s exactly the kind of person we need,” Tristan affirmed, his voice steady. “And beyond her professional skills, she’s someone I care about deeply. She makes me better, Dad.”
Millicent, who had been quietly listening, reached over to squeeze Richard’s hand, her eyes filled with warmth as she looked at her son. “I’m so happy to hear that, Tristan. You deserve someone who makes you happy and supports you in your work.”
Amelia grinned, her earlier teasing replaced with genuine excitement. “I can’t wait to meet her, Tristan. She sounds amazing.”
“Me too,” Claire added, her tone sincere now. “I’m sure she’s great.”
Richard’s stern expression softened, and a rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve always made us proud, Tristan, with everything you’ve accomplished. If Sophie is someone who brings you happiness and supports you in your work, then she’s welcome in this family.”
Tristan felt a deep sense of gratitude as he looked around the table. His father’s approval meant the world to him, and knowing he had his family’s support made everything feel right. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
James, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally spoke up, his voice carrying his own experience. “Sounds like you’ve got something really good, Tristan. Don’t let anything get in the way of that.”
Tristan smiled, appreciating his brother’s straightforward encouragement. “I won’t, James. I won’t.”
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the room filled with the comfortable hum of family—shared stories, laughter, and the kind of warmth that only came from being surrounded by those who truly knew and loved you. As the night wore on, Tristan knew, whatever the future held, he had the unwavering support of his family, and that made all the difference.
The evening unfolded with the kind of easy camaraderie that only a close-knit family could share. The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, with Millicent occasionally leaning over to offer Richard a quiet word or a knowing smile, the kind that spoke of decades of partnership and understanding.
As dessert was served—a rich chocolate torte, one of Millicent’s specialties—Amelia took the opportunity to turn the conversation back to her older brother. “Tristan, you’ve been so busy with work and the Institute, but what about you? What’s going on in your life outside of the hospital?”
Tristan, savoring a bite of the torte, paused and smiled. “Honestly, between work and Sophie, there isn’t much else right now. But I’m happy with that. Sophie... well, she’s become a big part of my life.”
Claire, ever the curious one, tilted her head with a soft smile. “You really like her, don’t you?”
Tristan’s smile deepened as he set down his fork, looking around the table at his family. “Yeah, I really do. It’s more than like. I love her. It’s... different with Sophie. She’s not just someone I’m seeing; she’s someone I can see a future with. And I didn’t expect that.”
Millicent’s eyes softened with maternal warmth. “That’s how the best things happen, Tristan. When you’re not looking for them. I remember when your father and I first met—neither of us was looking for anything serious, and yet, here we are, decades later.”
Richard nodded, his hand resting gently on Millicent’s. “She’s right. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”
James, who had been quietly observing, chimed in with a grin. “Sounds like you’re serious about this one, Tristan. It’s good to see. You’ve always been focused on your career, but it’s great to see you making time for someone who clearly means a lot to you.”
Tristan looked at his brother, appreciating the words. “She does mean a lot to me, James. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone like her until she was in my life.”
Amelia, never one to miss a chance to tease, raised an eyebrow. “So, should we start planning for a wedding anytime soon?”
Tristan laughed, shaking his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re taking things one step at a time. But... yeah, I think this could be something real.”
Millicent, always attuned to the emotional undercurrents of her family, placed a hand on Tristan’s arm. “We’d love to meet Sophie whenever the time feels right. We’re all curious about the woman who’s managed to capture your heart.”
Tristan smiled, feeling the warmth and support radiating from his family. “I think she’d like that. And I’d like you all to meet her too. We’d love you to fly out for Easter. Stay at the house. Get to know Sophie.”
“We’d like that,” his mother said.
Tristan sat back, a contented smile on his face, feeling more at ease than he had with them in a long time. The evening had been exactly what he needed—a reminder that no matter how intense life got, he had a family who loved and supported him unconditionally.
As the night wore on, a sense of clarity and peace settled over him. The road ahead with Sophie might have its challenges, but with his family behind him, he was ready to face whatever came next. The warmth of the evening, the laughter, and the shared love wrapped him in a sense of belonging that would carry him through the days ahead.
Suddenly, their father clutched his head and collapsed, sending a shockwave of fear through the family.
Millicent screamed, her face a mask of panic, "Call 911! Something's wrong with your father."
Claire grabbed the phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed. Amelia sprinted for her father's medical bag, her training taking over.
Tristan knelt by his father’s side, his heart pounding. "Dad! Stay with me. Help is on the way."
James took up a position opposite his brother, his own fear barely contained. “I’ve got a pulse. Tristan, he’s stopped breathing.”
Despite their efforts and the swift response of the paramedics, their father had suffered a massive stroke. He was rushed to the hospital, but the damage was severe. The hours that followed were a blur of worry and helplessness as the family clung to each other for support in the hospital waiting room.
Eventually, an ER doctor approached them, his expression grave. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could, but your father didn't make it."
Millicent Blackwell broke down, her cries of anguish filling the sterile corridor. "No... no, this can't be happening."
Tristan held his mother tightly, his own heart breaking. "Mom, we're here. You have all of us to help you get through this." The family stood united in their grief.
* * *
Late that night as Sophie lay in bed, her phone rang. She groggily reached for it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Tristan's name on the screen.
"Tristan,” her voice was thick with sleep, “what’s wrong?”
"Sophie, sweetheart, I’m sorry to wake you.” His voice sounded hollow. "My dad... he had a massive stroke. He's gone."
Sophie sat up, her heart breaking for him. "Oh my God, Tristan, I'm so sorry. I'll catch a flight and be there as soon as I can."
"No," he said quickly. "No, it's okay. I'll stay for the funeral and then come home. I don't want you to have to go through this. I'm sorry about missing Valentine's Day. I'll make it up to you."
"Tristan, I don't care about Valentine's Day. I care about you," she insisted, tears filling her eyes. "Are you sure you don't want me there?"
"I'm sure," he replied, though he sounded distant. "I just need to get through this. I'll see you soon."
After the call ended, Sophie sat in the dark, thinking. Was he trying to protect her, or was there something more? Did he not want her to meet his family? She picked up the phone again and called her sister, Isobel.
“Soph, what’s wrong?” Isobel asked. It was four in the morning.
"Izzy, I’m sorry. I don't know what to do," she confessed, her voice shaking as she explained what happened. "I feel like he doesn't want me there."
Isobel's voice was calm and reassuring. "Sophie, he's grieving. People handle emotions differently in times like this. He's probably just trying to shield you from his family's stuff. People’s worst behavior comes out at wakes and funerals. Don't overthink it."
Sophie took a deep breath, letting her sister's words sink in. "You're right. Thanks, Izzy. And I’m sorry to wake you.”
"Anytime, Soph. Now get some rest."
Feeling somewhat comforted, Sophie lay back down, her heart still heavy but her mind a bit more at ease. She closed her eyes, hoping Tristan would be on his way back to her soon.