Her name was Stephanie Johnson, and she was one of the most renowned brain surgeons on the East Coast. She was calm, collected, professional, and during her six years as a doctor she’d only ever had two patients die on her table. A new record. Sure, she worked some long hours, but she loved her job. She loved the feeling it gave her to feel like she could defeat sickness itself. It made her feel powerful. Invincible.
Sometimes she felt lonely. Not often, but occasionally. It wasn’t like she’d never had a boyfriend, but there just never seemed to be time to work on her relationships, and eventually the men started getting sick of never being prioritized. She had a lover though, who came over a couple of times a week and left before dawn, and she had her girlfriends. Doctors from the same hospital. Mature women, who liked meeting over a lunch or a cocktail.