Episode 23

didn't expect to find anything that would gut me.

It was supposed to be just a normal afternoon.

Raphael was on a hospital shift.

I had finished work early and decided to clean up our condo a bit our condo, our little home we'd made together.

It wasn't even messy in the usual sense.

He was surprisingly neat for someone who worked such long hours.

But there were always those telltale signs of a doctor's life scattered around: notes he scribbled for himself, receipts for late-night coffee runs, medical journals left open on the couch.

I liked cleaning up for us.

For him.

So there i was, barefoot on the cool wooden floor, wearing one of his old oversized T-shirts and leggings, hair twisted into a messy bun.

I'd turned on music quietly on my phone and was humming along as i wiped down the kitchen counters, then the dining table.

It was when i got to the small desk in the corner of our living area that it happened.

Raphael's desk was always organized in that "I know exactly where everything is" way.

I didn't normally touch it beyond dusting.

But today, I wanted to do a better job.

So i carefully lifted a stack of his medical notes to wipe beneath them.

That's when something slipped free and fluttered to the floor.

A thick envelope.

My stomach tightened as i picked it up.

University of Oxford, Medical Sciences Division.

I hesitated.

We didn't keep secrets.

At least, i thought we didn't.

My heart was hammering even before I pulled out the letter.

Dear Dr. Raphael Gutierrez,

We are pleased to inform you of your selection for our two-year Advanced Clinical Fellowship in Internal Medicine at the University of Oxford.

Your exceptional academic record and clinical achievements distinguish you among candidates.

We look forward to welcoming you to Oxford this September...

My vision blurred.

Two years.

Two. Years.

Oxford.

I closed my eyes, the paper crackling in my grip.

Of course he'd been selected.

He was brilliant, dedicated, tireless.

He was the doctor every patient wanted and every colleague respected.

He deserved this.

He deserved every single accolade and opportunity the world wanted to throw at him.

But he hadn't told me.

He hadn't even mentioned it.

I put the letter back in the envelope with trembling fingers.

Tried to smooth the crease i'd made.

Slipped it back into the stack exactly where i found it.

Then i sat on the edge of the couch, hands pressed to my eyes.

I refused to cry.

I wouldn't.

He deserved it.

Even if it felt like someone had hollowed me out.

-

When Raphael came home that night, I'd cleaned the whole place.

Our condo smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and floor polish. The laundry was folded. Dinner was simmering on the stove.

Normal.

Domestic.

Painful.

The lock clicked, and he stepped in, running a tired hand through his hair.

"Claudia?" His voice was warm, the relief there unmistakable.

He always sounded like that when he saw me.

I turned from the stove, forcing my best smile. "Hey. Welcome home."

He let out a sigh and dropped his bag by the door before crossing the living room in a few long strides.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his face into my neck.

"Smells good," he murmured.

I stiffened for half a second.

Then i forced myself to relax into him.

Because this was Raphael.

My husband.

Mine.

"Dinner's almost ready," I said quietly.

"Good," he said, squeezing me a little tighter. "I'm starving. Long day."

I turned the burner down.

We ate together at the small dining table, like always.

He told me about a difficult patient who'd made a miraculous recovery.

About a new intern who needed a bit more training.

He gestured with his fork, smiling, eyes lighting up.

I just watched him.

Trying to memorize him.

Trying not to think of Oxford.

Later that night, I sat on our bed brushing my hair as he emerged from the shower, toweling his hair dry.

He caught my gaze in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

"What's with the look?"

I blinked. "What look?"

"That look." He tossed the towel onto the hamper and walked over, sitting beside me. "The one that says you're overthinking again."

I swallowed.

He noticed everything.

I turned on the stool so i faced him.

The brush sat idle in my lap.

"Raphael," I said slowly, carefully, "can i ask you something?"

His eyes softened immediately.

He reached out, tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. "Always."

I swallowed again.

My heart was beating too hard.

"What… what are your dreams?"

He blinked at me.

"Dreams?" he repeated, like he didn't expect that.

"Yeah," I said. My voice shook a little. "I mean… aside from us. Aside from… me. What else do you want? What else do you see for yourself?"

He frowned a little, studying me.

I held his gaze.

Refused to look away.

Because i needed to know.

Because i'd seen the letter.

He finally sighed, leaning back a bit on the bed, his long legs stretched out.

He ran a hand through his damp hair again, thinking.

"You're my dream," he said first, voice quiet.

I almost cracked right then.

But i held firm.

"I'm serious," I whispered.

"So am i," he said, with a soft snort.

But then his smile faded.

He looked at me carefully. "You really want to know?"

I nodded.

He glanced down at his hands, fingers absently tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"I guess," he said slowly, "if you're asking honestly… I've always wanted to keep learning. To be better. To know more. Medicine is… endless. There's so much to know. So much to help with."

My throat closed.

He continued, voice even softer now.

"I used to dream about going abroad to study. To get training we don't have here. Bring it home. Use it here." He let out a breath. "If there was ever a chance to go… yeah. I'd want that."

Silence settled between us.

Heavy.

I felt cold.

But i pushed through it.

I swallowed.

"Would you go?"

He looked at me then.

Really looked at me.

His eyes were dark, searching.

And then he shook his head.

"No."

I blinked.

"What?"

He exhaled, voice low and firm.

"I wouldn't. I can't. Not now. Not ever."

"Raphael…"

He shifted forward suddenly, catching my face in his hands.

His thumbs brushed my cheeks.

"Claudia," he said, voice raw. "I can't stand being away from you. Not for weeks. Not for months. Two years?" He scoffed, shaking his head.

His eyes were shining, angry, desperate. "I'd lose my mind."

I felt the tears burn again.

I bit my lip.

"But i could visit you," I whispered, voice cracking. "If you went. I could fly there. I'd come see you. We'd make it work—"

He gave a bitter laugh, pressing his forehead to mine.

"You can't. That program? If I went, I'd basically live in the hospital there. Strict protocols. No leaving the country for two years. No visitors in dormitories. No spouse allowances. It's not that kind of fellowship. It's… isolation. Training and work."

I choked on a sob.

He cursed softly, pulling me in until i was pressed against his chest. His hands buried in my hair.

"I'm not leaving you," he murmured fiercely. "I don't care what they offer me. I don't care if it's Oxford or Mars. I'm not going."

"Raphael," I whispered, voice breaking.

"Don't say that. Don't… don't give up everything for me."

He pulled back, eyes blazing.

"You think you're not everything?" His voice was hoarse. "Claudia, you're it. You're my life. My wife. I didn't marry you to build some fucking career across the world alone. I married you because i wanted this. Us. Every day. You're not asking me to give anything up. I don't want it if it means losing you."

The tears fell.

Hot.

Relentless.

I buried my face in his chest.

His arms wrapped around me so tight I could barely breathe.

We sat there on the edge of our bed for what felt like forever.

No more words.

Just breathing.

Just holding.

Just choosing each other all over again.