Dr. Wilson stood in the faintly lit hallway of the emergency room, her hands tucked into the pockets of her white coat. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mixing with the distant cries of patients. The nurses, though respectful, kept their distance. She was known for her composure—strict but fair. No one wanted to be on her bad side.
The call had come in minutes ago. A critical patient from a road accident. A young woman, unconscious, multiple injuries. The charge nurse handed Wilson the chart, but she barely glanced at it as she approached the trauma bay. It wasn't until she pulled back the curtain that the breath caught in her throat.
Stella Edward.
The name echoed in her mind, dragging her years into the past. High school corridors filled with laughter, the sight of a Caucasian girl with long, neatly braided hair, always surrounded by friends. Stella had never noticed her, not really. But Wilson had seen her. Every time. She had stolen glances from across the classroom, offered quiet help when Stella struggled to carry her books, but never once had she spoken more than a few words to her.
And now, here she was, lying on a hospital bed, pale and broken.
Wilson swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. "What are her vitals?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.
"BP 90/60, pulse 120, GCS 9. Possible internal bleeding," a nurse responded.
Wilson nodded, snapping into action. "Get me a fast ultrasound now. We need to locate the bleed." She said to one nurse. And turned to one of the doctors "pass an NG Tube immediately" she distributed each role.
She pressed the probe against Stella's abdomen, scanning. Her mind fought to stay clinical, but her hands trembled slightly—something that never happened.
She had spent years looking for Stella, wondering what became of her. And now, fate had placed her in Wilson's hands, in the one place she felt in control.
But this wasn't high school anymore. And this time, she couldn't just stand back and watch.
This time, she had to save her.
The screen flickered as Wilson moved the ultrasound probe across Stella's abdomen. A dark, ominous shadow appeared—fluid where it shouldn't be. Internal bleeding. Her heart clenched, but her voice remained firm.
"She's bleeding into her abdomen. Page surgery now!"
The nurses sprang into action, their movements precise. Wilson turned to the anesthesiologist. "We need to intubate before she crashes."
As she reached for a pair of gloves, a weak voice murmured, "Too serious… as always."
Wilson froze. Her eyes snapped to Stella's face. Her eyelids fluttered open, just slightly, hazel eyes clouded with pain but unmistakably familiar.
She recognized her.
For a second, Wilson was sixteen again, standing by the school library, watching Stella laugh with her friends. She had memorized that voice, the way it always carried just a little more confidence than everyone else's.
But there was no time for memories.
"You were in an accident," Wilson said, forcing professionalism into her voice. "We're taking you to surgery."
Stella's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Didn't… think I'd meet you like this."
Wilson's breath hitched. The words were casual, but something in Stella's gaze made her feel exposed. Did she remember? Had she ever noticed?
Before Wilson could respond, Stella's body tensed, her vitals beeping wildly.
"She's crashing!" a nurse called.
Wilson snapped back to the present. "Get her to the OR now!"
As they wheeled Stella away, Wilson clenched her fists, trying to steady herself.
This wasn't just another patient.
This was Stella.
And Wilson wasn't about to lose her.
Wilson scrubbed in, her hands moving through the motions automatically, but her heart pounded against her ribs. She had performed countless surgeries, saved lives that others had given up on. But this… this was different.
She wasn't just fighting to save a patient. She was fighting to save Stella.
The OR lights were blinding, the sterile scent of disinfectant sharp in the air. As Wilson took her position, the surgical team glanced at her, waiting for instructions. No one questioned her authority—she had never lost a patient. They trusted her.
Focus.
She closed her eyes for a split second. Forget high school. Forget the past. She is just another patient.
But the moment she made the first incision, her hands hesitated—just for a fraction of a second.
"Dr. Wilson?" The assisting surgeon, Dr. Williams, glanced at her. They had never seen her like that before.
"I'm fine." She forced steel into her voice. "There's internal bleeding. We need to locate the source."
Her hands moved with precision, cutting through layers of tissue. Blood pooled rapidly. Wilson's jaw tightened. The damage was worse than she'd hoped. A ruptured spleen. Lacerations on the liver.
She swallowed hard. This is bad.
"Clamp here," she ordered. "Suction. I need a better view."
The nurse obeyed instantly.