Page 130 of The Love Operation

“My family has always stood on that legacy,” I say. “My mom taught me that if you want to change a broken system, you can’t stand outside it. You have to step into it. Push from within.”

I pause, not sure if I’m saying too much, but needing to finish anyway.

“I know my skin’s lighter. I haven’t faced the obstacles they faced.” My cheeks burn. “But I’m still a biracial woman entering a field that wasn’t built for me, especially not surgery. And I’m not doing this to check a box or live up to someone else’s dream. I want to be a pioneer, Benedict. I want to be part of what moves us forward.” I squeeze his hand as if my passion can be transferred through our palms. “And I want to do it with you.”

“You’re amazing,” he says. “Thank you for sharing that.”

“Does it help you?” I ask, wanting it to have helped more than anything. Because those are the memories I cling to when it feels like I’m scaling an impossible wall in front of me.

He hesitates, as if he’s forgotten where the conversation started.

“I love how driven you are,” he says. “And all I want to do is support you, help you make those changes.”

“But it’s not just about what I want. It’s what you want, too, right?”

There’s a beat before he answers. “Of course.” Then he shakes his head, as if he’s shaking away negative thoughts. “Who wouldn’t want to help make that kind of change?”

“So, you’re okay?” I ask, wanting him to be.

“I’m great,” he says, standing and heading back to the window. “Thank you.”

When I leave the memory, I’m shaking.

It reminds me of who I am and where I come from. But that’s not what I take away.

In that moment, I thought I’d renewed his purpose, reignited his belief in our common cause. I thought I’d loved him into believing in himself, encouraged him like he encouraged me.

But watching now . . .

I wasn’t lifting him up. I was boxing him in.

That’s the hardest part about these memories—not just seeing the cracks, but watching myself making them worse, and not being able to do anything about it. I was so sure of what we could become that I never asked if that’s what he wanted to be.

I thought I knew what he felt because I knew what I felt. But I didn’t give him space to tell me.

My head’s too scrambled to think through the implications. I shove my palms into my eye sockets, then glance at the clock.

There is no way. It’s nearly 4 a.m. I’ve spent the entire weekend inside the past.

I try to stand, but the room tilts. I sit back down. I haven’t eaten or had water in . . . I can’t remember.

Tad Cooper is in here, his beady eyes full of concern. I don’t remember bringing him in here. Maybe he came on his own. Or maybe some quiet, splintering part of me needed him close.

My muscles feel like rubber bands stretched too far. The memory dive has sapped every reserve—even though I haven’t moved in hours.

“It’s okay,” I tell Tad Cooper. “I’ll shower and eat a protein bar. It’ll be fine.”

I have to get to surgery.

Chapter 32

Surprise!

“Dr. Wal, what are you doing in here?”

It’s the first thing I say as I rush into my OR, after spotting another spine surgeon through the window.

“Oh, hey, Cord,” he says casually, hands in his scrub pockets as he rocks back and forth on his sneakers. “Dr. Vaughn asked me to do your OR observation. Congratulations, by the way.”