The morning air still clung to him, cool and briny from his walk along the harbor with Chloe before school. His gaze lingered on the clinic's corkboard, which was covered with flyers about flu shots, mental health awareness, and free yoga classes offered every Thursday night. This place already felt like it belonged to the community—and maybe, if today went well, it could belong to him too.
Claire’s words from the night before echoed in his mind, a steady reminder threading through his morning like a lifeline: "Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it. Together."
The words had settled deep in his chest, like an anchor against the uncertainty of the day ahead. For so long, Jack had faced each next step alone—navigating grief, parenting, and career choices without a safety net. But now, Claire’s steady presence turned the unknown into something he could meet with courage, not caution. That promise meant he didn’t have to carry it all by himself anymore—and that changed everything.
Jack took a steadying breath, his thoughts briefly drifting to Amanda. He imagined telling Chloe one day how her mother’s compassion and dedication had once filled hospital rooms with hope. Maybe this clinic—if things went as he hoped—could carry Amanda’s name, a quiet tribute woven into the fabric of the community. A reminder for Chloe of the woman who’d loved her fiercely but left too soon.
He remembered Chloe asking once, "What was Mommy like?" Her voice had been soft, filled with wonder, and the question had landed like a pebble in a still pond, rippling through him. He’d hesitated, grasping for words that could carry the weight of memory, the fullness of a love lost too soon. Her eyes had been so earnest, so wide with wonder, and he’d stumbled through his answer, overwhelmed by the ache in his chest.
He wanted to give her more than stories. He wanted her to feel Amanda’s presence in meaningful ways—maybe through the scent of lavender in the air, the same kind Amanda used to wear, or a cozy reading nook filled with children’s books Amanda once loved. A painted mural, soft and sunlit, showing a nurse comforting a child. Something Chloe could see, touch, and carry with her as a link to the mother she barely remembered.
Claire had listened when he’d mentioned it in passing, her hand brushing his gently. "You should tell her. More often. She needs that."
Now, here he was, ready to make that idea tangible.
He turned toward the front desk, just as a woman in scrubs approached with a smile. "Dr. Montgomery? They’re ready for you. Right this way."
He followed her down a hallway lined with cheerful artwork, his pulse quickening with each step. The bright colors on the walls stood in contrast to the weight of what he was about to propose, grounding him just enough to steady his breath before the conversation began as he entered into a modest conference room.
Inside, two administrators and the clinic director sat at a table, folders open, pens poised. The introductions were warm but efficient. As the questions began, Jack found his voice steadier than he expected, fueled not just by experience but by conviction.
"What brings you to Seaview Harbor permanently, Dr. Montgomery? Are you looking to join our staff or support our clinic in another capacity?" one of the women asked.
Jack glanced down for a moment, then lifted his gaze. "I moved here for my daughter. And the kind of life I want to build for her."
They leaned in, intrigued.
"I spent years in a high-paced hospital environment. I loved the work, but it didn’t leave room for presence. For family. Seaview offers something different—a place where I can still practice medicine but be a dad who shows up, who is home for dinner, who knows the rhythm of his child's days."
The clinic director nodded thoughtfully. "That balance is something we value here."
Jack continued, his voice softening. "And there’s something else. I’d like to help fund an expansion—something that honors my late wife, Amanda. She was a nurse, and her compassion defined everything she did.
I’ve been thinking about what it means for Chloe to grow up without many memories of her mom. If this clinic were to add a wellness wing—focused on maternal health, early childhood care, maybe even grief support—I’d love to see it named after Amanda. The Amanda Grace Wellness Wing. It’s a way for Chloe to learn more about who her mom was, not just through my stories, but through a place that keeps Amanda’s values alive and continues the kind of work she loved. I believe that’s something worth building."
The room fell into a momentary hush. The clinic director blinked quickly, as if grounding herself before she spoke. "Dr. Montgomery," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "that is one of the most generous and meaningful proposals we’ve ever received. Your vision—what it represents—it’s... it’s extraordinary. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d be honored to explore this further."
After the interview, Jack stepped back into the sunlight, feeling the kind of hope that warmed from the inside out. He pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Claire:
Interview went well. I’ll tell you everything tonight. Dinner at your place?
She responded almost immediately:Absolutely. We’ll celebrate, no matter what.
That evening, laughter bounced through Claire’s kitchen as Jack helped Gabe and Chloe arrange slices of pepperoni into silly faces on their pizzas. Claire leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes soft as she watched them.
"You’d think pizza assembly was a sacred ritual around here," she said with a smile.
Jack chuckled. "With stakes this high, it might as well be."
Chloe beamed. "Mine's a pirate! See the olive for an eye patch?"
"Very intimidating," Jack said solemnly.
Later, as the kids dashed out to the porch for dessert, Claire and Jack lingered over cups of coffee.
"So?" she prompted, her brow raised.
Jack leaned back, fingers drumming lightly against the mug, the rhythm echoing the quiet hum of thoughts swirling in his mind. He exhaled slowly, as if the movement might steady the hope rising in his chest. "It felt right. Like I wasn’t trying to fit into someone else’s mold anymore. Just showing up as myself."
