Page 123 of Toxic Salvation
“Ready?” I ask as the plane banks toward the airport.
She takes a deep breath, shoulders back like she’s about to walk into battle. “Ready.”
I’ve seen Vesper work before.
Watched her in scrubs, commanding an OR with quiet authority. Seen her comfort terrified parents and make impossible decisions under pressure. She’s impressive as hell in her natural habitat.
But this? This is something else entirely.
She’s wearing a charcoal gray pantsuit that hides her bump perfectly, cut to make her look powerful rather than pregnant. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek bun, and she’s traded her usual minimal makeup for something more dramatic—red lips, sharp eyeliner. She looks like she could run a Fortune 500 company or perform brain surgery. Maybe both. Maybe simultaneously.
The conference center is crawling with doctors from all over the country. We spend the first hour walking around, making small talk, letting people fawn over her. She introduces me as her boyfriend every single time, and every single time she does it, I hate the word more.
Boyfriend. Like I’m some college kid she’s fucking around with.
Not the father of her child. Not the man who’s planning to put a ring on her finger the second this war with Ihor is over.
Just…boyfriend.
It’s my own fault, really. I’ve had dozens of opportunities to make this official, and I’ve chickened out every time. Too much chaos, too many variables, too many ways this could all go sideways.
But listening to her introduce me as her boyfriend for the tenth time in an hour? It’s like nails on a chalkboard.
“Dr. Fairfax!” A woman with silver hair and kind eyes approaches us. “I was hoping I’d run into you. Dr. Marissa Thayer, Children’s Hospital Boston.”
“Dr. Thayer, of course! It’s such a pleasure to meet you in person. I was actually just reading your preprint…”
They launch into medical talk that goes completely over my head, but I watch the way other doctors react when they hear Vesper’s name. Their faces change. Respect, admiration, sometimes envy.
And she has no idea.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice announces over the speaker system, “please take your seats. Our afternoon keynote is about to begin.”
We find seats near the front. Vesper’s hands are shaking as she adjusts her notes. I reach over to still them.
“You’ve got this,” I tell her.
“I know. I just… What if I mess up? What if I can’t explain it properly?”
“Then you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
The conference moderator takes the stage and starts her introduction. “Our next speaker needs little introduction to those in pediatric surgery. Dr. Vesper Fairfax recently completed one of the most complex surgical procedures in modern medicine: the successful separation of craniopagus conjoined twins with shared brain tissue. Please join me in welcoming Dr. Fairfax.”
The applause is thunderous. Vesper stands, smooths her jacket, and walks onto that stage like she belongs there.
Because she fucking does.
For the next hour, I watch her break down the most complicated surgery I’ve ever heard of into digestible pieces. She walks the audience through slides, diagrams, even a 3D model to show how she and her team approached the problem. She talks about the risks, the failed attempts from other surgical teams, the innovative techniques they developed specifically for this case.
She never takes credit for herself. Every success gets attributed to her team, her mentors, the hospital’s resources. She’s so humble it almost pisses me off. I want to stand up and tell this room full of doctors that the woman on stage is a genius.
They should be bowing.
They should avert their fucking eyes out of respect.
They are not worthy.
“The key breakthrough came when we realized traditional separation techniques wouldn’t work,” she’s saying, pointing to a scan on the giant screen behind her. “The twins shared not just skull bone, but critical brain tissue. We had to develop an entirely new approach.”
