Salt and Signal Studios

The Scientist is a fictional narrative drawn from the emotional terrain of lived experience — mine, and the many I’ve walked alongside. Though the characters are not real, the grief, the love, the shame, and the hope all are. Many times I process in storytelling form, laid down in ink on a page. This story presented itself on a summer afternoon over a cup of coffee and an open spiral notebook. It’s been alive for a couple years, and after the urging of a couple friends it is being posted publicly. In time it may expand to be something more, until then it lives as a cinematic vignette.

This is not a story of blame or scandal. It is a story of humanity — of strength worn down by life, of the slow, brave return to vulnerability.

If you find yourself in these words — whether as the one who stayed, the one who left, or the one who was left — know that this is a place of compassion, not judgment.

No one is named because this story does not seek to expose. It seeks to honor the quiet, often unseen battles we carry. It is about the cost of silence, the ache of love unspoken, and the sacred moment when someone finally says: “I need help.”

This story was born not from resentment or fantasy, but from wonder. It imagines the lives of those who carry great responsibility — scientists, physicians, helpers — and how, in the shadows of their achievements, personal hearts sometimes go unseen.

It also imagines what it would mean for two people — once close, then distant — to be changed by the very space between them. Not as punishment, but as preparation. And that maybe… one day… healing in one heart could awaken healing in another.

It is, at its core, a story about love deferred — not lost.

May it meet you gently, wherever you are.

—CT

The Scientist
06/07/2023 Creative Writing Session

The room was pitch black, which led her to wonder if her eyes were truly open. After all, she had taken double the recommended dose of Tylenol PM the night before. (Medical blasphemy!)

This realization triggered an immediate nosedive into a spiral of shame.

“Stop,” she said aloud. Proof the work was working — and that her eyes were, in fact, open.

The pitter-patter of footsteps down the hallway meant Karl and Piper would be plowing through her bedroom door in 5… 4… 3 — giggles echoed over hastening feet — 2… anticipation built… 1!

Handle sprung. Door flung. Curtains thrown open. Blindness ensued. The morning sun offered its aggressive assurance that day had come.

She almost forgot about Piper and Karl — Pounce! Tiny arms wrapped around her neck and legs. Strangleheld by precious laughter and these babies she so adored.

Sleep had been scarce these last few months without Nolan. Nolan had moved on. She? Well, she was over it in the mornings… and crying in the bathroom by noon.

World-renowned scientists aren’t allowed to have emotional breakdowns. She was the helper — not the one who should need help.

After corralling the kids into the kitchen for yogurt, granola, and her own personal pot of black coffee, the morning routine began. In the spaces of time between queries from the kids, her mind wandered.

A friend’s voice spoke to her there. A friend she missed deeply.

She remembered helping him through his darkest days. His protest over seeing a psychologist. The fear in his eyes. The pain of their parting — and the circumstances that demanded distance — felt fresh today.

She had moved past Nolan, just as Nolan had moved past her.

But him… He was the one she loved.

She came back to herself as the doorbell rang.

Beata stood on the other side. The wizened neighbor turned part-time nanny. Tough. Confident. Always on time. A former trial lawyer, sharp as a tack.

Loving this dear neighbor and her two little munchkins had become her career. Helping the scientist survive divorce and emotional fallout? That was Beata’s ministry.

“The little darlings and I have a very busy day of regimented play and hours in the sunshine ahead,” said Beata with a smirk. “Have a wonderful day at work.”

A pause. A maternal once-over.

“You can do this, dear. Go upstairs, fix your hair, cover the bags under your eyes. You will get through today. It is always best to look your best — even when you don’t feel your best.”

Showered. Dressed. Makeup done. She stepped out of her home and into her BMW. Pressed the ignition. Backed slowly down the driveway.

Five minutes to the hospital. Not much of a commute. But a commute nonetheless.

In her thoughts, she heard his voice again. She really missed him today.

Then a name came to mind. “Talia,” she said aloud.

Siri replied, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Momentarily jolted by the digital voice, she made a decision.

“Siri, call Talia.”

The phone rang through the car’s speakers.

“Good morning! I didn’t expect to hear from you until next week for the patient review—” Silence. “Hey… are you alright? Is this about a new patient? You never call unless it’s serious.”

Tipped off by the sniffles on the other end, Talia waited.

She breathed in. The Scientist was bound in the tension between pressure and release.

Exhale. Another quiet inhale, then through tears she breathed out the bravest words she had ever spoken:

“Talia, I need your help.”

A pause. Then Talia’s voice softened:

“My friend… oh my friend I am so sorry. I love you. Take a deep breath. We have catching up to do, and I am just happy to hear your voice. Time goes by far too fast.”

They had been classmates. Then Roommates. Colleagues. Mothers. Friends.

Talia gave a few moments pause as the sniffles continued on the other end of the phone call.

The Scientist had driven two blocks from her home, before the tears and blurry vision required pulling over.

“Let’s talk. Come to my office — My morning is clear. Tea and two sugars awaits your arrival. Drive safe, ok? See you in a few.”

The call ended. And she broke. Sobbing.

Hot tears of relief — found in the unexpected gift of acceptance. She had forgotten that kind of love still existed. Unconditional friendship.

Pain and betrayal had done their awful work — convincing her to isolate. She had become untrusting of others. And untrustworthy in her own eyes. Shame.

She remembered — just a year ago — he had tried to be there. In the heat of home-life turmoil, she pushed him away. He hadn’t known how bad things were.

He had reached out. Tried to mend the rift. She told him they shouldn’t speak anymore.

She was still married then. A loveless marriage. But she stayed. Saving face was paramount.

That’s all over now.

Now she was left with the wounds of suppressed emotion. Memories that were once skeletons in the closet, now painfully dragging decisions into the daylight.

Of the many truths she knew, one was indisputable:

“He loved me,” she whispered.

And then — her own words echoed back to her:

“You’re on a journey now. It won’t be easy… but it will be what saves you.”

The last thing she had said to him, as they tearfully embraced.

The meaning was painfully clear now.

She pulled into the hospital garage.

The tears had ruined her perfectly applied cosmetic armor.

As she walked briskly toward the elevator vestibule, she braced herself — watching for judgmental stares.

The elevator doors opened. No gaggle of colleagues.

Just an empty concourse… and Doris, the security guard.

“Baby, come over here and say hello,” Doris called, waving from behind the desk.

Seeing her face, Doris stood up — Kleenex box in hand — and closed the distance between them.

“Oh honey,” she said in a warm, disarming voice as she approached The Scientist.

“It’s okay. After everything you’ve lived through, I’m surprised you kept the front up this long. You are human after all, huh?”

“I’m beginning to see that,” the scientist replied, blowing her nose.

“The bathroom’s right there. You don’t need that makeup, honey. No reason for warpaint around here. Be real. That’s real bravery.”

Then Doris gently squeezed her hand and sent her on her way.

A few minutes in the restroom. A quick elevator ride.

She stepped into a quiet waiting room, dimly lit and furniture-filled.

At 8:30 a.m., Dr. Talia looked up from her computer to greet the patient just ushered into her office.

Before her stood a picture of humanity. Strength in womanhood. Red-eyed, no makeup — but standing resolute in the pursuit of healing.

Dr. Talia rose, embraced her beloved friend, and led her to a hot cup of tea and two plush wingback chairs in the corner.

“I don’t know where to start,” the scientist said.

Dr. Talia smiled.

“Then start with today. And we’ll go from there.”

So, she began.