He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I kept my voice steady.
“You taught me that my value as a person depends on what I achieve, how much money I make, who I know. You taught me that love is conditional, that family is conditional.”
I paused.
“Well, congratulations. I learned the lesson.”
“Emily, please.”
“I need to go,” I said. “I have a patient to check on.”
I walked away from them through the reception, past the dancing guests and the elaborate flower arrangements and the ice sculpture in the shape of two swans. I found Catherine and thanked her for her hospitality. I congratulated Marcus and Sarah, who barely managed to speak to me, and then I left. I drove back to Mount Si and checked on Charlie. He was awake, groggy but stable. His parents were there, exhausted but grateful.
“How are you feeling, buddy?” I asked Charlie.
He gave me a weak thumbs up.
“You’re a tough kid,” I said. “You’re going to be just fine.”
His mother, Amanda, took my hand.
“Thank you, Dr. Chin. Thank you for giving me back my son.”
“You’re welcome.”
That’s the thing about my job. At the end of the day, I know I’ve made a difference, a real tangible difference in the world. I save lives. I give parents their children back. I give children their futures back. My family could never understand that because they measure success in dollar signs and social status and appearances. They didn’t see my value because I didn’t advertise it. I didn’t wear expensive clothes or drive a luxury car or name drop at parties. I just did my job. I saved lives, and that was enough for me.
Over the next week, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. My father called 47 times. My mother called 53 times. Sarah called 31 times. Various aunts, uncles, and cousins called another 60 plus times combined. I didn’t answer. They sent emails, text messages, even letters delivered to my apartment building, all saying the same thing. We’re sorry. We made a mistake. Please forgive us. Please come back to the family. Some were genuine. My grandmother’s letter was heartfelt and apologetic. Uncle Tom’s email was thoughtful and acknowledged their failure, but most were about what I could do for them now. My cousin Jennifer wanted me to look at her daughter’s medical records. Aunt Linda asked if I could get her husband into a clinical trial. My father sent an email about how having a famous surgeon in the family would be wonderful for their social standing. Even Sarah sent a long text about how Marcus’ family kept asking about me and could I please attend some dinner parties with them. They still didn’t get it.
3 weeks after the wedding, Catherine Thornton invited me to her home for lunch, just the two of us.
“I wanted to apologize,” she said over salmon and asparagus, “for putting you in that position at the wedding. I didn’t know about your family situation.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I said. “You invited me because I helped Charlie. That’s all.”
“Still,” she said, “it was clearly uncomfortable for you. I saw your family’s reaction, the shock on their faces.”
She paused.
“They didn’t know, did they? About your career.”
“They knew I was a doctor. They just assumed I wasn’t successful.”
“Why did you let them think that?”
I considered the question.
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