Page 13 of Crossing the Line
What was she doing? One night with a stranger, and suddenly her perfectly ordered life felt like a museum exhibit: beautiful, pristine, utterly lifeless.
“It was just sex,” she said aloud, testing the words. They fell flat in the empty kitchen.
Very good sex. Mind-altering sex. The kind of sex that made her remember she had a body beyond its function as a surgical instrument.
But it was also more than that. The conversation in the darkness, the easy laughter, the way Hailey had looked at her like she was worth knowing—not as Carmen Méndez, cardiothoracic surgeon, but just Carmen.
Her phone buzzed with a hospital reminder about her seven o’clock surgery. Real life reasserting itself.
Carmen moved through her preparation ritual: surgical scrubs laid out, hair pulled back in the severe style that fit under surgical caps, and minimal makeup to look professional but not distracted. Each step should’ve returned her to herself, to the controlled surgeon who didn’t let strangers into her bed or heart.
Instead, she felt like she was putting on a costume and playing a role that no longer fit quite right.
The townhouse that had felt like a sanctuary from the world yesterday now felt like a cage. Every perfectly placed object mocked her attempt to return to normal. The piano sat silent in the living room, and Carmen remembered how Hailey’s fingers hovered over the keys, respectful and curious.
She grabbed her work bag with more force than necessary. She had a surgery to perform, a life to save. That was real, concrete, something she could control.
But as she locked her front door, Carmen couldn’t shake the feeling that Hailey had walked out with something essential, some piece of herself that Carmen hadn’t known she could still give away.
The worst part was how much she wanted it back. How much she wantedherback.
“Just one night,” Carmen whispered to the morning air. “That’s all it was supposed to be.”
But she was a surgeon. She knew better than most that some incisions, once made, could never fully heal. They left scars that ached at unexpected moments, reminders of what had been opened…and what had been lost.
Hailey had left no contact information, no way to find her again. A clean cut, surgical in its precision.
Carmen should’ve been grateful for the simplicity.
Instead, she felt hollowed out, as if Hailey had performed her own kind of operation last night, removing something Carmen hadn’t known was diseased until its absence left her feeling more alive than she had in years.
And infinitely more alone.
4
HARPER
The shower water scalded Harper's skin, but it couldn't wash away the memory of Carmen's hands or the taste of her own lies. She'd left before dawn, slipping out of that perfect townhouse like a thief stealing something that had never belonged to her in the first place. The walk home through empty Phoenix Ridge streets had felt like a funeral march for whoever Hailey might have been.
Now, standing naked in her tiny bathroom mirror, Harper practiced introducing herself as someone else entirely.
"Harper Langston," she said to her reflection, testing the weight of her real name. It felt foreign after twelve hours of being Hailey, like putting on clothes that no longer fit. "Dr. Natalie Langston's daughter."
The words tasted like ash.
She'd spent the weekend in careful preparation, researching her supervising physicians and memorizing hospital protocols. Professional armor, meticulously assembled. But none of that preparation had included waking up in a stranger's bed, her body still humming with satisfaction while her conscience screamed accusations.
Carmen had been so beautiful in the morning light, her dark hair spread across white pillowcases, her face soft with sleep. Harper had wanted to stay, to trace the line of her jaw and watch her wake up slowly. Instead, she'd gathered her clothes and crept out like the coward she was.
Because Carmen wasn't just any stranger. Carmen was a surgeon at Phoenix Ridge Hospital. Carmen was probably someone her mother knew, respected, possibly even considered a friend. Carmen was exactly the kind of person Harper should never have lied to, should never have touched, should never have?—
Her phone buzzed against the bathroom counter. A text from her mother: “Looking forward to introducing you to everyone today. I've told them all about my brilliant daughter.”
Harper's stomach clenched. The casual pride in those words felt like a knife between her ribs. Her mother's unwavering faith in her felt like both shelter and prison, and Harper had spent Friday night betraying it in the most spectacular way possible.
She exited the message without responding.
The black slacks and emerald blouse she'd chosen felt like a costume for a role she'd been rehearsing her entire life. Dr. Langston's daughter. The prodigy who graduated high school at sixteen and medical school at twenty-four, whose every achievement reflected her mother's genetic legacy and careful nurturing.
