“If I step in,” I said evenly, “it's because a resident needs guidance, not because I play favorites.”
Patel studied me for a beat. “You're sure that's how it’ll read once she’s been here a month and you’re still walking her through intubations?”
I met his gaze without flinching. “I'm sure that's how itis.”
Silence stretched. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor alarm chirped and cut off abruptly. Patel exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s not cut out for emergency medicine, Des. Let alone the night shift.”
“I appreciate you staying an extra hour so I could spend my mother’s birthday with her, Frank,” I feltsomethingrising in the back of my throat. “But when I need your help withmyresidents, I’ll ask.”
“Fair enough. Just… be careful.” He moved past me, conversation over.
I stood there a moment longer than necessary, jaw tight. I rolled my shoulders once, like shedding weight I'd never asked to carry.
Be careful.
Ihadbeen careful. Painfully so.
That was the problem.
I'd felt it the second my hand had hovered near Anya's elbow, the instinct to steady, to guide. I'd justified every move clinically, correctly. I always did. But the awareness had been there too, sharp and unwelcome: how easily she responded to my voice, how much Ilikedthat she did.
And that was the line. Not touch. No words.
Awareness.
Patel might have crushed her spirits, but I’d be damned if she spent her nights inmyemergency department feeling less than.
I resumed walking, professionalism locking back into place with practiced ease. Another case. Another decision. Another boundary held. And yet, as I passed the trauma bay again, I found myself listening — not for alarms, not for orders?—
But for her voice.
The realization settled low in my chest, heavy and inconvenient.
I would have to be very,verycareful. Because Anya — thisthingI was feeling behind my ribs — was dangerous. And that scared me far more than any accusation ever could.
And there was the chance that… it went beyond wanting to build up a young doctor. Something that lingered deeper still, that pushed past my pride at a new physician and sank into my bones.
And that couldnothappen.
The next trauma to pass through our doors was louder.
Different chaos. More voices. Less blood at first glance, which never meant less danger. I stepped in and let the noise wash over me, the familiar recalibration snapping into place. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Always in that order.Always.
“Status,” I barked, already at the foot of the bed.
“Female, mid-thirties,” a nurse, Liza, rattled off. “MVC. Unrestrained. Hypotensive en route, pressure stabilizing now, but possible internal bleeding.”
“Shit,” I nodded, eyes on the patient, hands moving automatically. I listened, assessed, and delegated.Thiswas where I lived most comfortably, inside motion and decision. The part of me that had faltered in the hallway locked itself away again.
“Ultrasound,” I said. “Let's not guess.”
I stood beside, watching a student press the probe to the patient's abdomen. My eyes flicked to the screen as free fluid bloomed into view. “There,” I said calmly. “What do yousee?”
“A woman who needs more than we can provide,” the student answered. “Call surgery. She can't wait.”
I nodded. Someone moved fast to comply. The night crew was a solid team. I trusted them.
“Surgery can take her in three.”
