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The garden outside is thick and lush. I spend what little free time I have back there. Small raised boxes contain herbs on one side of the property line and multicolored flowers on the other. The yard is bordered by evergreens which cast a soothing, green hue into the main living space.

I place my keys down on the countertop. The metal clink against the cold stone causes the place to feel exceptionally still tonight. My eyes land on the small kitchen on one side of my home, anchored by a marble island that rarely sees more than a morning coffee cup. Flanking it are high-end stainless steel appliances that remain immaculate and cold. Their pristine surfaces untouched by the warmth of heavy cooking or family recipes.

Just past the island, a modest dining table sits in the open space, neatly set with exactly four chairs. There are no extra leaves to expand the table, and no dust-covered folding chairs tucked away in a closet. It’s exactly the amount of space I need, reflecting a life back at me with no time for entertaining, or sharing a boisterous meal with family. At thirty six years of age, my cozy home almost mocks my solitary routine.

My self-contained world for one.

While it might be my warm and comfy refuge, it’s unforgivably quiet. I don’t even have a cat or a dog waiting at the door for me. Between running Hanover Urology, managing surgical schedules, and fighting the endless administrative fires, I barely have time to water my one pothos plant, let alone care for another living creature. Thank heavens that Devil’s Ivy is nearly indestructible.

The clinic takes up every single second of my life. There simply isn’t room for dating or furry companions. Okay, if I actually met a man I thought was worth it, I’d probably find a way to cut back. But it’s safe to say that hasn’t happened. And with my poor dating history, it’s not likely anytime soon.

Thankfully, my home is closer to the hospital than if I had built on the sprawling grounds of my family farm. Not that we’ve grown anything on it since my grandma passed away. She was the one with the green thumb. Grew her own fruits and vegetables, which she in turn used to create culinary masterpieces. Wish I had acquired that gene. But I can make a mean grilled cheese.

Honestly, I was destined to go to medical school. When my parents were still with us, they often spoke of having me join their primary care practice. But even at an early age, I wanted to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. While Grandpa Henry may have retired, he stays involved in the community by spearheading food drives, health fairs, and providing free care to those residing in local homeless shelters. He continues to lead by example every day. I only hope I can make a similar impact on the world.

Urology tends to be a male-dominated field. But times are changing. There have been many advances in medicine for women in the field of urogynecology. Once the administrative side of the practice eases, I’d love to bring in more women with a background in this specialty who can focus on women’s health. Particularly postmenopausal women’s issues. But that’s for another day. Top of the agenda currently is making sure every patient feels their concerns are being met in a kind and compassionate manner, regardless of their gender. That and not wanting to fire Dr. Lewis and his mini-me, Chad. Every. Single. Day.

Kicking off my heels, I head straight for the kitchen. Once I’ve poured a glass of Pinot, I make my way to the bedroom to shake the business off of this day and change into a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.

As I pull the soft cotton over my head, my eyes catch the framed photograph on my bedside table. Coming closer, I lift the picture of my parents they’d sent to me. It was taken in Guatemala right before their final medical mission.

I was fifteen when their plane went down on the return flight. In a single afternoon, my entire world was ripped apart, leaving a cavernous hole that felt impossible to fill. Then, five years later, my grandmother succumbed to thyroid cancer.

After Grandma Joy passed away, my grandpa became my absolute rock. I still meet him for dinner several days a week. Grandpa Henry stepped into the wreckage of my life, held my hand, and raised me. He was the one who taught me how to read an EKG and explained pharmacology using a different perspective when it didn’t make logical sense to me. He cheered at my college graduation, and trusted in my ability to lead the clinic long before I ever believed in myself. He’s everything to me. He’s the one man I can always count on.

Particularly after Sam pushed me away.

I lean against the doorframe, staring down at my bare feet as the memory of Sam’s cocky smirk at the bar flashes back into my mind. I take a sip of the Sutter Creek Pinot, close my eyes, and relish the fruity taste on my tongue, hoping the alcohol can dilute the events of last night. But no luck.

His words continue to taunt me. “Liar. Admit it. You’ve missed me.”

Where had it all gone wrong back then? God, what I wouldn’t give to know what actually happened.

We had been inseparable. We knew each other’s secrets, every dream, every quiet fear the other held. And then, almost overnight, he built a wall forty feet high. He stopped calling. He started surrounding himself with a rotating cast of glossed-up, picture-perfect girls and drowning in a silver-spoon, playboy lifestyle that was completely foreign to the boy I thought I knew.

Was it inevitable the smart, wealthy, good-looking guy who was good at every sport he tried would eventually become part of the jock and cheerleader crowd? For years, the same ugly questions have echoed in the back of my head. Did he just grow tired of our childhood closeness? Was he attracted to girls who were prettier? Ones with bigger personalities? Or after years of being by my side, did he simply crave something or someone different?

I know I’m not unattractive. I’m smart, capable, and I look as nice in a tailored suit as I do in a summer dress. I nod sharply, affirming my self-talk like a virtual exclamation point. Claire would be so proud.

Yet when the boy who meant the world to you discards you without an explanation, it leaves a fracture in your foundation. No matter what I do, I can’t shake this constant feeling that I’m insignificant. Inconsequential.

Invisible.

Combine that old heartbreak with the constant, exhausting battle to defend my worth to male colleagues like Dr. Dickhead Lewis every day, and… well, it takes a toll on your self-esteem. Even if I am a kick-ass Swiftie who knows better than to let a man dictate my self-worth. The sting is there all the same.

I let out a long breath and shake my head, forcing the thoughts of Sam Lee back into the locked chest in my mind where they belong. He’s just a ghost from my past who happened to remind me to stay tough and not let my guard down. He doesn’t get to occupy any more rent-free space in my heart or in my head.

My phone buzzes on the counter, illuminating with a text from my grandpa asking how my week ended and if I want to grab some dinner soon. Smiling softly, the heavy knot in my chest loosens. I pick up the phone, sink onto the sofa, and start typing back. I might be fighting a daily war at work, and my love life might be nonexistent, but as long as I have my grandpa in my corner, I can handle whatever life throws at me.

A week later, I find myself desperately needing another boost from my girl squad. It’s been a soul-crushing Thursday at Hanover Urology. If I have to spend one more afternoon listening to Dr. Lewis make passive-aggressive comments about how I’m letting emotions cloud my judgment, I might actually lose it.

I swear I work hard every day on my mindset. To try to think positively of everyone I encounter. And then he walks in. I’m convinced Dr. Dickless is more than even Mother Teresa could handle.

I’m tempted to fire him for insubordination. Yet I don’t want to deal with the remaining male physicians referring to me as a ruthless bitch who can’t take criticism. I bet a man wouldn’t lose an ounce of sleep over this crap. They’d be applauded for not tolerating such disrespect.

I’m pretty sure if I share my week with the girls tonight, Claire will say, “Fuck ’em all. You’re the boss.”

To top that off, my patient schedule today felt like a non-stop marathon of elderly men who refused to look me in the eye. Then there was the stream of middle-aged patients throwing tantrums over their erectile dysfunction prescription refills. When the pharmacy required prior authorization for his little blue pill, one patient actually barked that a young woman shouldn’t be “blocking a grown man’s manhood.”