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But he’d been gone for a year now.
I stood there, not just for myself, but for everyone who had poured their hearts into this research.
This wasn’t my honor alone. It belonged to every single one of them.
God, I wanted to read out all their names. Every last one.
Even though my voice was hoarse, every word scraped like sandpaper on my throat. I
wanted the world to know what they had done. To remember them.
My voice–cracked, raspy, downright awful—
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still seemed to reach people’s hearts. I could see it in their faces. With each name I called,
the crowd roared with louder and louder
applause until it felt like the room would
burst.
My legs trembled when I said the last name and my vision blurred.
I swayed, barely able to stand.
The shouts started, “Dr. Smith! Dr. Smith!”
I felt a strong pair of arms steady me, holding me upright.
When I looked up, I froze. It was Michael.
It had been twenty years, yet he still had that same effortless grace. His eyes were red, and
he looked…older but still him.
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I tried to pull away, awkward and unsure. “This isn’t…this isn’t right. Someone else should help me.”
His voice was rough but steady. “What do you mean, not right? I’m your husband. This is my responsibility.”
Before I could argue, he scooped me onto his back like it was the most natural thing in the
world.
Standing next to him was a young man. His face was streaked with tears, eyes red and
swollen.
Noah.
I’d know him anywhere.
“Mom…Mom…I’m so sorry, Mom…”
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His voice cracked with emotion, and I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling.
Silly boy. He thought this was his fault?
If anything, it was mine. All mine.
I’d failed him. I’d failed to be the mother he
needed.
Michael had never signed the divorce papers. I didn’t know why.
And at this point, I didn’t have the strength to ask.
Lying in the isolation ward, people came to visit me every day. Faces blurred together as my vision grew worse and worse. Sometimes, I couldn’t even recognize who was there.
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But Noah?
Noah was there every day, sitting just outside the glass, talking to me like we had all the
time in the world.
He was my son.
Even though we had twenty years and a million misunderstandings, hearing his voice warmed something in me that I thought had gone cold forever.
How had I missed this before? This boy could
talk.
He’d chatter on for hours if the doctors let
him, filling the silence with every bit of detail of his life–stories I’d missed, moments I
hadn’t been there for.
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“Mom,” he said one day, his voice softer than
usual, “you don’t blame me, do you? I was just a dumb kid back then. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand what it meant to be a doctor, to care for people. I just thought…you didn’t love me. You were never home. And then…” His voice faltered. “Then that person showed up, and they were always there for me, trying so hard to win me over. I didn’t
know what real love looked like.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat.
“Mom… don’t blame Dad either,” he continued. “He didn’t want you to burn out. And he didn’t want me to hold you back from what you were meant to do. He’s always been so…practical, so logical. That’s why he let that person stay for those four years. He thought
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it’d be easier. But he didn’t know…he didn’t know what it’d do to you. What it’d cost you.”
I couldn’t understand it.
Why now? Why were Noah and Michael suddenly like this? So open. So…different.
But then Noah’s voice changed–sharp, angry.
“Still, Mom,” he said, his hands curling into fists, “how can you defend her? After everything she did? Sure, she used to be your teacher, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t a
monster.”
I blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“If it weren’t for her,” he said, his voice rising, “you wouldn’t have left us. You wouldn’t have taken on that insane, dangerous mission. You
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wouldn’t be lying here now, fighting for your
life!”
Tears ran down his face as he pressed his hands to the glass. I could feel their heat even through the protective barrier.
“She knew you’d just had major surgery,” he said, choking on the words. “And she still made herself sick just to get Dad to take care of her. Because of her, you missed your
follow–ups. She knew you and Dad were married and still threw herself at him! She
didn’t even graduate from a proper music conservatory, Mom! She lied about being some hotshot student from Paris, trying to worm her way into an international orchestra. And that’s the polite version of what I could say about her!”
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I sat there, stunned, unable to say a word.
