Page 6 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
She opened her email, quickly firing off a dozen messages to her assistant, Jackson. Her instructions were precise, leaving no room for error.
“Jackson,” she typed in the subject line, the urgency clear even in that single word. “I need the following done by the time I arrive Monday morning:”
1. Confirm the roster for next week.
2. Double-check the equipment order for the new procedure we’re trialing. Itmustarrive by Tuesday.
3. Reschedule the board meeting to Friday. I don’t have time on Wednesday.
4. Prepare the reports for the funding presentation, specifically the sections on outcomes.
5. Set a meeting with Vaughn regarding her latest research proposal. I have some questions about her methodology.
6. Remind Dr. Carter about the Symposium details; his keynote is two weeks away.
7. Follow up with the PR team about the interview requests. I’ll need their summaries on my desk by Tuesday.
8. Send my personal shopper an email. Vivian’s already calling about the gala. I need something formal and understated, nothing flashy.
She paused for a moment, tapping her fingers on the edge of the desk. Rebecca trusted Jackson implicitly; he had never let her down. He was always a step ahead, anticipating her needs before she even voiced them. But the list was long, and there was no margin for mistakes, not with the big week looming.
She hit send and then pulled out her phone, leaving a voice message, her voice brisk and no-nonsense. "Jackson, check your email. I’ve sent you the list. Get back to me on points three and six by noon."
The phone call from her mother came just as Rebecca was organizing her files for the upcoming surgeries. The phone buzzed withVivian Langflashing across the screen. Rebecca’s jaw tightened, her grip on the phone firm as she answered, already knowing the tone this conversation would take.
"Mother."
"Rebecca." Vivian’s voice was as crisp and cold as ever. No pleasantries, no warmth, not even the superficial inquiry about how her daughter was doing. It was always straight to business with Vivian Lang. "I’m calling to remind you about the Annual Surgical Research Gala in two weeks."
Rebecca rolled her eyes, though she knew better than to let the gesture show in her voice. "I’m aware, Mother. I’ve already arranged for Jackson to handle my dress."
Vivian’s sigh on the other end of the line was palpable. "Good. Don’t embarrass me this year, Rebecca. The last thing we need is you showing up in something ‘practical’ like last year. It’s a black-tie event, not a business meeting."
"I know what it is, Mother," Rebecca replied, her tone clipped. "I’ve attended every year since I was a resident."
"Yes, and yet you always find a way to downplay it. You should take it seriously. This is our name on the line, our reputation in the community."
Rebecca’s fingers drummed on the desk, her patience thinning. "I’ll be there, appropriately dressed."
"I expect nothing less," Vivian continued, her voice as frosty as ever. "Your father and I will arrive a day early. Make sure your schedule allows for some family obligations."
Family obligations. A concept as foreign as warmth in their household. Rebecca resisted the urge to sigh aloud. "I’ll make time."
"Good. I assume you’re well prepared for the gala’s board presentation? I’ll expect nothing but excellence."
"Of course," Rebecca said, keeping her voice steady, though the back of her neck prickled with frustration. There was never any acknowledgment of her work, her achievements, or even the effort she put into maintaining the Lang family’s reputation. No, there were only expectations, always just a notch higher than anyone else’s.
"Don’t disappoint me," Vivian added, her final words as cutting as ever.
Rebecca’s lips tightened into a thin line. "I won’t."
Vivian paused, the silence between them heavy. "I’ll see you at the gala then," she finally said, before the call disconnected with a click.
Rebecca pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the blank screen for a moment. There it was—the usual conversation with her mother. Cold, clinical, and to the point. No questions about how she was handling the mounting pressure at work or how she had been. Just a reminder to perform, to meet expectations, to carry the weight of the family name without complaint.
She tossed the phone onto the desk and exhaled sharply, her mood soured but not broken. Vivian Lang had never been the nurturing type; Rebecca had accepted that a long time ago. Her mother wasn’t interested in her personal life—never hadbeen, never would be. In their world, success was measured in achievements, not emotional connections. And Rebecca had learned to live with that, to thrive in it, even.
She returned to her laptop, her focus shifting back to her preparations for Monday. The big day loomed over her, but it was where she thrived—in the precision, the control, the relentless pace of it all. Still, as she organized her files and prepared for the week ahead, her mind wandered briefly back to the woman from last night. Lillian’s easy detachment, her lack of neediness, and the way she had walked out of that room with no more than a simple "good timing" had left Rebecca unexpectedly curious.
