I hadn’t cried when he was missing, I hadn’t cried while leading the rescue team, I hadn’t cried when everyone urged me to stay strong, and I hadn’t cried when a falling rock hit my arm, causing excruciating pain.
Now, with him safe and me finally discharged, I suddenly found myself unable to hold back the tears, overwhelmed by an emotional storm.
Sheriff Chase, the lead investigator, sent a message.
“Doctor Lillian, are you sure you don’t want to return to the forensic team?”
From a young age, driven by a strong sense of justice, I had always wanted to become a skilled forensic pathologist.
I pursued forensic science in college and, after graduation, joined the police department as a frontline forensic expert, helping to crack major cases.
That was until I met Scott.
To align with his preferences and to keep a regular routine with him, I transferred to an administrative role.
“When you first joined, you were incredibly dedicated. You’re the golden right hand with a sharp eye for details. It’s a shame to lose that talent. With the team short-handed now, have you thought about coming back?”
Sheriff Chase, not usually one for smooth talk, was doing his best to convince me.