“Good to have you back,” he said, his voice loud as usual. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Emily said, forcing a smile. The lie had slipped off her tongue effortlessly enough, thanks to the script she’d rehearsed in her head countless times. If anyone asked how she was doing, she’d tell them fine. If they asked if her shoulder wason the mend, she’d say it was getting there. If they said anything about how lucky she was to have come out of an accident that had completely totaled her car, she’d nod and agree like a good sport.
It was the only way she’d get through the day.
“Well, you look great,” James said, nodding to underline the compliment. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need anything. You know we’re a family here. Everyone’s been asking about you.”
“Thank you, James.”
“Of course.” He gave his best flashing grin, the same one he not only used for his patients but had also used on her when she first started at the hospital two years ago. He had tried to ask her out to dinner, that was until he found out she liked boobs and not dicks and had spent several weeks thereafter trying to convince her to give him a shot anyway, even going as far as jokingly offering to change her mind.
She watched him walk away before continuing down the corridor. Several more colleagues sent her well-wishes and concerned glances, and by the time she reached her office and shut the door, she let out a deep, relieved exhale.
The kindness was almost suffocating. Every smile, every sympathetic glance felt like a reminder of what happened. Of the crash. Of the hours she had spent staring at the ceiling, immobilized in a hospital bed, wondering if she’d ever operate again. The image of twisted metal and shattered glass stuck in the corners of her mind every time she closed her eyes.
The car accident hadn’t been her fault. A drunk driver had run a red light. But that didn’t stop her from feeling somewhat responsible for her injuries. If only she hadn’t been in a rush to get to work. If only she hadn’t been exhausted. If only she looked twice for any rogue cars coming her way. If only she’d accelerated a second later.
Butif onlydidn’t change a thing.
That was the thing about guilt; it didn’t always need a reason. It latched on, sunk its claws in deep, and didn’t let go, even when logic didn’t line up. Emily could still remember the screech of tires, the flash of headlights, the impact. How her own body shook uncontrollably after the crash, her heart pounding in her ears and the sickly sweet smell of blood.
She pushed the memory away, locking it in her mental vault. There would be no time to unpack that today. She had patients to see, cases to review, and enough distractions to hopefully keep her mind busy.
“Doctor Sharp?” A familiar voice suddenly cut through her thoughts. The next moment, the chief of surgery, Dr. Barry Meissner, poked his head into the office. “I’m happy to have you back.”
Emily forced her lips into what she hoped resembled another grin. “Happy to be back.” The lie felt worse than the last one—sticking to her like a coat of paint she couldn’t scrape off. She’d never been good at pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. The truth was that she was barely holding it together.
But now her shoulder, her body, and her vulnerability were all reminders that she wasn’t invincible. That, sometimes she needed help. And frankly, Emily hated it.
Doctor Meissner gave her a scrutinizing look, his sharp gray eyes scanning her face as if he were searching for cracks in her composure. But she knew he meant well. Barry Meissner ran the surgery department with an iron fist and never let anyone get away with anything less than the best. But he was also compassionate in a way that few people saw. He genuinely cared about this team, about their health, and saw them as more than just surgeons. He saw them as people. “How’s the shoulder? Healing up alright?”
Emily stiffened at the question. She’d been pushing through the pain, thinking she could just power her way back into the operating room without anyone noticing. She’d tried not to think about the rehabilitation process. “I’ve got a referral letter for physical therapy,” she replied, not catching his eye. “I just need to schedule the appointment. I’ll do it sometime today or tomorrow.”
The thought of walking into the rehab center, being poked and prodded, was somehow worse than dealing with the pain.
“Today,” Doctor Meissner said sharply. “The sooner the better. You won’t be performing any surgeries until you’re cleared by the physical therapist.”
“Alright,” Emily succumbed. “I will call rehab and let them know I’m coming.”
“Good,” he said but didn’t leave as she expected. He only walked deeper into her office, his face softening with each step. “You’ve been through a lot, Emily. I don’t want you to make things worse by pushing yourself too soon.”
Her chest tightened at the chief’s unexpected compassion. She hated being in this position, needing someone to tell her to slow down, to take care of herself when all she had ever wanted was to take care of others, heal their pain, and mend their broken bones.
“I’ll take it easy,” she muttered, though it was more of a promise to herself. “I know I can’t afford to make it worse.”
Doctor Meissner gave a soft nod. “Sometimes healing isn’t just about the physical aspect, it can also be about giving yourself space to breathe.” He paused, his gaze steady on hers. “Maybe this shoulder injury is your body and mind’s way of forcing you to slow down.”
She didn’t believe in that––the idea that her body was trying to teach her something by forcing her to slow down. Nope. Shewas the type to push through pain, convinced that anything less was a sign of weakness.
But she also wasn’t going to argue with the chief of surgery.
“Maybe,” she said softly, hoping he’d leave so she could rub her aching shoulder. A torn rotator cuff and a sprained acromioclavicular joint weren’t exactly life-altering injuries—nothing like the kind of trauma that ruined entire futures. But still, the constant throb was a reminder of how close she’d come to losing everything.
The chief of surgery gave Emily a last glance before he retreated out of her office.
She blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her auburn hair. First things first. If she wanted to get back into surgery—which she did, very much so—she had to get her shoulder checked out and cleared by the physical therapist.
Emily grabbed the phone and called the rehab center’s office landline. The phone rang once, twice, then a third time before it finally went to voicemail.
