Page 70 of The Love Operation

“I liked them,” I say, gazing out the window, trying to phrase what’s on my mind without offending him. “But we’re different.”

“Hmm?”

“Your family—your mom especially—has a clear vision for what a wife and mother looks like. I don’t look like that. I never will. And I’m not sure she’ll be able to accept that.”

Even though I felt welcomed, I also felt judged for being a working woman. I can only imagine how that judgment might grow if Isaac and I had children and I stayed who I am.

“Well, if you were my wife, she’d have to, wouldn’t she?”

He smiles, confidence radiating from him, and I’m pleased that this is his answer—but it still bothers me.

“Hey,” Isaac says when I remain silent. “I like that you’re different. That’s what matters. I love my family, but they don’t control our relationship or our future family.”

I nod, but silence is easier than telling him I’m not sure his mother bends for anyone.

“Cordelia.”

“Isaac, I know you say that now, but—”

He pulls the car over so he can look me in the eye. “Don’t do this. We decide what our lives look like.”

He sounds like he means it. His face is serious too. It quiets almost all my doubt.

But a few stubborn crumbs remain.

Then he leans over, and the heat behind the kiss toasts those lingering crumbs.

“Take me home, Mr. Thompson,” I whisper. “Let me show you exactly what our lives can look like.”

He drives so fast, I brace for sirens the whole way.

Chapter 17

And Begin

A whole week passes, and I’m on edge—but not because of Isaac.

It’s the study.

After our last heated exchange, Delenn refused to administer the memory cocktail again until she’d gathered more data from other participants. I’ve tried not to push, afraid of undoing the fragile truce we’ve rebuilt over the past few weeks. The tension has faded between us, and I don’t want to risk reigniting it.

Still, the waiting’s been brutal.

Though, even if I’d had access to the protocol, I wouldn’t have had time. My days have been split between work and Isaac, with barely enough space to think, let alone dive into the past.

Despite that less-than-ideal encounter with his mother, my relationship with Isaac is better than most I’ve had. We have an easy rhythm, common interests, shared values. And he keeps reassuring me that his family won’t be an issue.

But I know better than to trust the beginning. Every relationship starts this way—under the glow of a grace period. The honeymoon phase.

It’s real . . . but it’s also curated. And honeymoons don’t last forever.

Which is why I’ve been counting down to today—the day Delenn readministers the medication and reactivates the current.

I’ve cleared my schedule, blocked off the entire Sunday. Isaac didn’t love the idea of losing a full day with me, so I told him I had plans with my sister and her kids. When he lit up at the idea of spending more time with my family, I added that it was a girls’ day. The truth? I haven’t made any plans with them. I’ve barely sent more than one-word replies in our family group chat. Things are rocky between us.

The lies are stacking up, but what other choice do I have? I can’t exactly tell Isaac the truth, that I’m an unauthorized participant in Delenn’s study, conducted on hospital grounds, or that I plan to use my chemically enhanced memory to dissect every failed relationship I’ve ever had, so I can diagnose what’s wrong with me and keep from ruining this one. He’d think I’d lost my mind.

Worse, he’d start questioning my surgical capabilities.