Six weeks later, Elle returned to work, her hand fully healed and her heart lighter than it had been in years. She still saw patients, still gave her all to every recovery. But now, at the end of the day, she went home to a man who made her soup, held her hand without splints or braces, and reminded her every single day that she was not alone.
He turned to look at her, and for the first time, she saw past his professional calm to something deeper—warmth, and maybe a little fear. “Because I’ve watched you walk through this world carrying everyone else’s pain,” he said. “And I realized that no one has ever just… carried you. I’d like to be that person, if you’ll let me.”
Because for the first time in a very long time, Elle Lee was finally, completely, in good hands.
Marcus leaned back, folding his arms. “Tell me something. If one of your patients came to you with these same symptoms, what would you prescribe?”