Chapter 22
The park was quiet for a weekday morning, with only a few parents scattered along the benches while their children ran across the open field or climbed the rusted monkey bars.
Tomos was already pulling Gray toward the lawn, his small hands clutching at his father's T-shirt as he begged him to play.
Gray obliged without hesitation, rolling up his sleeves, dropping into a familiar stance.
"Alright, lad," he said, his Irish lilt warming as he crouched slightly, arms out. "Let's see if ye can break through."
Tomos grinned, his first genuine smile in days, before lunging toward him.
Gray sidestepped easily, catching him just enough to simulate a tackle—a gentle but firm wrap around Tomos's waist before letting him wriggle free.
"Good drive, but ye left yer inside shoulder open," Gray said, tousling Tomos's hair. "Again."
They ran through mock tackles, sidesteps, and rolling passes, the flow of movement so easy, so natural—as if nothing had changed, as if this was any other day before their world collapsed.
For a little while, they were how they used to be.
Carefree.
Whole.
Eventually, Tomos spotted another kid he knew from school, a dark-haired boy wearing a football jersey, and ran off toward the slides.
Gray watched him go, then exhaled slowly, turning toward Cadi.
She was seated on the bench, lost in a faraway reverie, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Gray hesitated, then lowered himself onto the bench beside her.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"Cadi..."
Her expression didn't change. Her eyes trailed Tomos.
He tried again, his voice careful. "About what I said—"
"After the test."
Gray's jaw tightened.
"I don't think... I mean the test—"
"After the test."
Every time he tried to speak, she cut him off with the same phrase, her tone flat and unwavering.
Her anger had not diminished, and yet, after a moment, she let out a small, tired laugh.
"I didn't realize how much energy it takes to hold on to your anger."
Gray turned his head slightly, watching her as she stared straight ahead.
She had always been the one who fought for them, the one who insisted they never let fights fester past bedtime, the one who believed in raised voices, slammed doors, and makeup sex before morning.
What had happened to them?
Where had they gone so wrong?
Gray let out a slow, measured breath, but he didn't speak again.
Because for the first time in their lives—Cadi wasn't fighting for them anymore.
And that realization was the worst one yet.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Two days later ,Cadi walked into work like she wasn't waiting for the ground beneath her to give way.
She had thrown herself into routine—getting up early, making breakfast for Tomos, checking emails she didn't read. Callum tried not to get in her way...giving her space. She had driven to the hospital on autopilot, parked in her usual spot, walked into the clinic like it was any other day.
But Sue knew.
The older nurse, with her sharp eyes and no-nonsense warmth, noticed immediately.
She caught Cadi at the nurses' station, arms folded, studying her like she was a problem that needed solving.
"You cancelled your afternoon clinics."
Cadi didn't look up. "I rearranged them."
"You never cancel clinics."
Cadi exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to look at the schedule on the computer screen, though she wasn't actually reading it.
Sue stepped closer. "Cadi."
The concern in her voice made Cadi's throat tighten.
Sue wasn't just a colleague—she had been here since the beginning, since Cadi's first rotation, watching her grow from an eager trainee into a calm, capable consultant.
She had seen her tired.
She had seen her overwhelmed.
But she had never seen her like this.
"What's going on?"
Cadi's grip tightened on the counter.
She knew what she wanted to say—the truth.
That she was waiting for a DNA test result that would confirm what she already knew, but the waiting itself was unbearable.
That she had nowhere to put the weight of it all, that it had settled into her chest, her bones, making every breath feel heavier than the last.
But instead, she forced out a small, thin smile.
"Nothing I can't handle."
Sue didn't look convinced, but she didn't push further.
Instead, she just sighed, flipping open the patient file on the counter.
"Your first patient is already in the exam room."
Cadi straightened. Pulled herself together.
This—this she could do.
She stepped into the exam room, finding her first patient already seated in a wheelchair.
A 55-year-old paraplegic male, referred from trauma surgery after falling off a roof. The notes indicated spinal cord injury, severe neuropathic pain, and worsening depression.
Cadi offered a small nod, reaching for the file.
"Good morning, Mr. Keane. I'm Dr. Hughes, consultant in physical medicine and rehabilitation."
He barely lifted his gaze, his voice dull, tired. "Morning, Doctor."
Cadi pulled up a chair, settling into her role.
"How's the pain today?"
A half-hearted shrug. "Like always."
She glanced at his medication list, noting multiple adjustments over the past three months.
"I can see that the pain team have been in touch. Are the meds helping at all?"
A slow shake of his head. "Not much. Just makes me sleepy."
Cadi nodded. "We can adjust that, maybe try a different regimen. I see your referral also mentions worsening low mood—do you feel like that's been affecting your recovery?"
The man let out a hollow chuckle. "Hard to recover when you're stuck in a chair, Doc."
Cadi's fingers tightened around her clipboard.
She had seen this too many times. The way trauma didn't just take limbs, mobility—it took something deeper.
It stole identity. Purpose. Self-worth.
And that—that was harder to rehabilitate.
"You're right," she said finally. "It's not the same. And it's not fair."
The man's eyes flickered to hers—startled, maybe. Expecting another empty reassurance, another forced optimism.
