It arrived on a quiet Wednesday morning.
Charlotte had barely slept the night before. Between rounds of pacing and mentally replaying the interview, she'd finally fallen asleep with her laptop still open and one sock mysteriously missing. Sophie had left a Post-it on her nightstand that morning: "You've got this, Doc đź’Ş -S".
She didn't even hear the notification ping—she just felt it.
Her hands trembled as she opened her inbox. There it was: Subject: Internship Application Status – Manhattan Medical Center.
James was mid-pour with his coffee when she burst into the kitchen, waving her phone like a flag of victory and panic.
"James. I can't. I can't open it."
He took the phone gently from her hands. "Want me to read it?"
She nodded.
He unlocked the screen, read silently, and then slowly looked up at her.
"Well?" she whispered.
James's face stayed serious for a moment too long.
"Congratulations," he finally said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You got it, Charlotte. You're going to New York."
She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She stood completely still.
And then she laughed. One of those deep, joyful, slightly-crazy laughs that surprised even her.
Sophie came running in, her toothbrush still foaming in her mouth. "Wait—wait—did she get it?!"
Charlotte nodded. "I'm in."
The rest of the morning was a blur of happy chaos—celebratory pancakes (burned), a playlist called "Doctor Queen Energy," and a makeshift graduation cap thrown in honor of Charlotte's next chapter.
But underneath the joy, a quiet worry settled in her chest.
That night, she sat alone on the roof of their apartment, legs crossed, eyes scanning the skyline.
James joined her a few minutes later, bringing two mugs of tea. He handed her one without a word.
"I should be thrilled," she said softly. "But all I can think is… what if I'm not ready to start over again?"
"You're not starting over," he said. "You're starting forward."
Charlotte looked at him, his face illuminated by the distant city lights.
"I'll miss this," she said. "You. Sophie. This tiny messy home we built together."
He smiled. "We'll still be part of your story. New chapters don't erase the old ones, Char."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. "Promise?"
He nodded. "Always."
In the days that followed, the trio began to prepare for a bittersweet goodbye. Sophie helped Charlotte make a packing list—complete with a section titled "Don't forget your confidence, woman." James helped her plan an apartment hunt in Manhattan, even sending her articles titled "How to survive as a functional adult in NYC."
But there was also silence sometimes. Moments when they all paused, aware that this time… change was real.
At the farewell party—a small gathering thrown by friends who had once called her invisible—Charlotte stood in front of a room full of warmth, laughter, and faces that now knew her name.
When it came time for her speech, she hesitated.
"I don't have much to say," she began. "Except… thank you. For seeing me. For giving me space to grow. For letting me stumble and still be part of your lives. I came here scared, and I'm leaving scared—but I'm also leaving proud."
She raised her glass.
"To the girl I was. To the woman I'm becoming. And to the people who helped me get there."
As the crowd clinked their glasses and the music resumed, James pulled her aside.
"I meant what I said, you know."
"About what?"
"You're unforgettable."
Charlotte looked up at him, eyes shining, heart steady.
"I'm starting to believe it."