Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
CASSIAN
FIVE YEARS AGO
I was sitting in the attending lounge, halfway through a mediocre cup of coffee and a stack of discharge summaries, when my phone rang with an unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail. I was tired, and distracted.
But I picked it up.
“Dr. Reed? This is Jessica Mills from Obsidian Hospital. Do you have a moment?”
Obsidian Hospital. The name alone made me sit up straighter. It was one of the premier private hospitals in the city, known for cutting-edge facilities and unlimited research funding—a place I’d been dreaming about since medical school.
“Of course,” I said.
Twenty minutes later, I hung up the phone and stared at the wall, trying to process what had just happened.
They wanted me. Not as a staff surgeon or as another body to fill the rotation. But as someone to build a trauma program from the ground up—with full institutional backing, dedicated resources, state-of-the-art equipment. They were willing to fund it and revolutionize emergency care protocols.
And they wanted me in six months.
I thought about Riven. His father owned Obsidian, and had built it from nothing into the medical empire it was today.
Riven and I had been friends since college, but I’d never asked him to put in a word for me.
Their relationship was complicated, fraught with expectations and disappointments I’d only glimpsed from the outside.
Using that connection felt wrong somehow. Like cheating.
But I hadn’t asked. They came to me.
This was real. This was happening.
I have to tell Calla. I knew that, even as I pulled out my laptop and started making notes. We should sit down together, discuss the opportunity calmly, and make a decision like how married couples do.
Partnership, not sacrifice. That was our agreement.
But the excitement was too much to contain.
It buzzed through my veins like electricity, lighting up parts of my brain I hadn’t used in months.
I called Obsidian back and asked about timelines, resources, and expectations.
I sketched out program structures, calculated budgets in the margins of patient charts, and envisioned the team I would build.
Dr. Amara Okafor for critical care coordination. Dr. James Liu for surgical innovation. And a fellowship program that would train the next generation of trauma surgeons, and discover new techniques.
By the time Calla got home that evening, I’d mentally committed to the next five years of my life.
She walked through the door looking exhausted after a six-hour surgery. She dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes.
“Something smells good.”
“I made dinner.” I’d thrown together a quick stir-fry, nothing fancy. “Come sit. I have news.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, settling into her usual chair at the table. I poured wine for both of us and sat across from her, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“You look like you won the lottery,” she said.
“Better.” I leaned forward, the words already tumbling out. “I got a call from Obsidian Hospital today.”
She perked up.
“They want me to build a trauma program from scratch. Full institutional backing that would make our current department weep with envy.” I was talking too fast, I knew, but I couldn’t slow down.
“This is everything we’ve talked about, Calla.
Everything I’ve been working toward for three years. And they want me to lead it.”
“That’s… incredible!” Her voice was genuine, if measured. “When do they need an answer?”
“I already said yes.”
The room went quiet. Calla set her wine glass carefully, blinking in confusion. “You what?”
“I said yes. It’s perfect, Calla. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. And you can transfer too. Obsidian’s always looking for talented trauma surgeons. We can build this together.”
“Cassian.” Her voice was flat. Dangerously flat. “I got an offer too.”
The excitement drained out of me like water from a cracked glass. “What?”
“A fellowship in Europe. It’s a two-year fully funded work, with surgeons whose research I’ve been following since residency.” She held my gaze, her expression unreadable. “The International Trauma Consortium.”
I knew the name. Everyone in trauma surgery knew it by heart. It was the most prestigious fellowship program in the world, an opportunity that launched careers into the stratosphere.
It was also eight thousand miles away.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Well. You’ll have to turn it down.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, I just accepted this position. We can’t both be making major career moves at the same time. But that’s fine, because you can work at Obsidian. Problem solved.”
Calla’s eyes went cold. “You decided that without talking to me first.”
“Because it’s the obvious choice. This is what I’ve been building toward. What we’ve been building toward.”
“No.” She stood up from the table, her chair scraping against the floor. “It’s what you’ve been building toward. You made a decision about our future without even asking what I wanted.”
“What you wanted?” I could feel my frustration rising, hot and defensive. “You can’t leave for two years, Calla. We’re married. We have a life here. A home. Plans.”
“A life you just rearranged without consulting me.”
“That’s different. I’m staying. I’m building something here that includes both of us. You’re talking about moving to another continent.”
“And you’re talking about making decisions for both of us.” Her hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles pale. “This is a marriage, Cassian. Not a dictatorship. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t do with my career.”
“I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to be practical. One of us has to be.”
“Practical?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You accepted a job offer without even mentioning it to me first. You spent all day planning your future without once considering that I might have plans of my own. And you’re calling that practical?”
“I’m calling it making a decision that benefits both of us.”
“Benefits both of us?” She stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “You told me to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime so I can follow you to your dream job. How exactly does that benefit me?”
“Because we’d be together. Building something together. Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be?”
“Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. Not one person sacrificing everything while the other person gets exactly what they want.”
“Sacrificing everything? Calla, I gave up the Cleveland fellowship for you.”
I hadn’t meant to say them. Hadn’t meant to throw that in her face after all this time. But they were out now, and I couldn’t take them back.
Calla went very still. “What?”
