Page 55 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
She stared at the phone for what felt like hours, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. She could call. She could send a message. But the fear was too strong, the walls too high. And in the silence of the office, Rebecca realized that she might never have the courage to break them down.
She had to live with the regret of not opening up when it mattered most.
And that, more than anything, terrified her.
19
LILLIAN
Lillian moved through the hospital corridors like a ghost, her steps heavy, her eyes downcast. The usual buzz of activity that once filled her with a sense of purpose now felt distant, as if she were observing everything from behind a foggy glass. The faces of her colleagues, the sounds of pagers and medical equipment, all blurred together in an endless loop. She barely noticed when people passed by her, their greetings met with hollow nods, if she even acknowledged them at all.
Days had become indistinguishable from one another. She would arrive at the hospital, go through the motions of her shift, and leave without really feeling anything. Her body moved on autopilot, while her mind was trapped in an endless swirl of sadness and self-doubt. The breakup with Rebecca played over and over in her mind like a broken record, each replay pulling her deeper into the pit of her own despair.
It’s my fault. I pushed too hard. I wasn’t enough for her. I never have been.
She would replay the scene in her head: the cold way Rebecca had stood there, arms crossed, distant, unyielding. Lillian had poured her heart out, told her what she needed, and in return,Rebecca had given her nothing but more distance. Lillian blamed herself for the failure of the relationship, convincing herself that if she had just been different, if she had just been stronger, maybe Rebecca wouldn’t have pulled away.
But it wasn’t just the breakup. The mistake she had made in the OR haunted her as well. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moment replaying in agonizing detail: the clamp slipping, the blood, Rebecca stepping in with her cold efficiency. Lillian’s stomach clenched every time she thought about it. She had failed in her work, just as she had failed in her relationship.
She wasn’t sleeping well. She barely ate. The texts from her friends went unanswered, each notification on her phone feeling like another task she couldn’t bring herself to face. Benji had reached out a few times, asking if she was okay, but Lillian had ignored him. She didn’t want to explain herself. She didn’t want to tell anyone how broken she felt.
At the hospital, her colleagues gave her concerned looks, but no one pressed her. She had become a shell of the lively, ambitious intern they had once known. She avoided eye contact, kept conversations to a minimum, and spent most of her breaks hiding in a quiet corner of the staff lounge, staring blankly at her phone or nursing a coffee that had long gone cold.
She had nothing to give anyone anymore. The effort of pretending to be okay was exhausting, and each passing day made it harder to keep up the façade.
Her sisters had noticed the change, of course. Olivia had called a few times, checking in, but Lillian had avoided her too. Every time Olivia offered support, Lillian felt the tears welling up behind her eyes, threatening to spill. She wasn’t ready to talk. She wasn’t ready to open up. If she did, it would all come flooding out, and Lillian wasn’t sure she could stop it.
The constant question repeated itself over and over in her mind:How did I let everything fall apart?
She had no answers. Just the crushing weight of her own sadness, her own feelings of worthlessness.
Sunday dinners with the Harrington family had always been more of an obligation than a pleasure for Lillian, but today, it felt especially unbearable. She sat quietly at the long dining table, her eyes fixed on her untouched plate as her sisters—Catherine, Roz, and Olivia—chatted amongst themselves. The conversation was the usual: hospital gossip, surgical achievements, and the latest medical advancements. It all felt like a distant hum in Lillian’s ears, something she couldn’t bring herself to care about.
Catherine spoke animatedly about a particularly complicated case, her voice filled with the pride of a successful surgeon. Roz chimed in with a sharp comment about hospital politics, always quick to add her rebellious flair to any discussion. Olivia listened attentively, throwing in the occasional gentle remark, always the peacekeeper, always trying to balance the intensity of their personalities.
But Lillian stayed silent, emotionally drained and too overwhelmed to join in. The weight of the past few weeks—Rebecca’s coldness, the breakup, the mistake in the OR—clung to her like a suffocating blanket. Her heart felt heavy, and the effort of even pretending to engage in the conversation felt impossible. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, hoping no one would notice how distant she was.
The door opened, and the atmosphere in the room shifted. Evelyn Harrington, their mother, strode in with her usual air of authority, her presence commanding the room without a word. She took her place at the head of the table, straight-backed and poised, as if she had just walked out of a boardroom rather thanher own home. Her sharp eyes scanned the table, noting the quietness of her youngest daughter, but she said nothing—yet.
The conversation shifted once Evelyn arrived, as it always did. Catherine immediately deferred to their mother, launching into a discussion about an intricate surgery she had performed the previous week. Roz rolled her eyes but joined in, adding her own commentary about the state of neurosurgery. Olivia smiled politely, contributing where she could, but Lillian remained silent, barely touching her food.
As the dinner continued, Lillian could feel her mother’s gaze shift toward her more frequently. The tension in her shoulders grew with each passing minute. She knew it was coming—the inevitable critique, the way Evelyn always found something to point out, something to tear down.
And then it happened.
"I heard about your little...incident in surgery," Evelyn said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. The casualness of her tone only made it sting more.
Lillian’s stomach dropped. She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening. She hadn’t told anyone in the family about what had happened in the OR—about her mistake, the blood, Rebecca stepping in to fix everything. But of course, her mother knew. She always knew. Somehow, nothing ever escaped her.
"You’ve embarrassed yourself and this family," Evelyn continued, her tone cool, her eyes fixed on Lillian with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. "Mistakes like that don’t happen in the Harrington family. You need to get your act together, Lillian."
The words hit like a physical blow. Lillian felt her chest tighten, her breath hitching as her mother’s gaze bore into her. The conversation at the table had come to a halt. Catherine and Roz had gone silent, their eyes darting between Lillian andEvelyn. Olivia’s brow furrowed in concern, but she didn’t say anything.
Lillian’s hands trembled slightly, her fork clattering softly against her plate. She tried to keep her face neutral, tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. But the shame was rising too quickly, too powerfully. Her mother’s words rang in her ears, amplifying the feelings of worthlessness she had been carrying for weeks.
The silence in the room was suffocating, the tension unbearable. Lillian could feel the heat rising to her face, her throat tightening as she fought to keep her composure. But the weight of her emotions was too much. The hurt, the self-doubt, the constant pressure of being a Harrington—it all came crashing down at once.
Without warning, the tears spilled over, uncontrollable and relentless. Lillian’s breath hitched, and she quickly pushed her chair back, standing up so fast it nearly toppled over. The eyes of her family were on her, but she couldn’t bear it any longer. She couldn’t sit there and be judged, belittled, and torn apart.
