FORTY-FOUR #2
“Sometimes I let myself imagine it. Mel beside me, our kids somewhere in the crowd, a different kind of fundraiser. One not etched with her name. One we chose, not one grief chose for us. Mel would have hated this. Being fussed over. But she’d love the people it brings together.
The way it turns grief into generosity.”
His voice thickens, the words catching low in his throat.
“This foundation exists because Mel believed no one should face cancer alone. Not the patients. Not their families. Not the ones who are left behind.”
A quiet pause. Then: “When she passed away, I learned that no one should die alone because loved ones couldn’t afford to stay nearby.
Because the hospital was too far. Because the room wasn’t there.
The Foundation doesn’t just fund research.
We build free hospital accommodation. For families.
Partners. People who shouldn’t have to choose between being present and going broke. ”
His gaze sweeps the room.
“Tonight, we remember her. Not with sadness, but with impact. With hope. With the promise that her love for beauty didn’t die with her. It just found new rooms to fill.”
A breath. Softer now.
“Thank you for seeing what she saw. For being what she’d call a good room.”
And with that, he steps back. No dramatic bow. No theatrics.
Just a man still loving a woman, even in absence.
The applause is thunderous.
The music starts up again. Couples drift toward the dance floor. Leith disappears behind the curtain. He always takes a few minutes alone before the donors, partners, and board members descend on him like a tide.
The ballroom seems to breathe out.
I linger on the fringe of that exhale, hang back on the outskirts of the dance floor, content to watch from the sidelines. Somewhere, I spot Liam charming the hell out of a doctor.
I’m distracted enough that I don’t notice the hand on my elbow until I’m being pulled toward the floor. “Dance with me.”
There’s no teasing. No smirk. Just something quiet in Callum’s eyes—something that makes it hard to say no.
We dance. Slow. Maybe too slow. The world contracts until it’s just us, breath and dress fabric and the hard thump of my heart.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with Lin?” I ask.
“Shouldn’t you be with Liam?”
I turn just in time for Callum to catch Liam mid-make-out. “He’s busy swapping DNA with Jed.”
Callum cranes his neck. “Is that—our ortho surgeon?”
“They like their bones.” I emphasize bones.
Callum chuckles, warm against my ear, and pulls me closer.
“I’m surprised you didn’t get dragged into a sponsor huddle,” I murmur.
“I did,” he says, lips twitching. “But I saw you. Figured you were the better choice for company.”
“I’m certainly not,” I say plainly.
His thumb brushes against the back of my hand. “For the record, I will always choose you.”
The words land soft and sharp all at once—stitched straight over a scar that never healed right.
And suddenly, it’s too much.
Too much to want him this badly. Too much to want to believe he means it. That he’ll stay. That he won’t wake up one day and realize I’m the thing holding him back.
If I stay here—if I let myself keep looking at him—I’ll say yes.
Yes, I want you. Yes, we can be together.
So, I step back; the music swelling behind us as if it’s trying to drown out the sound of my heartbeat.
“I need a minute,” I whisper, already moving.
He doesn’t call after me. But he follows. Like he knows I’m standing on the edge of something I might not come back from.
We don’t get far.
“Jordie. Callum. Thank God,” Leith says, appearing like a hallucination, two champagne flutes in hand. “I’ve been looking—”
He stops short. Takes one look at my face. Then Callum’s.
Whatever sarcasm he had queued up dies a quick, respectful death.
Leith exhales. “Okay. Not here. I’ve got five hundred rooms in this hotel. Let’s find an empty one where both of you can emotionally combust in peace.”
Before we can answer, he’s already turning toward the rear wing.
We’re halfway down the corridor when a voice cuts in.
“Mr. Morgans?”
We all turn.
A woman approaches, polished in a deep blue dress that hugs her pregnant belly.
“My name is Grace Williams, the new OncoMed delegate in Townsville. I just wanted to thank you. The Melissa Pratt Foundation’s work is truly incredible.”
Leith softens, the way he always does when Melissa is mentioned. “OncoMed’s been a crucial partner. When Melissa was alive, some of your clinical trials gave her real hope. We’re lucky to have you.”
Grace beams. “My husband and I moved up for the role. He’s also taken a position at the hospital.” She turns, beckoning someone forward. “Babe—over here.”
Someone steps into view, half-shadowed by the pillar. A suit. A stance. A profile I used to know better than my own reflection. My pulse spikes. I go still, like someone’s yanked a suture I didn’t realize was still holding me together.
No. It can’t be—
His hair is shorter than I remember. The rest, unchanged. The same shoulders I used to lean on. The same mouth that once promised he’ll always choose me.
“This is my husband,” Grace says as he sidles beside her. “Dr. Alec Carter. The new Head of General Surgery.”
My chest burns with a thousand old questions, never answered. My throat closes on all the things I never got to say.
Leith clears his throat, diplomatic. “Dr. Carter and I are . . . acquainted.” He pauses, turning to Alec, “You remember Jordie Mitchell?”
Alec looks at me and gives the kind of polite, strained nod people save for funerals and exes. “Of course.”
“Doctor,” I say, flat.
I take a champagne flute from Leith’s hand. Down it in one go. Hand the empty glass to Callum without looking at either of them.
And walk away.