“None of your fucking business.”
He concedes with a theatrical tilt of his head. “Still, I can't help but wonder if this rural renaissance might be a phase. You were always meant for bigger things. It's a shame to see potential wasted on... simplicity.”
“Maybe what you call simplicity,” I say, my fingers tightening around the mug, “I call happiness.”
“Is that right?” His gaze drifts over my shoulder, out the window. “Happiness. Well, if you're happy, then that's all that matters, isn't it?”
“I appreciate that we can sit here and have a civil conversation. But let's not dance around the topic. You know why you're here, and it's not to critique my life choices.”
He leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Straight to the point. I admire that, Heather. So, tell me, what am I here for?”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze like an anchor trying to pull me down to unfathomable depths. “You're here because you needed closure, but that doesn't mean you get to come back into my life and stir things up. I've moved on, Michael.”
Michael's smirk fades, replaced by a calculating stare. “Lincoln Montgomery,” he muses, rolling the name around his tongue as if tasting a fine wine. “The hometown hero. Must be a nice change of pace from our life in the city.”
“Change can be good,” I retort, leaning forward, my resolve hardening with every word. “Lincoln isn't just a 'change of pace,'Michael. He's someone who understands me, who sees me for who I am, not some trophy wife to parade around at corporate events.”
“Understands you?” Michael's voice drips with condescension. “Or is it more accurate to say he doesn't challenge you? That he lets you hide away here in your comfort zone?”
“Being with Lincoln isn't about hiding,” I shoot back, anger simmering beneath my composure. “It's about being part of something real, something honest. It's about falling in love, Michael. Something our marriage lacked in the end.”
“Love,” he echoes. “Well, if that's what you believe... Fine. If you're truly content with mediocrity, then who am I to argue?”
“Goodbye, Michael,” I say, signaling the end of the conversation, the end of his hold on me.
“Goodbye, Heather.”
As he walks away, I remain seated, letting out a long, slow breath. The encounter has left a sour taste in my mouth, and a whirlwind of questions swirling in my mind. What did this mean for Lincoln and me? How will we move forward, knowing Michael was still lurking in the shadows of our lives?
The answers aren't clear, but one thing is certain: I stood my ground, and I will do it again—for Lincoln, for Lawson Ridge, but most importantly, for myself.
Chapter Seven
Lincoln
The hum of the hospital is a lullaby I know all too well—a reminder of countless hours spent in ORs, where my presence brings calm to chaos. Cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, I flip through patient charts, my pen poised for notes.
“Lincoln Montgomery speaking.”
“It's Dr. Hanson.” His voice always has a way of slicing through background noise, authoritative yet oddly comforting. “I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”
“Never too busy for you, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, it's what you can do for us,” he corrects me with a hint of enthusiasm that didn't quite mask the gravity of his tone. “We've been considering some shifts in management, and your name has come up for a promotion.”
A surge of adrenaline spikes through my veins, quickening my pulse. A promotion. The word echoes in my mind, tempting and terrifying in equal measure.
“Thank you, sir. That's quite an honor. What would the position entail?”
“Let's discuss this face-to-face. Can you meet tomorrow afternoon? Say, two o'clock?”
“Two o'clock works. I'll see you then,” I reply, the weight of the impending decision already pressing on my shoulders.
“Great. We're looking forward to it.” With that, he hangs up, leaving me in the quiet aftermath of unexpected news.
“Hey, Dr. Montgomery!” A nurse calls out to me as I pocket my phone, her smile bright. “You look like a man who just won the lottery!”
“Something like that,” I say, managing a chuckle. My attempt at levity feels hollow—it is hard to celebrate when I wasn't sure what I’ll be sacrificing.
