“I know, love, I’m so sorry. The thing is, I recognized you that first day at the hospital,” he admitted. “When you said my voice sounded familiar, I knew. I’ve carried that guilt since we were kids. Becoming an ophthalmic surgeon wasn’t random. I did it because of you. I searched for your name for years.”
I was stunned.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Then why hide it?” I asked.
“Because I was ashamed,” he said. “And because I fell in love with you. I was terrified you’d refuse both me and the surgery if you knew.”
I looked at the research again. Years of work. Years of regret.
“You should’ve told me,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he whispered. “I was wrong.”
I stepped closer and studied his face, really seeing him for the first time. The exhaustion. The fear. The hope.
“Then why hide it?”
