Ch 19

The weeks at Mount Sinai began to blur into a rhythm — endless rounds, quick consults, hurried notes on charts, the quiet hum of life-and-death decisions echoing in hallways. Some days, I was electric, moving on instinct and skill; other days, I dragged my feet, my badge heavy on my coat, my last name even heavier on my shoulders. De Torre. It followed me like a shadow, whispered in corners, sometimes spat like a test I had yet to pass.

But I did pass. Every single day. My patients saw me. My colleagues, even the ones who side-eyed me at first, started calling me by my first name. Slowly, the noise began to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady respect.

Yet, the city was merciless. Long nights on call blurred into early mornings. There were moments I felt like I was back to being twenty-one — overwhelmed, terrified, trying to prove myself. And in those moments, it was Lea who saved me.

Every night, no matter how late, I came back to our apartment and found her waiting. Sometimes she'd be on the couch, sheet music scattered around her, humming quietly as she worked. Sometimes she'd already be in bed, reading, her glasses low on her nose. But always — always — she'd look up, smile, and say, "Hey hon. Come here."

And I would.

Some nights, I collapsed onto the couch with my shoes still on, head in her lap. She'd rub circles into my temples, whispering, "It's okay, hon. You did good today. I'm proud of you." Other nights, I brought her stories — the small victories, the patients whose hands I'd held, the ones who'd smiled back at me. She'd listen, eyes bright, like she was collecting each piece of my day to keep it safe.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day where a patient had nearly coded on me, I dropped my bag by the door and sighed so loudly Lea actually laughed."Rough day, hon?" she teased gently.

I flopped down beside her. "Honey, 'rough' doesn't even cover it. Some days I think... maybe I should've just been a small-town doctor. Open a little clinic. Hide somewhere nobody knows the name 'De Torre.'"

Lea tilted her head, smiling. "Or you could stay right here and keep being brilliant. You're more than your last name, hon. You're you. And you're doing it."

I groaned, burying my face against her shoulder. "Honey... sometimes I just... I wish it were easier. That I didn't have to keep fighting the ghost of who they want me to be."

She rubbed my back, then suddenly grinned. "Well, you know... there's always my offer. Just marry me and become a Salonga. Problem solved."

I froze, glancing up at her. "Honey... you're never gonna let that go, are you?"

Lea winked. "Nope. You're the one who said you'd let me whisk you away. I'm just keeping you honest."

I smirked despite my exhaustion. "Honey, one day you're going to say that and mean it, and I'm just going to say yes. And then what?"

"Then," she said softly, brushing a thumb over my cheek, "you won't have to fight ghosts anymore. You'll just be Rafaelle. Mine."

Her words settled into me, warm and steady, quieting the ache in my chest.

For weeks, this was our life: me fighting my way through Mount Sinai, proving myself over and over, and her catching me every night when I fell. My frustration over my name and my past never fully went away — but each time I stepped into our apartment, it felt lighter. Because here, I wasn't a De Torre. I wasn't a name or a legacy. I was just Rafaelle. Hon. Honey. Hers.

***

It was barely mid-morning one day, and the hospital buzzed with the usual energy — monitors beeping, nurses hustling, residents running from one patient to another. I had just finished a consult and was catching my breath in the empty hallway when my phone buzzed.

I frowned at the unfamiliar number but answered anyway.

"Dr. De Torre?" the voice on the other end asked, crisp and professional. "This is Dr. Henderson. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

"No, no, not at all," I said, straightening my posture, curiosity tinged with a strange flutter in my chest.

"We've been observing your work closely," he continued, "and we'd like to invite you to interview for the position of Residency Program Head in our department."

I blinked. "Wait... interview? Head of residency? But... I've only been here a few weeks! I'm still learning the routines, the teams, the floors..."

Dr. Henderson's voice remained calm and reassuring. "Dr. De Torre, we understand your surprise. But your dedication, your skills, and your ability to handle high-pressure situations have impressed us. We believe you have the leadership and vision needed for the role. We'd like to meet formally for an interview at your earliest convenience."

I sank against the wall, my heart racing. Residency Program Head? I've barely gotten my footing here.

When I got home, I couldn't contain my excitement.

"Honey," I murmured, as I opened the door, "you're not going to believe this..." I turned to see Lea leaning against our bedroom doorway, arms crossed, smiling.

"What is it, hon? You look like you just saw a ghost," she said softly.

"They want me to interview for Residency Program Head," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Honey... I've only been working here a few weeks. I... I'm still learning where the supply closets are."

Lea laughed, walking over and pressing a hand to my shoulder. "Hon, apparently they've been paying more attention to you than you thought. Sounds like someone's already a rising star."

"I know, honey," I muttered, half laughing, half groaning. "Rising star? I'm still figuring out which elevator goes to which wing! How am I supposed to be... the head?"

"That's why it's an interview, hon," she said with a teasing grin. "They want to see what you're made of. And you've already impressed me."

I couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped me. "Honey... what if I screw it up?"

"You won't, hon," she said firmly, brushing a thumb across my cheek. "You've got this. And even if it feels overwhelming, you're not alone. Coffee, pep talks, emotional support... all of it."

I exhaled, the tension in my chest easing slightly. "Honey... somehow I think I'll need all of that and more."

Lea winked. "And you'll get it, hon. Now go show them why you belong here — Residency Program Head or not."