Chapter 1

A medical resident, cutting corners to secure her permanent position, made a reckless call during surgery and aborted the procedure.

It cost the patient's life right there on the table.

Afterward, she stood crying behind the head of the department, sobbing, "I'm sorry... It was an accident. I never meant for this to happen."

I stared her down, voice shaking with fury. "You think 'sorry' fixes anything? Who pays for the life you ended?"

She started threatening to kill herself, as if that would make it right. And the other doctors acted like I was the one being too harsh.

The hospital, eager to quiet the family's outrage, offered me up as the scapegoat. They pinned the whole thing on me.

Not long after, a family member, blinded by rage and grief, forced his way into my office with a knife.

The next thing I knew—I was back. Right at the beginning of the surgery.

*****

"Hemostat," I said, reaching out to my assistant.

Just like last time, the assistant fumbled and found nothing, but Emily Hayes, a medical resident standing across from me, was already offering something instead.

Luckily, I was on guard this time and didn't take it right away.

I fixed my eyes on the scalpel in her hand, a tool she shouldn't be touching, and barked, "Hands off. Put the scalpel and the hemostat back on the tray!"

Emily flinched at my harsh tone and then quickly put the scalpel back.

But as she tried to place the hemostat down, her hand slipped, and it skittered across the floor.

Emily panicked. "Oh no! What do I do? It's contaminated."

"Get out," I snapped, my patience finally wearing thin.

Then I quickly had my assistant fish out the backup hemostat I kept in my kit, just in case.

Never thought I'd actually need it, though.

"Why are you yelling at me? What's your problem?" Emily stomped her foot and stormed out of the operating room.

I didn't even glance up and just kept working on the surgery.

With Emily gone, the rest of the procedure went smoother than ever.

Four hours later, the surgery was done, and I stepped out of the OR, feeling a huge weight lift off my shoulders.

But Emily was waiting for me, her posture defiant.

"Look, it was one small mistake," she started. "No one died. And you're the surgeon, not me. So why are you acting like I'm the one who almost killed him? Why did you have to yell?"

In my last life, that "tiny mistake" was her handing me that scalpel and slicing my wrist.

She ruined the surgery, got me in deep trouble with the patient's family, and they came after me for revenge.

The memory made my last shred of patience vanish. "Move," I barked.

But Emily wouldn't let it go, clutching my arm stubbornly. "Dr. Shepherd, just because I'm an intern doesn't mean you get to bully me. What makes you think you can throw me out of the OR?"

Her fingers squeezed so hard around my wrist that it actually hurt.

I yanked my arm free, and she instantly dropped down onto the floor, as if I'd shove her on purpose.

She covered her face, bawling her eyes out. "Dr. Shepherd, you're bullying me."

Folks nearby started crowding around, and Emily just wailed even louder.

"What did I do wrong? I was just trying to help. Why'd you treat me like that?" she kept shouting, refusing to back down. She looked genuinely worked up.

I'd finally had it. I grabbed her by the collar and slapped her hard across the face. "Emily, get a grip!"

The slap echoed through the quiet hallway, and Emily froze, staring at me in disbelief.

Our colleagues rushed over, quickly forming a protective barrier around her.

"Hey, calm down! What's wrong with you? Why did you have to hit her?" someone called out.

I glared back, my voice icy. "She's a doctor. She doesn't get to ignore basic professional standards.

"The patient was still lightly anesthetized, aware enough to hear everything. Do any of you have any idea what that does to a patient's state of mind? How are they supposed to trust us after that?"

"Every single move we make in that room is about the patient's safety. One reckless action, and the entire surgery could have failed.

"So tell me, if that had happened, who would've been responsible? You? Me? Or would the hospital just issue a generic apology?"

Just then, Simon Shaw, a colleague from my department, stepped forward, instinctively defending Emily. "Emily just graduated—"

I didn't hesitate to cut him off. "And? Those years in med school weren't for nothing. Even a first-year would know better. Are you telling me she doesn't?"

I locked eyes with Emily, who was hiding behind Simon and the others, and snapped, "I'll be reporting everything to the chief of our department. If you have any complaints, take it up with the director."