Chương 3
At least, it did not for me.
I still remembered Alejandro burning pancakes on our first apartment’s tiny stove because he insisted he could cook breakfast.
I remembered him dancing badly at my cousin’s wedding.
I remembered the night my father died and Alejandro sat on the bathroom floor with me because I could not stop crying.
Those memories did not disappear because of what he did.
They became something harder to carry.
Evidence that a person could be both real and false at the same time.
A doctor entered shortly afterward.
Dr. Marcus Bell had been treating me since my diagnosis.
He was calm in a way that made everyone around him calmer.
“Ready?”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
He smiled slightly.
“Good answer.”
I looked at him.
“Most people say yes.”
“Most people are lying.”
That was the first normal conversation I had all morning.
He checked my chart.
“Your latest scans look promising.”
“Promising?”
“Yes.”
“Not certain.”
“No.”
I appreciated that.
Everyone else had spent months trying to protect me from uncertainty.
Doctors did not.
They simply stood beside you while you faced it.
“Dr. Bell?”
“Yes?”
“If I wake up and my memory is different…”
He looked at me carefully.
“Are you worried about that?”
I thought about Alejandro standing beside my bed.
About him believing my mind might become weaker than my body.
“Yes.”
“Memory changes after surgery can happen, but we monitor closely.”
“I mean something else.”
He waited.
“I’m worried people will assume I don’t know what happened.”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“I see.”
“I need someone to know that I made decisions before today.”
He pulled a chair closer.
“Camila, are you telling me you feel pressured to sign something?”
I hesitated.
The honest answer felt embarrassing.
“Yes.”
“By your husband?”
I looked away.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Yes.”
Dr. Bell did not react with shock.
He did not judge.
He simply documented something on his tablet.
“Do you want social services involved?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
It was not because I trusted Alejandro.
It was because I still needed to understand the entire picture.
A part of me, the part that had loved him for fifteen years, still searched for a reason.
People wanted villains because villains made pain easier.
But Alejandro was not a stranger.
He was a man who knew exactly how I took my coffee.
He knew I hated sleeping with the closet door open.
He knew I cried quietly when I was overwhelmed because I did not like people worrying about me.
That was what made it worse.
He knew me.
And he still chose this.
The operating room preparation began.
A technician checked my identification bracelet.
A nurse asked me several questions.
My name.
My birthday.
The procedure.
The surgeon.
The answers came easily.
Before they moved my bed, my phone vibrated.
A message from Alejandro.
I stared at his name on the screen.
For a second, my heart reacted before my mind did.
Old habits.
Old attachment.
Old love.
Then I opened it.
I’m sorry if I upset you today.
I read the sentence twice.
Not I’m sorry I betrayed you.
Not I’m sorry I hurt you.
Just sorry if I upset you.
A carefully constructed apology that avoided responsibility.
Another message appeared.
I hope you understand that I’m trying to protect everyone.
I locked my phone.
The nurse noticed.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
It was the first lie I told all day.
But unlike Alejandro’s lies, mine was temporary.
I was not hiding the truth to take something from someone.
I was protecting the strength I needed to survive.
As they wheeled me toward the operating room, I passed the hallway windows.
Outside, Chicago moved beneath a gray afternoon sky.
People hurried through their own problems.
Someone carried a bouquet of flowers.
Someone argued softly on the phone.
Someone laughed near the elevator.
Life continued without caring that mine had been split into before and after.
The doors opened.
The surgical lights waited.
I closed my eyes.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I was making a promise.
When I came back, I would not spend my first days recovering from surgery trying to rebuild a marriage that Alejandro had already abandoned.
I would recover from the operation.
Then I would recover my life.
The first thing I heard when I woke up was a woman laughing somewhere nearby.
It was not the sound I expected.
I expected machines.
Alarms.
The rushed voices of doctors checking whether I knew my own name.
Instead, I heard a quiet laugh from a nurse telling someone about her son forgetting his lunch again.
For a few seconds, I stayed still and listened.
My body felt heavy, but not unfamiliar.
My mouth was dry.
My head felt like it belonged to someone else.
Then a voice spoke beside me.
“Camila?”
I opened my eyes.
Dr. Bell was standing there with a small smile.
“Welcome back.”
I tried to answer, but my throat refused to cooperate.
The nurse adjusted something near my bed.
“Take your time.”
I blinked slowly.
“Did it work?”
Dr. Bell leaned closer.
“The surgery was successful.”
The words entered my mind slowly.
Successful.
I had heard that word before.
But this time it meant something different.
I was still here.
I was still me.
A strange emotion moved through me.
Relief.
Then sadness.
Then something that felt almost like anger.
Not because of the surgery.
Because I had survived long enough to face what came after.
Dr. Bell checked my pupils with a small light.
“Can you tell me your full name?”
“Camila Vance.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Chicago Memorial.”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
I looked at him.
“I had a tumor.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
The nurse smiled.
“You’re doing great.”
I wanted to smile back.
Instead, I looked toward the chair beside the bed.
My purse was there.
May you like
My phone was missing.
The sudden panic must have shown on my face because the nurse noticed.
