Chapter 1

September. The smell of disinfectant in the neurosurgery corridor at Harmony General Hospital was as strong as ever.

I'd just finished a four-hour craniotomy, peeled off my scrubs, and headed back to my office.

This was my third year at Harmony General Hospital. I was an associate chief physician, a doctoral supervisor, and the youngest lead surgeon in the department.

I was pretty satisfied with my life right now.

My phone buzzed with an internal notification from the medical department.

It wrote: [Dr. Jenkins, the list of applicants for this year's resident training program has been sent to your email. Please confirm receipt by this Wednesday.]

I opened my computer and clicked on the attachment.

It was a list of twelve names, top graduates from major medical schools.

My finger glided over the trackpad as I reviewed each name.

Then I stopped.

Cindy Sawyer. Sawyer, huh.

I scrolled down to check her alma mater, advisor, and undergrad record.

All the details lined up.

The girl in the photo looked five or six years younger than her sister, but that smile was a carbon copy.

It was Claire Sawyer's little sister.

Seven years. I'd been with Eric Lewis for seven years. From college to work, from renting to buying a place, from just dating to talking about marriage.

And then, my best friend and the man I loved most stood side by side and said to me, "Sorry, we really are in love."

After that, I quit my job at the last hospital, got a spot at Harmony General Hospital, moved to this city, and deleted every single contact.

I started over, wiping the slate clean.

I really thought I'd cut all ties with the Sawyers for good.

I moved my mouse over the "Reject" button and clicked it.

*****

In the notes section, I typed: [This student's clinical focus does not align with the current needs of our department.]

It was a perfect response. No one would question it.

After closing the email, I glanced out the window. It was still light out.

I grabbed my coat from the rack and headed out.

Walking through the hospital's little garden, I saw nurses eating their lunch on the benches, and an intern crouched by the flower bed, crying into her phone.

Everyone here is fighting for their lives. Me included.

So I wouldn't let anyone who might threaten my peace walk into my life.

I would not let Cindy into the hospital. It wasn't about grudges. It was my bottom line.

*****

Monday morning, 7:30. I'd just put on my white coat when the office phone rang.

It was Reece Blake from the medical department.

He said, "Natalie, I wanted to double-check something with you about the resident training list."

I replied, "Dr. Blake, I've already confirmed it."

"I noticed you turned down a student named Cindy Sawyer?"

"Yes."

"This student is really impressive. She did both her undergrad and master's at Union Medical College, top three in her class, and even published in an SCI journal with her advisor. Every department would be fighting to get someone like her."

"I know."

"So, what was the reason for rejecting her?"

"Her undergraduate research leaned more toward basic science, and we're prioritizing clinical surgical training right now. She doesn't fit what we're looking for."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Reece said, "Alright, you're the mentor, so it's your call. Just a shame, that's all."

After hanging up, I poured myself a glass of water.

Before I could even take a sip, someone knocked on the door.

Peter Shaw, the department head, walked in.

He was in his fifties, one of the top ten neurosurgeons in the country, and never minced words.

He said, "Natalie."

I replied, "Dr. Shaw."

"Sit down."

He grabbed a chair and sat down, holding a printed list, the very one I'd sent back.

He asked, "You turned down Cindy Sawyer?"

I replied, "Yes."

"I saw your reason. You said her clinical focus doesn't fit. I went through her file. She assisted in three skull base surgeries during her undergrad, and her case reports are impressive.

"She doesn't strike me as someone who's only about basic research."

Peter's analysis was always on point. He never missed a thing.

But I wasn't about to budge.

I said, "Dr. Shaw, I admit she's talented. But resident training isn't just about qualifications. It's about whether the student and mentor can really work together.

"I looked over her file, and honestly, I don't think she'd mesh well with my team."

Peter watched me for a few seconds, then dropped the subject.

He said, "Alright. It's your call for your resident slot. The department won't interfere."

I gave a slight nod.

Peter stood up, walked to the door, then paused.

He said, "Just a heads up. This student's family has some pull. Her sister's husband is an old classmate of one of our vice presidents. Just so you're aware."

The door closed behind him.

I held my glass of water, my hand steady.

Whatever happened seven years ago, no matter how well they were doing now, none of it had anything to do with me.

Let them come at me. I had never been afraid of anyone.

At four in the afternoon, I stepped out of the operating room and saw three missed calls on my phone.

Same number every time. The area code was from the city I used to call home.

I stared at the screen for three seconds, then set my phone face down on the desk.

Five minutes later, it started ringing again. It was the fourth call.

I answered, "Hello."

There was a pause, then a familiar yet distant voice sounded. "Natalie? Is that you?"

It was Claire. I hadn't heard that voice in three years, but I knew it instantly.

"How did you get this number?"

"It took a lot to find you. Natalie, please, hear me out—"

"What do you want?"

"It's about Cindy. She applied for the resident training program at your hospital this year, and I know the list is out. She told me she got rejected, and I—"

"So you're calling to plead for your sister?"

Silence on the other end.

Claire continued, "Natalie, Cindy had nothing to do with what happened between us. She was a kid in high school back then. She didn't know anything. You can't punish her for my mistakes—"

My voice was steady. "I'm not blaming anyone. I turned her down because she isn't a good fit for my team. This has nothing to do with you."

"Don't lie to me. Everyone wants into neurosurgery at Harmony General Hospital. You know how qualified Cindy is—"

I said her full name. "Claire Sawyer. Do you really think you have the right to call me?"

Silence again.

I added, "I never told anyone what you did three years ago. Not because I'm forgiving, but because I refuse to waste another second of my life on you.

"Now that you reached out, let me be clear. Don't call again. You can call a hundred times, but it won't change a thing."

Claire snapped, "Natalie!"

I hung up and blocked her number.

When I put my phone down, I realized my hand was steady, and my heartbeat was calm.

The girl who used to sit on her apartment floor at midnight, crying until she threw up, didn't exist anymore.

I stood up, opened the drawer, and grabbed a new pack of surgical gloves.

I had two surgeries the next time. I had to move forward.

*****

Wednesday at noon, I was eating in the cafeteria when Wendy Hughes from my department sat down across from me.

Wendy asked, "Natalie, did you piss someone off lately?"

I replied, "What do you mean?"

"There was a meeting in the director's office this morning, and they brought up the resident training assignments for your department. They didn't name you, but—"

She lowered her voice. "They said something like, 'Some departments are rejecting top students because of personal preferences, which goes against the hospital's talent development strategy.'"

I picked up some greens, chewed twice, and swallowed.

I said, "Got it."

"That's it?" Wendy looked anxious. "Aren't you even curious who's pulling strings behind the scenes? Or what kind of background that student you turned down has?"

"Background doesn't matter. My decision stands."

Wendy stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing.

Then, she said, "Alright, you've always been stubborn. But just a heads-up. Harmony General Hospital isn't some ivory tower. The water runs deep here."

Back in the department that afternoon, I went through my usual routine, rounds, updating charts, and keeping tabs on how my post-op patients were doing.

At 5:30 pm, just as I was about to head out, Lina Kerr from the nurse's station hurried over.

She said, "Dr. Jenkins, someone's here to see you."

I asked, "Who is it?"

"A young woman. She said she wants to talk to you about the resident training program."

I put down the patient file. "Send her to my office."

Three minutes later, I opened my office door.

A girl stood by the window, wearing a plain white shirt and jeans, her ponytail tied high.

She turned around, and I saw her face.

She looked just like in the photo, and just like Claire when she was younger.