The relief was profound. I was judged on my work, not my pedigree.I used my vacation time to see the world. Not the rushed, distracted trips of before, but real travel. I trekked in Patagonia, scuba-dived in the Silfra fissure, watched the sunrise over the Himalayas. The world was vast and awe-inspiring, and my own heartache felt small, manageable against its scale.Years slipped by. My practice grew. Wonderful, smart, kind women came into my orbit—colleagues, friends of friends. I enjoyed their company, but kept a gentle, unbreachable distance. I was content. Not happy, perhaps, but peacefully whole. The scars had healed over, strong, if not pretty.I had almost forgotten about Selene. She was a ghost from another life.Then, an invitation landed in my inbox for the International Cardio thoracic Summit in New York. Five years ago, the very idea would have sent me into a tailspin. Now, I felt only a detached curiosity. I clicked ‘Accept.’The conference was at my old hospital. Walki
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