In This Life by Christine Brae Page A

banks and credit companies. I worked nights and weekends tending bar while putting myself through medical school and helping Michael survive high school. By then, Dante was well on his way to obtaining his post-graduate degree, set with a promising job as an investment banker in the city. Michael and I lived in a small apartment on campus, surviving on enough money to pay for school, buy books, and eat three sensible meals a day.
    Dante was my lifeline. When I graduated from medical school, we celebrated by moving all four boxes that were left to my name into his grand apartment in Manhattan. Although I had loved him for ten years, I finally allowed myself to fall in love with him when I accepted the fact that Jude was never coming back.
    In these five years, I had experienced two deaths. The death of my mother was clean cut, more defined. No matter what, there was no hope of ever seeing her again. The death of my feelings for Jude were more difficult and just as painful. Because through the agony of never gazing into those eyes again, there was hope and longing, and denial that it was really over. There was no hard stop or forced acceptance of loss like with my mother. My grief for Jude lingered and played with my head every day until I convinced myself that by now, he was probably living somewhere as a married man with a family of his own.
    As a thriving second year surgical resident at the John Hopkins Medical Center, I’d been privileged enough to join the team at the Harriet Lane Pediatrics program. I wanted to play a part in a child’s future, but most of all, I wanted to honor the memory of my mother. She lived her life with passion. And I found passion of my own, for the ultimate genius of the human body and the way it worked.
    For four years, while I mourned the loss of Jude, Dante dated many others and I reactivated my sex life. But in the end, what Dante and I had was time tested and real and I buried myself in his love. I suffocated myself in it, and I dared not come up for air, for when I did, I feared that the air I breathed would have nothing to do with the love that he gave me. That I’d find myself breathing, consuming the love of someone else. Someone I couldn’t have. Someone who didn’t love me. Best to invest in the one who loves you back.
    A week before I sat for the final phase of my Medical Licensing Exam, swept up in the whirlwind of love and the prospect of our exciting future, Dante and I were married. In a simple ceremony in Los Cabos, in a century-old church in front of a century-old priest. We made it official when we returned to New York. I didn’t change my name professionally, nor did I share in the fruits of his financial success. All in the name of survival. Of proving to myself that I could manage through the pain. Secrets ruin lives and lies protect those secrets. I was the luckiest girl alive; I had everything I could ever want. Fate had replenished my empty cup, made up for my losses in the form of Dante. I could circle the globe a million times in search of true love, but I knew that I would always end up with him. I finally accepted my fate, and I married my best friend.
    “Mikey, we’re home,” I said, gently nudging the arm that rested limply on the console. “Let’s gather up our stuff and go inside.”
    Michael opened his eyes lazily and nodded as he began to collect his things. Empty candy wrappers and two bottles of Coke lay underneath his feet. Dante had already cleared the overnight bag from the trunk of the car. We followed him to the parking elevator and rode up in silence. The door swung open as he held the electronic nob to the keypad. My brother dropped his bag on the ground and ran in towards the kitchen.
    Dante took my hand in his and led me down the long winding hallway of the apartment to the living room. The walls were lined with contemporary art from many of New York’s top galleries. Dante was a new art collector, partial to abstract works. His particular