Page 82 of Doctor Second Chance

"Absolutely. Your hand is healing up perfectly. The tendon reattachment is flawless."

I am overcome with relief. After everything I've been through with this stupid injury, I'm always nervous to let my guard down.

"What about the nerves?" I ask, remembering the concern about potential long-term damage.

"From what we can see, it looks like all of the nerves will heal with time," Dr. Hampton explains. "However, that's one of those things that could take up to a year to assess fully.”

I nod, understanding the long road still ahead.

"So, does that mean I will have full use of my hand at the end of this?"

"Haven't you been using your hand in therapy?"

"Yes, but it is still really weak. And sometimes, it is hard for my brain to get my ring finger to bend on command."

"It will take some time for you to build up your strength and reestablish your muscle memory, but yes, I think you will have full function of your hand."

"Oh, that is great news! Thank you, Dr. Hampton!"

"I'm releasing you to your new team in Gainesville," he continues. "I've already spoken to the hand team there and set up your first consult. They have all your records."

"Thank you for doing that," I say, overwhelmed with gratitude. "For everything. Do I call them, or how does that work?"

"They will reach out to you. You'll probably hear from their office this week to confirm the date you'll go in."

We stand, and I give him a heartfelt hug. "Keep doing your therapy," he advises, wagging his finger at me. "And don't hesitate to reach out to me or my team anytime."

As we part, he adds, "I'm so glad everything worked out, even with the sepsis scare. Some days, it felt like I might not survive it all, but now, looking back, I think it all went down the way it was supposed to." My mind goes to the crazy circumstance that landed me at Shep's house in the first place, and that could have saved my life in more ways than one.

I walk out of the hospital. My emotions are jumbled. The relief of being cleared to return home is overshadowed by the realization that I'll be leaving Birmingham—leaving Shep. With shaky hands, I pull out my phone to text him.

Hey, just got out of my appointment with Dr. Hampton. Good news—I'm being released to continue treatment in Florida. It's bittersweet, though. I know you're probably in surgery, but I wanted to let you know.

I hit send and stare at the screen, willing a response to appear. But I know better. Shep's likely elbow-deep in someone's brain right now, entirely focused on saving a life.

I go to a nearby bench and sit down, needing a moment to process everything. The sunshine feels warm on my face, a stark contrast to the chill settling in my chest. I'm going home. I should be thrilled, right? But the thought of leaving Shep and returning to my life in Florida feels more like a loss than a win.

My phone stays silent. I imagine Shep, his sexy and steady hands working with precision. Thinking about him and the miraculous things he does with his hands, both in the OR and on my body, gives me chills. He is very skilled.

I take a deep breath, pushing away the worry about what leaving means. We've discussed it several times, and I feel good about our plan. I also trust what Shep says to me about his commitment to us.

I Googled the Red Cat Coffee place Isabella told me about. I can get one of their yummy lattes and catch up on some work emails there. I’m still on medical leave for another two weeks. No one said I had to rush back to Florida.

The Red Cat Coffee House

2901 2nd Ave S

8:52 am

I push open the door to Red Cat Coffee, the aroma of freshly ground beans and baked goods enveloping me. The cafe has a cozy, lived-in feel with exposed brick walls and mismatched vintage furniture. I spot an empty armchair tucked away in a corner and make my way over.

As I settle in, a barista with a friendly smile approaches. "What can I get for you?"

"A hot matcha latte and an almond croissant, please," I reply, salivating at the thought.

While I wait for my order, I pull out my laptop and power it on. The familiar chime as it boots up feels like a connection to my normal life, the one I left behind in Florida. I log into my work email, bracing myself for the flood of messages.

As expected, my inbox is overflowing. I start sorting through them, flagging the most urgent ones for follow-up. There are a few emails from my boss, who checked in on my recovery and asked about my return date. I make a mental note to call her later to discuss the details.

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