A LOVE FORGOTTEN

*Retracing *

I was determined to take a break from the hospital. After years of nonstop surgeries and patient meetings, stepping away felt like the first real choice I'd made in a long time.

I carefully checked my schedule to make sure I had no surgeries or important cases in the next few weeks. I handed over my patients to my coworkers, explaining each case to them. They seemed curious but didn't ask questions, maybe sensing I needed this break more than I admitted.

Once I finished my tasks, I felt a rare sense of freedom. For the first time in years, I wasn't tied to a beeping pager or the operating room.

This trip wasn't just about solving the mystery of James's death; it was also about finding parts of myself I'd lost in my grief. I wanted clarity—not just about James, but also about the brief images of an unknown woman that troubled me.

I booked a flight to San Diego with no set return date, leaving room for exploration. I chose to stay at the same hotel James had used in his last days. Following his path felt necessary, almost healing.

Packing was quick and automatic. I felt nervous, but beneath that was a bit of hope—hope that I might finally find the truths I'd been seeking.

The airport was busy, but I hardly noticed. After checking in and going through security, I sat at the gate, looking at the runway. The anticipation was almost overwhelming.

The flight to San Diego felt endless, my thoughts jumping between the past and the unknown future. When we finally landed, the city greeted me with a setting sun, casting long shadows over the skyline.

At the hotel, I checked in quietly. The clerk gave me my key with a polite smile. "Enjoy your stay," she said, unaware of the burden I carried.

Entering my room, I paused to take in the space. The city view from the window was stunning, but my focus was inward. I placed my bag on the chair, sat on the bed, and exhaled deeply.