I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t need to see his tears. I simply turned my back on him. I walked away, my white coat billowing slightly, passing through the secure glass doors of my laboratory, leaving him standing completely alone in the cold, unforgiving lobby of the empire I had built without him.
As I sat back down at my desk, exhaling a breath I felt like I had been holding for twenty years, the silence of the lab was broken.
My secure personal phone chimed with an incoming, encrypted international call. The caller ID flashed briefly: Stockholm, Sweden.
I picked up the receiver, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the heavy, prestigious, accented voice of the chairman of the Nobel Committee’s selection board.
As the man spoke the words that would immortalize my name in the annals of medical history forever, I closed my eyes. A beautiful, victorious, tearful smile spread slowly across my face. I looked at the framed picture on my desk.
“We did it, Mom,” I whispered to the empty, perfect room. “We finally did it.”
If you want more stories like this, or if you’d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I’d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don’t be shy about commenting or sharing.
