Page 47 of Once Upon A Second Chance
I brace my hands against the cool tile countertop, focusing on the way the grout lines dig into my palms—anything to ground myself before diving into waters I've avoided for years.
Penny leans against the refrigerator, arms crossed. She doesn't push. Just waits.
"It was three years ago," I begin, staring at the faint coffee stain on her linoleum. "Eleven-year-old boy. Pediatric spinal fusion—routine procedure for his scoliosis."
My throat tightens around the memory: the OR's sterile brightness, the rhythmic beep of the monitors, the way the anesthesiologist—Andrew's cousin, of all people—had smirked when I told him I wanted to double-check his calculations.
"The anesthesia dosage was off. Not by much, but enough." My fingers curl against the counter. "The kid coded on the table. We got him back, but there was nerve damage. Partial paralysis in his left leg."
Penny's sharp inhale cuts through the kitchen.
"The family sued everyone—the hospital, the anesthesiologist, me. As they should have."
I finally look up, meeting her gaze. "But the hospital's legal team... they made it about surgical error instead of the anesthesia. Used my incision timing as a kind of smokescreen. Had three 'expert witnesses' swear the nerve damage couldn't have been from the hypoxia that resulted from the wrong dose of anesthesia."
The bitterness rises like bile. I can still see the way Daniel's father had looked at me when the verdict was read—like I'd reached into his chest and torn out his still-beating heart.
Penny's face has gone pale. "You won."
"Technically." The word tastes like ash. "Andrew’s cousin, the anesthesiologist, lost his license. The family's settlement barely covered two years of physical therapy. And I..."
I push off the counter, suddenly unable to stand still. The memories come in jagged fragments:
Rebecca's champagne toast to "beating the ambulance chasers," Andrew's backslapping congratulations, everyone celebrating ”the win”.
Penny's hand finds mine, her fingers cool against my clammy skin. "That's why you left."
"Part of it." My thumb traces the ridge of her knuckles. "Rebecca called leaving my job and taking this temporary locum position 'career suicide.' But I felt like taking a slower pace was the only way I could keep practicing medicine with a clear conscience. I still don’t know where I’ll go from here if Holloway decides to hire someone else here permanently. I’ve thrown my hat in the ring for the job, but I think I’m on a bit of a ‘probation’ with him, so we’ll see."
A tear slips down Penny's cheek. I catch it with my thumb, leaving a glistening trail across her freckles.
"And now she's using it against you." Penny's voice shakes with a fury that makes my chest ache. "Here. With people who trust you."
Bijou whines at our feet, her tiny body wedging between our legs as if sensing the storm brewing.
Outside, Mrs. Delaney's voice carries through the open window: "Y'all gonna kiss and make up or do I need to call a priest?"
Penny barks a wet laugh, swiping at her face. The motion sends her weekend-braid tumbling loose over one shoulder. "I'll handle her. You need to get to the clinic before Holloway has an aneurysm."
She reaches into our grocery bag from the trip and pulls out the jar of blackberry jam we'd bought together—the one from the sweet old lady at the roadside stand. Presses it into my hands with a firmness that brooks no argument.
"Tell them the truth," she says. "The whole town will know by supper anyway."
As I step onto the porch, Mrs. Delaney grins at me over the rim of her sweet tea glass.
"Malpractice, huh?"
She sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. "Bet that story gets real interesting when I tell it at bingo tonight."
I flip her off.
Her cackle follows me all the way to the truck, a stark counterpoint to the weight settling over my shoulders.
Chapter Ten
Penny
The automatic doors of Mount Juliet Medical Center hiss open, releasing a wave of antiseptic-scented air that usually smells like home. Today it smells like a battlefield.
