My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 05

My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 05

The old man pushed his glasses up, and then he went completely still.

“You’re Sloane Ashford? Professor Shaw’s student?”

His voice had a strange note of surprise.

“Hold on. Let me make a call.”

He turned, dialed a number, and spoke a few words into the receiver.

When he hung up, he shook his head at me.

“Professor Shaw says to go to his home. Faculty Housing, Building Three, Apartment 401.”

He paused, then added, “Young lady, Professor Shaw has been waiting for you a very long time.”

My nose burned.

The door to Professor Shaw’s apartment was slightly ajar.

I stood in the doorway and saw the light inside, and a stooped silhouette.

He’d aged.

Five years ago,

he’d been a vigorous, sharp-eyed middle-aged man. Now his hair was completely

white, his back curved forward.

He sat at his desk, a worn textbook open in front of him.

When he heard the door, he turned.

The moment he saw my face, his eyes went red. “You. You finally remembered your old teacher.”

His voice shook.

I walked inside, set down my cloth bag, and stood before him. Then I gave a stiff nod.

“Professor Shaw. I’m back. I want to finish what I started. I want to be a surgeon.”

Harrison Shaw looked at me and said nothing for a long time.

Finally, he slammed his hand down on the desk.

“About damn time.”

He stood, rummaged through a cabinet, and stacked a pile of medical textbooks in front of me.

“Starting tomorrow, you shadow me on rounds during the day. At night, you catch up on the coursework on your own. You’re five years behind, but your foundation’s still solid. I’m giving you

six months-”

He held up one finger. “Six months to pass every single makeup exam. Can you do it?”

I looked at the thick stack of books.

No fear.

I’d lost thirty years in my last life.

This time around, six months was more than enough.

“I can.”

That night, I slept in Professor Shaw’s guest room.

The blanket was thin, but I wasn’t cold at all.

Because there was a fire burning in my chest.

My first night after being reborn.

And the first day of my life, lived entirely for myself.

For half a year, I studied like a woman possessed.

Days, I followed Professor Shaw to outpatient clinics, on rounds, observing surgeries. Nights, 1

went back to the dorm and devoured textbooks. Notes. Suture practice.

Professor Shaw found me an empty dorm room and helped me file the paperwork to audit classes.

There was chatter on campus.

“That Sloane Ashford-didn’t she marry some big-shot officer? What’s she doing back here?”

“I heard she got divorced.”

“The officer dumped her, obviously.”

I heard it. I didn’t care.

In my previous life, words like those would’ve sent me hiding under the covers, crying through the

night.

In this life, they didn’t even deserve a frown.

I only cared about one thing.

Whether my hands could still hold a scalpel steady.

Three months in, Professor Shaw let me scrub in as an assist on my first surgery.

A standard appendectomy. The most basic procedure there is.

He took the lead position. I stood across from him.

When he handed me the hemostat, my hands were impossibly steady.

I hadn’t touched a surgical instrument in five years, but the feel of it was still there.

Muscles have memory.

And beyond that-during those thirty years in my last life, even though I’d never operated, I had

never stopped reading.

Gavin Whitmore had no idea. The things he never bothered to notice-the medical journals under my pillow. The anatomy notes in my drawer. The surgical pathway diagrams I sketched under lamplight, deep into the night. They were all real.

I never gave up.

No one had ever given me the chance.

After the surgery, Professor Shaw stood at the scrub sink and looked at me.

“Sloane. Do you know why I kept waiting for you to come back?”

I shook my head.

“Because your hands are the most naturally suited for a scalpel that I’ve ever seen.’

He turned off the faucet. His voice was serious.

“Finger length. Flexibility. Stability. You have the top percentile in all three. Surgery is thirty

percent talent, thirty percent hard work, and forty percent temperament. You’ve got all three.”

He exhaled.

“The year you withdrew-I was angry for a solid year.”

“Professor Shaw. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He waved a hand. “You’re here now. That’s enough.”

Six months later, I passed every makeup exam.

Surgery: 98. Anatomy: 96. Pathology: 97.

Top of the program.

When word got out, no one gossiped about my divorce anymore.

They started talking about something else.

“Crestwood Med just produced a freak of nature. Five years out of school, comes back for six months, ranks first in the entire program.”

I didn’t care about any of that.

What I cared about was this.

August 2020. Crestwood General Hospital posted a hiring notice.

Department of Surgery. Two resident slots open.

Applicants from across the state: a hundred and forty-seven.

I was one of them.