Page 7 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
For someone who demanded so little, Lillian had left more of an impression than Rebecca was willing to admit. There was a part of her that appreciated the clarity of their interaction—no strings, no expectations, no emotional hangovers. But there was also a small part of her that wondered about the woman behind the easy smile and the quick exit.
She shook the thought away as she set up the final arrangements for her week. There was no room for distractions. Not with everything riding on the next few days.
Rebecca leaned back in her chair, taking a final glance at her perfectly ordered to-do list. Monday was going to be critical. And she, as always, would be ready.
3
LILLIAN
Lillian sat quietly at the long oak dining table, the low murmur of her family’s conversation swirling around her like an unseen current. Sunday lunches were a Harrington tradition—a ritual of sorts, where the family gathered to discuss, debate, and dissect everything from medical breakthroughs to hospital politics. It was supposed to be a time of bonding, but more often than not, Lillian felt like an outsider looking in.
Across from her sat Dr. Catherine Harrington, her eldest half-sister, impeccably dressed in a navy blazer and crisp white blouse. She was the epitome of control—meticulous, calculating, and utterly absorbed in her work as one of the hospital’s most renowned cardiothoracic surgeons. Catherine had taken on the role of de facto leader among the sisters, and her sharp eyes scanned the table, always ready to pounce on any gap in logic or weakness in an argument.
To Catherine's left, Dr. Rosalind, or "Roz" as she preferred, sat back in her chair, her expression half-amused as she twirled her wine glass between her fingers. The rebellious middle sister, Roz had carved out her own path as a brilliant but unorthodox neurosurgeon. She was known for her innovative techniques,but also for her disdain for the rigid structure the rest of the family seemed to thrive in. Her wry comments often punctuated the more serious discussions at these lunches, though her sharp intellect was never in question.
Their mother, Dr. Evelyn Harrington, sat at the head of the table, presiding over the conversation with an air of detached authority. Even in her sixties, Evelyn exuded a quiet power. She had been a legend in cardiothoracic surgery, her name whispered with reverence throughout the medical community. But as a mother, she was more distant, cold even, her love manifesting only in the form of high expectations and criticism. To Evelyn, the Harrington name was a legacy that must be upheld, no matter the cost.
Lillian had just completed her first week as a surgical intern at Harrington Memorial, but as she listened to the intellectual exchange happening around her, it was clear that her experience wasn’t of much interest to the others. The conversation had quickly moved past her, diving into the latest developments in their respective fields.
"The administration’s decision to allocate more resources to robotic surgery is absurd," Catherine said, her voice measured but firm. "It’s not where we should be investing right now, especially with the funding gaps in cardiothoracic research."
"You’re thinking too small, Catherine," Roz interjected, a smirk tugging at her lips. "The future is in neurosurgical robotics. We’re already seeing breakthroughs in minimally invasive brain surgeries that would have been impossible ten years ago. The hospital’s finally catching up."
Catherine arched an eyebrow. "So we should neglect life-saving procedures in favor of experimental tech?"
"Not experimental," Roz shot back, her tone playful but pointed. "Progressive. The problem with your department is you all think inside the box. You’re obsessed with perfectingold techniques rather than pushing the boundaries of what’s possible."
Lillian glanced down at her plate, her fork absentmindedly pushing the food around. The conversation was all too familiar—always revolving around the hospital, their achievements, and the latest surgical innovations. There was no room for her here, no space to discuss the nerves that had eaten at her all week as she tried to navigate the grueling demands of her internship. She had worked hard, stayed late, and absorbed everything she could—but still, it felt like she was invisible at this table.
"I disagree," Evelyn said, her voice cutting through the room with an air of finality. "The focus should remain on proven techniques. Pushing the boundaries is one thing, but we must not let the hospital’s reputation rest on untested methods."
Roz rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "Mother, the reputation you’re so protective of will become irrelevant if we don’t innovate. Neurosurgery is changing, and I don’t intend to stay behind."
Catherine, ever the diplomat, chose her next words carefully. "I’m not saying we shouldn’t innovate. But the resources are limited, and we have to prioritize. Roz, your department already receives significant funding."
"Not enough to match the impact of the work we’re doing," Roz countered. "When your department stops doing the same bypasses over and over, maybe we can talk about impact."
Lillian’s gaze flitted between her sisters. Their back-and-forth was relentless, a duel of intellects. Normally, she would admire it, even envy it. But today, after such an exhausting week, it only deepened her sense of isolation. No one had asked about her first week, her first steps into the career that had consumed her life. To them, she was still just Lillian, the youngest, notyet worthy of the serious conversations that occupied their attention.
As if sensing her thoughts, Olivia, her other half-sister, leaned forward from her spot beside Lillian. Olivia, the youngest of the three older sisters, was different. A general surgeon with a warm, empathetic demeanor, she often played the role of peacekeeper during these family gatherings. Her gentle nature stood in contrast to the more clinical, detached attitudes of Catherine and Roz.
"How’s it going, Lils?" Olivia asked, her voice soft but genuine. "Your first week as an intern—big deal, right? I bet you’re excited to meet your mentor tomorrow."
Lillian glanced up, startled by the attention. She hadn’t expected anyone to ask about her, least of all when the conversation had been so consumed with more "important" matters.
"Yeah, I’m... I’m excited," Lillian replied, though her voice lacked conviction. She glanced around the table, noting the way Catherine’s and Roz’s conversations continued, neither paying much attention to the small exchange between her and Olivia. "I’m just trying to keep up," she added with a half-hearted smile.
Olivia reached over and gave Lillian’s hand a quick squeeze. "You’ll be great. Just take it one day at a time. It’s a lot in the beginning, but you’ll get your bearings."
Lillian nodded, grateful for the moment of support, even if it felt fleeting.
"I hear Dr. Lang is your mentor?" Olivia added, her tone light but curious. "She’s a tough one, but she’ll push you to be your best. Just don’t let her intimidate you."
The mention of Dr. Lang sent a shiver down Lillian’s spine, though she kept her expression neutral. "I’ve heard she’s...intense."
Olivia smiled sympathetically. "She is, but she’s brilliant. You’ll learn a lot from her."
As if on cue, Catherine’s voice cut through the conversation. "Dr. Lang is one of the best in her field. You’d do well to learn as much as you can from her, Lillian. You’re lucky to have her as a mentor."
