Page 14 of The Love Operation

I blink rapidly, throat tight.

Dad pulls me close, warm and familiar. For a moment, I’m a little girl in her father’s arms.

“I know this feels sudden,” he says softly. “But we’ve been thinking about it awhile. Take some time to adjust, kiddo. It doesn’t change who we are—just how we want to spend this chapter.” He leans in, makes me look at him. “Sometimes loving someone means letting them do what they want, even when you don’t agree.”

I nod. But it feels like a rebuke. Like I’m failing them by struggling with this.

Mom reenters and opens her arms. I rise to meet her, forcing back tears. I wish it didn’t feel so much like a death. But as soon as I have the thought, I realize that’s exactly what this is.

The death of an unshakable connection.

The death of a future I didn’t even know I’d scripted so rigidly.

If they retire . . . I’m alone in the legacy. At least, that’s how it feels.

Anger flares in my chest. Rational or not, it’s there, but I don’t show them because it feels like something that would only divide us further.

I step back, smiling that same stunted smile. “I have some news too,” I say, remembering the reason I came in the first place. “I made it to the next round for chief. One of three.”

There’s a beat, a flicker of hesitation. Just enough of a pause to feel like a lack of excitement. But then their faces break into warm, reassuring smiles that make me question what I think I saw.

“That’s wonderful, honey,” Mom says, hugging me again. “I knew if Lockewood had any sense, this was inevitable.”

Dad joins her, both of them echoing their pride. But something feels muted, filtered. As if we’re celebrating through glass.

I can’t help but wonder: Is this what it’ll be like now? Will their values shift?

It would be easier to think that this was just my own projection if I hadn’t imagined their reactions on my way over here. Champagne. Squealing. Mom throwing her momisms around like confetti.

When you give this world your best, Cordelia, don’t be surprised when the world starts giving back.

Culture follows structure. If you want change, you start with the system.

I imagined her pumping her fists and spinning me around the room.

None of that happens.

They’re happy, sure. But it’s different.

Everything here is different.

“I should go,” I say. “Full day of surgery tomorrow.”

We all feel it—that tempered joy. Like soup left too long on the stove. Still edible, but it’s lost its warmth.

I step onto the porch, barely registering the spring breeze. Above me, the stars scatter across the sky, the same ones my parents always told me to reach for.

Tonight couldn’t have gone more differently from my expectations.

I drive home on autopilot, surprised when I pull into my driveway because I don’t remember the drive at all.

I should go to bed, get rest for the long surgery tomorrow, but I’m wired. I curl up on the comforter with Tad Cooper. He’s not exactly a cuddler, but he tries, and the effort is endearing. It’s like he knows I need a therapist and has put on invisible glasses to play the part.

It’s going to be okay, his one open eye seems to say. He shifts color slightly—his version of empathy, not camouflage—and despite myself, I smile. Reptiles don’t get nearly enough credit. Everyone puts them in a box, but with their independently rotating eyes, prehensile tails, and zygodactylous feet, they’re complex, misunderstood, and quietly brilliant.

Tad Cooper inches toward the nightstand, certainly not to escape me, but assuredly pointing me in a direction he knows will make me feel better: Delenn’s research. Her study proposal sits beside an old water glass I forgot to take to the kitchen.

I pick up the thick stack of pages and run my thumb across the edge, fanning them. Years of planning turn into a soft breeze.