Page 95 of One Reckless Night

He nodded and took another bite. I couldn’t believe I was telling him everything.

“About fifteen years ago, shortly after my grandfather died, my mom started acting a little strangely. But my grandmother was still there. I was on my way to university and just wasn’t paying attention. My grandmother was handling everything. And then my grandmother died, and I spent more time with my mother. That’s when I started to see the symptoms.”

“Dementia?”

“Yes. But I didn’t know that then. She’s always had trouble with her memory. Ten years ago, things started changing rapidly. She forgot me completely, couldn’t take care of herself, forgot who she was… but she always remembered my dad.”

My voice broke, and I looked down, embarrassed. I hadn’t meant to say all that. I hadn’t meant to let him see me like this.

“Amelia, I’m so sorry. That couldn’t have been easy.”

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “It’s fine. It’s just… if my dad had had a surgeon like you, he might have lived. But back then, there was nothing anyone could do.”

“And you’re hoping you can find the connection and ultimately a cure for dementia and TBIs.”

“I’m not sure about a cure but more like some way to prevent it. I know that sounds silly, but I just feel like we have to find a better way to deal with brain injuries. We’re all about the wait and see. I don’t like that.”

“I agree,” he said.

“Anyway, your patient, I would⁠—”

Jared reached out and pulled me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. I froze for a moment, then let myself relax, the warmth of his embrace breaking through the walls I’d built around myself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath tickling my hair. “I wish I’d known. I would have done better. I would have been there for you.”

I pulled away after a moment, unable to let myself stay in his arms for too long. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Things were very advanced when I met you.”

Jared looked like he wanted to say something, his eyes filled with emotions I couldn’t quite read. But he stayed silent. I wished, not for the first time, that he would just be honest with me. That he would tell me what was in his heart, why he couldn’t just be with me. But I thought I understood. He was a physician, just like me. Doctors were all the same, weren’t we? Always putting our careers first, always holding something back. We were so used to compartmentalizing our feelings to keep from getting emotionally drawn to our patients, it was hard to be normal in our daily lives.

“Sorry about your patient,” I said.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I got up, a clear indicator that I wanted him to leave.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said and stood as well. He picked up the file and walked to the door. “I’ll let you know what I decide about the patient.”

I nodded. “Please do. Goodnight, Jared.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the quiet of my condo. I sank back into the couch, my appetite gone. My hand drifted to my stomach, the baby bump a constant reminder of everything that had changed—and everything that hadn’t. I wished things were different. I wished I could let go of the hope that still lingered, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.

But he didn’t even mention the baby.