Page 90 of Broken Dream

I unlock the door to my office, walk in, and fall into the first chair across from my desk.

The walls seem to pulse. My undergrad degree, my medical degree. They all seem to laugh at me in a dark way as they close in on me.

I clutch the armrests of my chair, my knuckles whitening. The walls of my office are closing in on me now, the multitude of degrees and honors that once signaled a promising career now taking on an ominous, mocking tone.

Dr. Jason Lansing, a man who had everything, only to lose it all.

Dr. Jason Lansing, a brilliant mind wasted on a broken body.

Nausea travels up my throat as I stare at the surgical diplomas lining the walls. They symbolize everything I’m supposed to be. Everything I should be.

Dr. Jason Lansing, hopelessly, pathetically in love with a student.

No.

Won’t go there.

Can’t go there.

I’m not in love with Angie Simpson.

Love isn’t sex. Love isn’t easing loneliness.

I drag my gaze away from the damning degrees and let out a bitter chuckle. The future. A concept that once held promise and potential now holds nothing but uncertainty. The ghost of my past clings around me, haunting every corner of my office with chilling whispers of what might have been.

Three years earlier…

This is the worst day of my life.

Except it’s not.

I’ve had so many worst days that I’ve lost count.

Losing Julia.

Finding out I’ll never operate again.

And today…

My wife lies in the bathtub upstairs in our master bathroom.

Blood all over her.

Her wrists slit.

And I feel…

I feel nothing.

Numbness. Pure numbness.

Oh, the pain will come later. I’m well aware of that.

I’ve been through this before.

I walk over to the desk, the mahogany surface covered with bills and letters yet to be opened. Among the clutter is a solitary envelope—stark white, crisp, untouched. I pick it up, flipping it over to reveal two words on the other side.

To Jason…