Chapter 30 Stuart
Stuart
The email arrives on a Tuesday morning while I'm reviewing patient notes. The subject line is: "Opportunity for Discussion - H?pital Universitaire de Lyon." But the content makes me read it three times before I'm certain I'm understanding correctly.
Dr. Miller,
Your work on neural pathway reconstruction has been followed with great interest by our institution. We are seeking a Chief of Surgery to lead our expanding neuroscience department. Your innovative approaches and research contributions make you an ideal candidate.
We understand you have a unique family structure. France's progressive policies regarding diverse families would welcome your household without the complications you face in the United States. We have reviewed your situation and see no conflicts with our institutional values.
If interested, we would like to invite you and your family to visit Lyon to discuss this opportunity further.
Chief of Surgery. Not just department head, but overseeing all surgical services at one of Europe's premier teaching hospitals. It's the kind of position I’ve always dreamed of.
And they're explicitly accepting our family structure. Not tolerating it, not looking the other way, but actually welcoming it.
I should be elated. Instead, I have absolutely no idea what to do.
Because accepting this position means uprooting four adults and a toddler.
It means Claire leaving her growing practice.
Jonathan and Dane can obviously work remotely from France but it’s still completely upending their lives.
Rowan will grow up in a foreign country, learning French before English, potentially never knowing her American roots.
It means asking them all to sacrifice for my career. I’m quite certain I wouldn’t be agreeable to this if it were the other way around.
I don't mention the email that evening. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Instead, I carry my secret, re-reading the email over and over again, trying to imagine our lives transplanted to France.
On Friday, Dane finds me in my office staring at Lyon hospital website photos.
"What are you looking at?" he asks casually, then sees the screen. "France? Planning a vacation?"
"They offered me Chief of Surgery," I say before I can stop myself. "Full acceptance of our family. Progressive policies. No discrimination."
Dane sits slowly, processing. "That's... a lot."
"It's mindboggling."
"Why? It's what we've been fighting for—acceptance, legitimacy."
"Because accepting means asking all of you to upend your lives for my ambition. After everything I've learned about not being controlling, about collaborative decision-making—asking you to move to another country feels like the most controlling thing possible."
"Stuart." Dane's voice is gentle. "Asking isn't controlling. Demanding would be controlling. There's a difference."
"Is there? When it's such a massive opportunity that turning it down would be insane?"
"Yes. Because we're partners. Your career absolutely matters, but so does Claire's practice, Jonathan's platform, my writing. We decide together." He pauses. "Have you told them about it yet?"
"No. I didn't know how."
"By talking. Like we always do." He pulls out his phone. "Family meeting. Tonight after Rowan's asleep."
That evening, sitting in our living room, I present the opportunity. Claire reads the email carefully, her hand unconsciously going to her belly—fourteen weeks pregnant now, finally past the scary first trimester.
"France," she says slowly. "Completely different country. Different language, different healthcare system, different culture."
"But complete acceptance," Jonathan points out, reading over her shoulder. "No legal battles over birth certificates. No discrimination. They're explicitly welcoming us."
"They're welcoming Stuart's brilliance," Claire corrects. "We're incidental."
"The email specifically mentions our family," I argue. "They've done their research and they’re still happy to have us there."
"What do you want?" Dane asks me directly. "Forget what you think we want or what's practical. What do you want?"
The question stops me. What do I want?
"I want the professional recognition," I admit. "Chief of Surgery is what I've worked toward my entire career. But I also want this—" I gesture to all of us, "—exactly as it is. And I don't know if we can have both."
"Maybe we can," Claire says slowly. "My practice is still building—I could rebuild in France. Jonathan's platform is digital—he can film anywhere. Dane writes—also location independent. And Rowan would grow up bilingual, which is super cool."
"You're all considering this?" I ask, shocked they're not immediately rejecting it.
"We're considering it," Jonathan confirms. "Not committing. But we should at least visit. See what we'd be getting into."
"They invited the whole family," I show them that part of the email. "All expenses paid, week-long visit, tour the hospital and city, help us decide if it makes sense."
"When?" Claire asks.
