Page 34 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
Barely, she typed back, adding a small smirk emoji to soften the seriousness. Then, before she could think too much about it, she added,Dinner again sometime?
It was a step—a small one—but Rebecca knew it was more than she usually allowed herself to offer. Lillian deserved more, and Rebecca was trying, even if it scared her.
Later that afternoon, as Rebecca sat through a long, drawn-out meeting with the hospital board, her mind kept drifting back to Lillian. She could hear the usual chatter around her—budget proposals, research initiatives, staffing concerns—but it all felt distant, like background noise. All she could think about was how she had been slowly, unknowingly letting Lillian in, despite every instinct telling her to stop.
The meeting dragged on, and Rebecca’s patience wore thin. She kept checking the clock, her mind replaying the diner conversation from the night before—the laughter, the teasing, the way Lillian had looked at her with such open affection. It was something Rebecca wasn’t used to—someone looking at her like that, like she was worth more than just her professional accomplishments.
Her phone buzzed in her lap, and Rebecca discreetly glanced at the screen. Another message from Lilllan.
How about tonight? I’m free.
Rebecca’s pulse quickened. Tonight? It was so soon, and yet, the thought of seeing Lillian again stirred something inside her that she couldn’t ignore.
But even as she typed out her response, her fingers froze. Her phone buzzed again, but this time, it was from Jackson. There had been a complication with one of her post-op patients, and she was needed in the ICU.
Her stomach sank, and Rebecca quickly replied to Jackson, telling him she’d be there immediately. She looked back at Lillian’s message, her heart sinking with disappointment. She didn’t have time. Not tonight.
I wish I could, but something’s come up in the ICU. Can we rain check?
She hit send, her jaw clenching with frustration. She had wanted to say yes and make time for Lillian, but once again, work had pulled her away. It always did.
Hours later, Rebecca found herself standing in the ICU, watching as the machines monitored her patient’s vitals. The complication had been minor, thankfully, and the patient was stable now. But the weight of the day sat heavy on Rebecca’s shoulders, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the familiar gnawing sense of loneliness creeping in.
She pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at Lillian’s last message. Lillian hadn’t responded to her rain check, and Rebecca couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally pushed her too far.
Sighing, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and walked out of the ICU, her steps slow and measured. The hospital was quiet now, the day winding down, and as Rebeccamade her way to the elevator, her thoughts drifted once again to Lillian.
She wanted to be with her. She wanted to give her more. But every time she got close, something pulled her back—fear, insecurity, the memory of Tessa, of how that had ended.
And as the elevator doors slid shut, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much she wanted this, no matter how much she wanted Lillian, it might never be enough.
Rebecca walked down the dimly lit hospital corridor, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the nearly empty building. The weight of the day pressed down on her shoulders, the complication with her patient lingering in the back of her mind. But it wasn’t just the medical issues that gnawed at her; it was Lillian.
As the ICU doors closed behind her, Rebecca felt a pang of regret. She could’ve spent the evening with Lillian, talking, laughing, maybe even opening up a little more. Instead, she was here, alone, trapped by the demands of her work and the walls she had built around herself for protection.
She reached the elevator and pressed the button, leaning back against the cool metal doors as she waited. Her phone buzzed again, and for a fleeting second, she hoped it was Lillian. Maybe she had replied; maybe she hadn’t given up on her yet.
But when Rebecca looked at the screen, it wasn’t Lillian.
It was her mother, Vivian Lang.
Her heart sank. As much as she loved her mother in a distant, obligatory way, every interaction with Vivian was cold, clinical, and emotionally draining. Vivian never called to check in on her well-being. Every conversation was a reminder of the expectations placed on her shoulders—the Lang legacy, the reputation she had to uphold, the need to be perfect at all costs. It was a reminder of why Rebecca had grown up building emotional walls in the first place.
Taking a deep breath, Rebecca reluctantly swiped to answer the call.
"Rebecca," her mother’s sharp, familiar voice crackled through the line. "I trust everything is in order for the event next weekend. You haven’t forgotten, have you?"
Rebecca’s jaw clenched. Of course she hadn’t forgotten. The conference dinner wasn’t as glamorous as the Harrington Gala, but delivering the keynote address made her attendance nonnegotiable.
"I haven’t forgotten," Rebecca replied, keeping her tone neutral.
"Good," Vivian continued, as if Rebecca’s confirmation wasn’t enough. "It’s important that you look the part, as always. And I hope you’re not planning on showing up alone again this year. People are starting to notice, and it wouldn’t do well for your reputation to appear as if you don’t have a social life outside of the hospital."
Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment, biting back the retort that threatened to escape. Of course, her mother didn’t care about the realities of her life or how exhausting it was to juggle everything on her own. All that mattered to Vivian was appearances—making sure that Rebecca upheld the perfect image of a successful surgeon with no room for vulnerability or emotional connection.
"I’ll manage," Rebecca said, her voice tight.
"Rebecca," her mother’s voice softened, but not in a comforting way. It was the kind of soft that felt like ice, thinly veiling her disappointment. "You’re getting older. It’s time you start thinking about more than just work. There’s more to life than surgery."
