Everyone tells you that if you work hard you can achieve your dreams. It turns out, at least in my case, they were right about that. What no one warns you about, however, is that on the day that dream is realized, there is a significant chance you will be filled with existential dread.

Today is that day for me. I run my hands down my white coat, freshly embroidered with "Dr. Sophia Claremont, MD" next to the Seattle Children's Hospital logo. I should feel like I have made it – After four years of undergraduate studies at Duke, four years of medical school at UW and a three-year residency at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York, I am back in Seattle with the ink freshly dried on the contract of my dream job: Pediatric Oncologist at one of the top children's hospitals in the country. They have provided me with a generous research budget, a team of interns and the ability to determine my own schedule save for the mandatory weekend on-call rotation. It's the dream package.

So why do I feel like there's a noose around my neck? I stare back at myself in the reflection of the mirror in the ladies room. I look every inch the well poised woman I have trained myself to be. Underneath the posh exterior, I want to claw at my skin until this feeling goes away. I close my eyes and do what Dr. Flynn taught me during my medical school days: Breathe in for four, out for four. Three times and I take one final, full inhale.

"Get it together." I tell the reflection.

Today has been a mental drain for an introvert like me. First days are always full of introductions, but I feel like I have met nearly every employee on staff today. Half of the team members I met aren't even working today but are here for the opening of the new pediatric oncology center. The ribbon cutting ceremony is scheduled to begin in thirty minutes and has been the highlight I've been looking forward to all day. All of the department heads will be there, including Dr. Grace Travelyan, whom I haven't seen since my internship here during medical school. Dr. Travelyan was an inspiration to me – her brilliance, her dedication and advocacy on her patients behalf. But most of all, her bedside manner. Few doctors have it in them to be able to truly comfort the parents of children facing a terminal diagnosis. Dr. Travelyan never tried to erase their pain but rather let them know she shared in it. She viewed their children as more than just patients, but as the precious children they were. There was never a day I didn't see her taking an extra moment to make a child laugh, or hug a mother trying her best to hide her pain from her sick child. True empathy and goodness can be hard to come by in this word. I know that better than most. But Grace exemplifies it. If anything can push my game face through another round of meet and greets, it's seeing her again.

I follow the growing crowd to the atrium of the new wing. I've been in and out of it all day, given that this is my department. I was lucky enough to be assigned one of the gorgeous new offices upstairs with a view of the sound. It's small, but the view makes it feel much bigger. Manhattan was wonderful, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss that view while I was away. It's nice to be back in familiar territory.

Across the room I spot Dr. Travelyan. As I expect, she's surrounded by a small crowd of adoring staff, but when we lock eyes she immediately excuses herself. Her bright smile must mirror my own, because I can feel myself beaming as we meet near the center of the atrium. Just as she did on my last day, she envelops me in the warmest of hugs.

"Sophia!" Her voice is high and delighted. She releases my back and moves her hands to my shoulders. "Or should I say Doctor Claremont! I thought you were starting next week. Otherwise I would have been the first to your new office to welcome you back! I cannot tell you how thrilled I was when I heard we had been able to poach you away from Columbia! New York isn't an easy place to leave I hear."

Her hands fall back as she waves politely at someone behind me, though her big brown eyes never leave mine. I'm taken aback to hear that she not only knew of my return but was excited about it. I'm flattered beyond reason.

"I learned so much during my time here, especially from you." I tell her. "I'm honored to be back."

I hear a voice from behind me call to Grace and her expression falls more serious. "You'll have to excuse me," she says hurriedly. "Time to introduce our benefactor." She adds a what I can only read as a conspiratorial wink, and though I'm not sure why, I smile.

"Of course. Please don't let me keep you."

"Oh, will you please stick around after the ribbon cutting? I would love to hear all about New York and what you'd like to achieve in your first few months here."

"Absolutely." I assure her.

She pats my arm affectionately as she heads towards the podium that has been erected underneath a cloth covered sign. It's in the middle of the archway that leads to the outpatient offices. One of the goals of the new wing is to be able to offer more outpatient chemotherapy treatments in a child friendly environment. Video game consoles, a children's library, iMacs set up for homework stations. Anything to make the kids feel like they're at an after school activity instead of a cancer treatment center.

The crowd grows denser as Grace takes the podium and I am grateful that she is still in my sightline. At barely five foot four, the height of the people standing in front of me makes it next to impossible for me to see anything around her, but she is front and center. A hush comes over the audience as Grace begins her remarks.

She keeps her introduction short and sweet. Most of us are familiar with her history: Born and raised in Seattle, a residency in one of the most understaffed and underfunded hospitals in Detroit, a return to her hometown with a renewed focus on making sure all children received the medical care they deserved regardless of financial situation.

"But of all of my professional accomplishments, it is the passion for philanthropy that I have tried to instill in my children. And today, I am honored to introduce one of my small brood as the benefactor of our new pediatric oncology unit. Ladies and gentleman, may we have a round of applause for Christian Travelyan Grey."

My chest stops mid-rise, and I am certain my heart has fallen through my stomach and crashed onto the floor. The blood in my veins stops circulating. Everything stops, replaced by a dull stillness in my brain that can only process one thing. The sight of Christian Grey.

Mr. Grey.

My former Dom.