She didn't offer either.
"But it's still your life," she continued. "And you get to decide what to do with it. So let's figure out how to make it something you want again."
He stared at her for a long time.
Then, slowly, he nodded. Just once.
Cadi pressed her fingers against her temples, her nerves stretched thin as she dictated her final notes for the day.
Her last patient had just left, and the weight of the day's exhaustion was finally settling into her bones.
She just needed ten more minutes to finish her dictation, to tie up the loose ends of her clinic, to push through the gnawing anxiety about the DNA results waiting in her inbox like a ticking bomb.
But then, Sue appeared at the door, her expression unreadable.
"Cadi?"
Cadi didn't even look up. "I'm almost done, Sue. Just a few—"
"There's an ITU consultant here to see you."
Cadi's fingers paused over the keyboard.
ITU?
Her mind flicked through the inpatient list, trying to recall if she had any rehab referrals pending from the ITU.
Then Sue stepped aside, and Vanessa Seymour walked in.
Cadi inhaled sharply.
She willed herself to stay professional.
Vanessa was dressed in immaculate scrubs, her dark hair tied into a sleek ponytail. Her expression was calm, detached—the picture of professionalism.
"Dr. Hughes."
"Dr. Seymour."
Cadi gestured toward a chair, ignoring the way her fingers tightened involuntarily around her pen.
"What can I do for you?"
Venessa lowered herself gracefully into the chair, flipping open a patient file as she spoke.
"I have a referral."
She went straight into the case—a 32-year-old male, airlifted from a peripheral hospital in the Northwest following a high-impact RTA.
He had been intubated due to respiratory failure but had since regained consciousness.
"Spinal cord oedema is significant," Vanessa continued, her tone clipped and efficient. "We're into his second week in the ITU , monitoring closely, but realistically, he'll need early specialist input once the acute phase stabilizes. I wanted someone from rehab to speak to him and his family."
Cadi's mind automatically clicked into consultant mode, absorbing the details.
"Level of injury?"
"C4-C5. Initial scans suggest incomplete, but function is currently minimal. Loss of diaphragm control was a concern, but he's weaning off the vent."
Cadi nodded, already thinking through the long road ahead for this patient—spinal shock, secondary complications, psychological impact, family counselling.
"I'll come by before I leave today."
Vanessa's eyebrow arched slightly, as if surprised at Cadi's composure, but she didn't comment.
Instead, she simply closed the file and stood.
For a moment, it seemed like she was about to leave.
Sue had already stepped out and was wheeling the files back to the secretary..
But then—Vanessa turned back and closed the door.
Vanessa took a slow step forward, her expression shifting into something that almost looked like concern.
"How are you feeling, Cadi? With... everything that's been going on?"
Cadi's jaw tightened, her fingers clenching under the desk.
"That is Dr. Hughes to you," she replied coolly. " Now ,if you wouldn't mind..."
Vanessa's lips curled slightly, as if amused by the response. But then, something changed—a flicker of something darker crossed her face.
And just like that, the false sympathy vanished.
She tilted her head, her voice turning low, smooth, almost pitying.
"You know," she mused, "it's funny how much Gray and I have talked about you these past few weeks."
Cadi's breath hitched, but she didn't blink.
Vanessa's smile widened, pleased at her own words.
"He told me everything, you know. Every little thing you did, every desperate attempt to keep him."
Cadi's heart pounded painfully against her ribs, but she willed herself not to react.
"Poor Gray," Vanessa sighed, shaking her head in mock sympathy. "He feels so trapped. So suffocated."
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like she was confiding a secret.
"You should have seen the relief on his face, Cadi. When he finally had someone who understood him."
Cadi felt something burn inside her, sharp and searing, but she kept her expression cold, unreadable.
Vanessa, watching her carefully, seemed encouraged by the silence.
"And poor Tomos." She sighed again, her voice almost mockingly soft. "What a mess for him to grow up in."
That was when Cadi finally moved.
She stood slowly, meeting Vanessa's gaze head-on, her voice razor-sharp, cutting through the false pleasantries like a blade.
"Fascinating" Cadi smiled, but it was cold and devoid of humour. "Desperation is not a very good look on you."
Vanessa frowned slightly, the shift in control throwing her off balance.
Cadi leaned in just enough for her next words to land exactly how she intended.
"Because you'll soon realize that if there is one thing Gray and I agree on... whatever this sandcastle is that you have built up in your head, it wont take much for it to turn into a pile of nothing. It's pathetic that you have to try to take a married man away from his family to feel good about yourself. Do you have daddy issues, Dr.Seymore?"
Vanessa's expression twisted—a mix of anger and something dangerously close to doubt.
She straightened, smoothing down the front of her scrubs, her lips pressing together in a thin line.
Then, with a tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she said, "This isn't over."
And with that, she turned and walked out.
Cadi exhaled slowly, forcing her hands to relax, unclenching her fists as she sat back down.
Her whole body was shaking.
She didn't doubt Vanessa's parting words.
No, this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
She let out a deep breath and rested her eyes for just a second. Her phone started vibrating and the screen displayed "Gray"
"Hello?"
"I have just had the email. Can I come over?"
A pulse of silence.
"I will meet you at the house." said Cadi.