I was just about to induce anaesthesia when Jackson walked in. The room suddenly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The familiar scent of his cologne reached me before I even looked up, making my chest tighten with a mixture of longing and pain.
Jackson looked around and pursed his lips in mild agitation at the obvious tension. But he didn't let other people's judgments affect him. He greeted everyone with professional courtesy and then walked up to review my anaesthetic chart. I watched his hands, those same hands that had once held me with such tenderness, as they traced down my notes. I could see his mind was following the same line of thought as mine.
"Are you going to intubate?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Yes," I replied, studying his face carefully. Jackson lo