"Whenever we want. They said to give them the dates we’d like to come and they’ll make it happen."
We look at each other and start laughing.
"This is a crazy idea but I think we should visit," Dane finally says. "After the holidays. Before Claire's too pregnant to fly comfortably."
"Agreed," Jonathan and Claire say at the same time.
I should feel relief. Instead, the anxiety intensifies. Because now it's real. Now we're actually considering uprooting everything we have here.
But maybe that's what growth looks like—terrifying and exhilarating simultaneously.
Lyon is stunning—the Rh?ne and Sa?ne rivers cutting through the city, Renaissance architecture in Vieux Lyon, the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière overlooking everything like a guardian. We arrive on a Saturday, giving us the weekend to adjust before hospital tours begin Monday.
The hotel they've booked for us is absurdly luxurious—a suite with three bedrooms, a huge living area, and views over the old city that make us all gasp.
"This is insane," Jonathan says, exploring. "There's a fireplace. Who puts a fireplace in a hotel room?"
"The French, apparently," Dane responds, already photographing everything. "This is inspiration for a novel."
"Everything is inspiration for a novel with you," Claire teases, settling on the couch with Rowan, who's fascinated by the new environment.
That weekend, we explore Lyon like tourists.
The traboules—hidden passageways through buildings that date back to the Renaissance.
The outdoor markets where vendors enthusiastically explain regional specialties in rapid French.
The Parc de la Tête d'Or with its botanical gardens where Rowan runs wild with delight.
Everyone speaks French, though many switch to English when they hear our accents. At restaurants, no one blinks at our family configuration. When we explain we're potentially relocating, servers offer enthusiastic recommendations about neighborhoods and schools.
"They really don't care," Claire marvels after our third dinner where the waiter casually asked if "all three fathers" wanted the wine list.
"Progressive policies aren't just words here," I explain. "They're implemented. Lived. France has recognized various partnership arrangements for decades. While polyamorous families aren't common, they're legally acknowledged under certain frameworks."
"It's surreal," Jonathan says. "No stares. No judgment. Just... acceptance."
Monday, I tour the hospital—state-of-the-art facilities, innovative research programs, a neuroscience department that would give me resources I've only dreamed about. The staff is international, brilliant, welcoming.
"Your family would have full benefits," the hospital director explains. "All partners covered equally under our healthcare system. Your children—current and future—can be recognized with parental rights through legal arrangements we help facilitate."
"That's not possible in the US," I say, still processing.
"It's standard here. We believe family structures are personal choices, not institutional concerns."
While I tour, Claire meets with French healthcare professionals about potentially practicing here. Jonathan connects with European fitness influencers about expanding his platform. Dane talks to French publishers about international markets.
We're all exploring whether our individual dreams could transplant to this beautiful, accepting country.
That evening, we retreat to the hotel suite. Rowan is asleep in her portable crib, exhausted from a day of new experiences. We're on the couch, fireplace crackling, city lights twinkling outside the window.
"I could do this," Claire says quietly. "Build a practice here. The healthcare system is better, honestly. More holistic, more progressive."
"My YouTube channel would survive the transition," Jonathan adds. "Maybe even grow—the European fitness market is huge and underserved, plus, it’s not like I’d lose subscribers or viewership by moving—my entire business model is done via the internet."
"It makes no difference where I write, here or in the States," Dane says. "It could be a little tricky if I do any book tours, but we can figure that out later."
They're all saying yes. All willing to uproot themselves for this opportunity.
The realization is overwhelming.
"I don't deserve you," I say roughly. "Any of you."
"You absolutely do," Claire corrects, moving to straddle my lap. "We all deserve each other. That's the point."
She kisses me, deep and claiming, and I feel the familiar heat rising.
"We should—" I start, gesturing toward the bedroom.
"Right here," Claire says firmly. "In front of the fireplace."
Claire's body is pressing down on my lap as the fire crackles in the massive stone hearth. The flames dance across her skin, casting golden shadows that highlight the curve of her neck and the swell of her breasts beneath her thin blouse.
Damn, what this woman does to me. Every. Fucking. Time.