Chapter 32 #2
My breath hitches. I knew Dad organized morning tea, but I didn’t expect this. So many people. This much… care.
And then I see him.
My dad stands near the cake, hands tucked behind his back, his expression unreadable. Not angry. Not smiling. Just… still.
He catches my eye and lifts a hand in a small wave, then gestures me forward.
I scan the room out of habit.
No sign of Brant.
My chest tightens as disappointment fills me, but I try to mask it.
Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s avoiding this. Avoiding me.
I keep moving, past nods and hugs, pretending I don’t care.
My dad clears his throat, and the room falls quiet.
“It’s been an honor having my daughter here as a resident.”
I freeze, my chest tightening. Don’t cry, not in front of everyone.
“She earned her place,” he continues. “No one made it easy for her. Especially not me.” Laughter ripples through the crowd. “But she’s proved herself. With Dr. Gould and”—his eyes skim the crowd— “with Dr. Harrison.”
My stomach drops.
I follow his line of sight.
There. In the back corner, half-shadowed and unsmiling, stands Brant.
His charcoal suit is crisp, his tie slightly crooked. His arms are folded, his jaw tense. He looks like he doesn’t want to be here.
But he is.
And suddenly, the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room.
Someone presses a knife into my hand, taking my attention away from him. “Cake?”
I paste on a smile. “Sure.”
I cut the first slice of the white cake with gold trim, ‘Good Luck in New York’ written in black across the top. Keeping my eyes down, I focus on each slice.
When I glance up again, Brant’s gone.
No goodbye. No last look. Just gone.
Something breaks cleanly inside me.
I make it through the rest of the party on autopilot, accepting hugs, promises to keep in touch, and laughing at jokes. By the time the last person leaves, my face aches from smiling.
Back on the ward, Mason and I are visiting patients, writing patient notes, and signing off on orders. He walks me through final discharges like it’s any other shift, cracking dumb jokes to keep things normal. I pretend it works.
As we pass the lockers, Mason taps my arm. “So, I’m thinking about applying for a clinical leadership role.”
I blink, forcing my mind to catch up, to focus on him instead of the hole in my chest. “Really?”
“Yeah. Figured it’s time to level up. You kinda lit that fire under me, to be honest.”
My throat tightens again. “Then you better keep kicking ass.”
“I will if you do.” He holds out a hand, then pulls me into a hug. “Call if you get lonely in the big city.”
I won’t. We both know I won’t. This is a polite goodbye, the kind you say to a colleague you respect but won’t actually stay in touch with. “I will.”
He pulls back. “And hey, come visit. Seriously. We’ll keep your locker warm.”
I laugh, the sound barely held together. “Good.”
Then, with my heart in my throat, I walk out knowing I’ll miss working here, the people, the town, and the work.
I check Brant’s office once before I leave. One last time, because maybe he came back. Maybe he’s waiting there, ready to say goodbye properly.
It’s locked.
Empty.
No note.
No goodbye.
Just silence.
That night, I visit Scarlet, Dusty, and Greer for the last time, then head home to finish packing. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes and open drawers.
I didn’t bring much when I came here, just enough clothes, books, and toiletries. I never planned to stay past the twelve months to accumulate anything. But somehow, I did.
A framed photo Scarlet gave me of us tonight. A goodbye basket from the hospital. A mug from dad with a collage of old photos that we found in the box.
A soft knock rattles on my open doorway. “Need help?”
“I’m almost done.” I gesture at the boxes. “Didn’t realize I’d collected so much stuff.”
Dad surveys the room, hands in his pockets. “You can leave stuff here if you need.”
“It’ll all fit in the car.”
He nods slowly. “Alright. Well, I’ll let you finish up. Just wanted to check in.” He starts to turn around.
“Dad?”
He pauses.
“Thank you. For everything.”
His face softens with a grin. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
After he leaves, I finish packing in silence. Then I text Liz.
Me: Leaving early tomorrow.
Her response is fast.
Liz: Call me when you get home.
After I finish packing, I climb into bed and lie awake in the dark, thinking about Brant, how he left the party without saying goodbye, and how this is really over.
I wake early. It’s still dark as I lie in bed a moment longer than I should, knowing the goodbye I’ve been dreading is finally happening.
Finally, I swing my legs over the side and stand, pulling on yesterday’s worn T-shirt. I stare at the room I swore I’d never get comfortable in.
When I first arrived here, I wanted to turn around and head back to the city. Now it’s become a place that’s so hard to leave. My fingers trace the edge of the new bedspread as a knot tightens in my throat.
Pushing those feelings down, I shower and eat breakfast before stepping outside and loading the car.
Dad puts the last bag in my trunk and closes it before turning and pulling me in for a hug. I freeze for a second, then wrap my arms around him tightly. When was the last time we hugged like this? A long time ago.
“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, sweetheart. Now go show them what Thomas women are made of.”