“Two years ago. Cleveland Clinic offered me a position in their trauma innovation program. It would have meant moving, starting over, leaving everything behind.” I could hear my voice shaking and hated myself for it.
“I turned it down because you were up for chief resident here. Because your career was taking off and I didn’t want to ask you to give that up.
I made that choice without even telling you about it because I didn’t want you to feel guilty. ”
“You never told me about Cleveland.”
“Because it didn’t matter. I chose us. I chose to stay. And now I’m asking you to do the same thing, and suddenly I’m the bad guy?”
“You’re not the bad guy for wanting me to stay.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, before she pulled it back under control. “You’re the bad guy for assuming I would. For deciding my answer before you even asked the question.”
“I didn’t assume anything. I thought we wanted the same things.”
“We do want the same things. We both want careers that matter. We both want to make a difference. The only difference is that you think your career should come first.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” She crossed her arms over her chest, armor sliding into place.
“You got a phone call this morning and by tonight you’d already planned the next five years of our lives.
You didn’t call me from the hospital. You didn’t wait to discuss it together.
You just decided, and then you expected me to fall in line. ”
“I was excited. I wanted to share good news with my wife. Is that a crime?”
“Sharing would have been telling me about the offer. This was presenting me with a decision you’d already made.”
I pushed back from the table and stood, needing to move, needing to do something with the anger building in my chest. “What do you want me to do, Calla? Turn down Obsidian? Walk away from everything I’ve been working toward because you got some offer overseas?”
“Some offer?” Her voice went ice cold. “This is the International Trauma Consortium. The most prestigious fellowship in our field. Surgeons spend their entire careers hoping for this opportunity, and I earned it. I earned it, Cassian, and you’re dismissing it like it’s nothing.”
“I’m not dismissing it. I’m being realistic. Long-distance doesn’t work. Two years apart would destroy us.”
“So instead I should give up my dreams to protect yours?”
“You could defer. Apply again in a few years when the timing is better.”
“There is no better timing. This is the offer. Now or never. And you want me to say never because it’s inconvenient for you.”
“Inconvenient?” I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “You leaving for two years isn’t inconvenient, Calla. It’s devastating. Do you have any idea what that would do to us? To me?”
“And do you have any idea what staying would do to me?”
I stared at her across the kitchen, this woman I’d married, this woman I loved more than I knew how to say. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears she was too proud to let fall. Her shoulders were rigid with the effort of holding herself together.
She was going to leave. I could see it in her face. The decision was already made.
“When did you find out?” I asked. My voice sounded strange. Distant.
“A week ago.”
A week. She’d known for a week and hadn’t told me.
“Were you ever going to mention it?”
“I was trying to figure out how.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a self-protective gesture I recognized from a hundred difficult conversations. “I knew you’d react like this. I knew you’d see it as a betrayal.”
“It’s not a betrayal. It’s abandonment.”
“It’s my career, Cassian. My life. My choice.”
“And where does our marriage fit into that choice?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out broken, barely a whisper. “I don’t know anymore.”
The silence that followed was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.
“I can’t do this right now,” Calla said finally. “I need air. I need to think.”
“Calla, wait.”
“I’ll be back.”
She grabbed her keys from the counter and walked out. The front door closed behind her, and I stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the dinner I’d made and the wine I’d poured. I tried to understand how the best news of my career had turned into the worst night of my marriage.
The stir-fry went cold on the stove. The candles I’d lit burned down to stubs. I sat at the table and waited, checking my phone every few minutes, wondering where she’d gone, if she was okay, and if she was coming back.
She didn’t come home until after midnight.
I was lying in bed by then, staring at the ceiling, the rage burned down to exhaustion. I heard her key in the lock, heard her footsteps in the hallway, and heard her pause outside the bedroom door.
Then she came in, moving quietly in the darkness, and slipped under the covers on her side of the bed. The space between us felt vast. An ocean already, before she’d even left.
“I’m taking the fellowship,” she said into the darkness.
I closed my eyes. “Okay.”
“That’s it? Just okay?”
“What do you want me to say?” I turned my head to look at her, but I could only make out the shape of her in the shadows. “That I’m thrilled about you leaving for two years? That I think this is going to work out great for us?”
“I want you to fight for this. For us.”
“I am fighting. I spent all night fighting. But you’ve already decided, haven’t you? You decided a week ago when you got that email and didn’t tell me about it.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.”
“I love you, Cassian. That hasn’t changed.”
I breathed heavily. “But it’s not enough, is it? Loving me isn’t enough to make you stay.”
“And loving me isn’t enough to make you understand why I have to go.”
We lay there in the darkness, realizing forever was more complicated than either of us had imagined. The space between us on the mattress felt like miles. Like continents. Like the eight thousand miles she was about to put between us.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
I reached across the distance and found her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly in a way she’d never admit to. I held on anyway, because I didn’t know what else to do.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to be lost.”
It wasn’t a resolution. Not even a promise.
But it was all we had. I drifted in and out of consciousness, waking every hour to find her still beside me, still breathing, still there. Each time, I held her hand a little tighter.
By morning, the argument remained unresolved. It just settled into exhausted resignation and a wound too fresh to treat yet too deep to ignore.
We didn’t talk about Europe or Obsidian.
We didn’t talk about anything that mattered at all.