“New equipment,” Olivia continued, her tone light. “Looks fancy.”
“It’s necessary,” Catherine replied, turning back to her inspection. “Fancy doesn’t matter. Functionality does.”
Olivia tilted her head, studying her older sister. “I know the new equipment is exciting, but you look like you haven’t slept in days. Maybe take a night off?”
Catherine straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her blazer. “A night off doesn’t save lives, Olivia. And neither does small talk.”
Olivia’s smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on. “I’m just saying, you can’t pour from an empty cup. Even you need to breathe once in a while.”
Catherine fixed her with a cool stare. “And I’m saying that we don’t have the luxury of indulgence. This work demands everything, Olivia. Anything less isn’t good enough.”
Olivia sighed, stepping back. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“And yet, here I am,” Catherine replied, turning away to continue her inspection.
Olivia lingered for a moment longer before retreating, her footsteps fading into the hum of the hospital.
As Catherine moved to the next crate, her thoughts lingered briefly on Olivia’s words. She didn’t dislike her sisters. Quite the opposite. She admired Olivia’s warmth, Roz’s fire, and even Lillian’s determination to prove herself.
But softness didn’t survive in their world.
She wasn’t unkind; she was preparing them. Strength came from pressure, and Catherine saw herself as the forge. Better they resent her now than falter later when the stakes were life and death.
Her mother had taught her that lesson well, though Catherine would never say it aloud. Evelyn Harrington’s expectations had been brutal, but they’d shaped Catherine into who she was.
Softness was a liability. She had no room for it, not for herself and not for her sisters.
Later, in the sanctuary of her office, Catherine allowed herself a rare moment of stillness. She stood by the window, her arms crossed as she gazed out at the city below.
The view was stark—gray buildings stacked shoulder to shoulder, their windows dull in the overcast light. It wasn’t beautiful, but it had a kind of order to it, a predictability that felt almost safe.The silence wrapped around her like a familiar cloak, but her mind refused to settle. Thoughts of the day’s surgeries, the new equipment’s calibration, and the ever-present expectations of the Harrington name circled relentlessly.
There’s no room for weakness,she thought, her jaw tightening.Not in this family. Not in this life.
She straightened, brushing off the fleeting moment of introspection as though it had never happened.
Catherine sat at her desk, her pen scratching against the clipboard as she finalized notes from the equipment inspection. The quiet hum of the hospital filtered faintly through the closed door, a familiar backdrop to her focus. She was nearly finished when there was a soft knock.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up.
The door opened, and a nurse entered hesitantly, an envelope clutched in her hand.
“This was left for you at reception, Dr. Harrington,” the nurse said, her voice careful, as though Catherine might bite.
She glanced up, her sharp eyes flicking to the item. “What is it?”
“I… I’m not sure. It’s addressed to you personally,” the nurse said, placing it delicately on the edge of the desk.
Catherine’s brow furrowed. Personal correspondence was rare; she made it clear she had no time for such distractions.
“Thank you,” she said curtly, dismissing the nurse with a slight nod.
The door clicked shut, leaving Catherine alone with the envelope. She stared at it for a moment, irritation bubbling beneath her calm exterior. With a sigh, she picked it up and tore it open, unfolding the paper inside.
Her eyes scanned the messy, slanted handwriting:
Dr. Harrington,
I’ve never met anyone who looks less like they belong at a party and yet somehow owns the room. Consider this your official invitation to my art show. Bet you won’t show up.
