Page 14 of Crossing the Line
But looking at herself in the mirror, Harper could still see traces of Hailey in her eyes. The woman who'd flirted with strangers and lied without hesitation. The woman who'd felt powerful and free and completely herself for exactly one night.
She applied makeup with precision, erasing any evidence of her weekend rebellion. Foundation to cover the faint marks Carmen's teeth had left on her neck. Concealer for the shadowsunder her eyes from a sleepless night spent replaying every moment, touch, and lie.
By the time she finished, Dr. Langston's daughter stared back at her from the mirror. Professional, competent, ready to prove herself worthy of her mother's reputation. She left no trace of the woman who'd left Phoenix Ridge's most respected cardiac surgeon sleeping alone in rumpled sheets.
Harper grabbed her medical bag and headed for the door, leaving Hailey's confidence behind in a pile of discarded weekend clothes. Today, she would be exactly who everyone expected her to be.
Even if it killed her.
The walk to Phoenix Ridge General Hospital took exactly twelve minutes. Harper had timed it during her apartment hunting, wanting to be close enough to walk but far enough away to maintain some independence. Now, watching the building grow larger with each step, she felt like she was walking toward her own execution.
The morning air carried salt from the harbor and the faint scent of coffee from early-opening cafés. Normal people starting normal days, none of them carrying the weight of lies that could destroy everything they'd worked for.
Harper's hands were steady as she approached the hospital's main entrance. Whatever happened next, she would handle it with control and composure.
Even if her world was about to implode.
The hospital's lobby felt familiar yet foreign. It had all the antiseptic efficiency Harper expected, but none of the comfort that came with knowing where she belonged. She followed signs to Conference Room A, her heels clicking against polished floors that had probably witnessed a thousand other nervous first days. Each step carried her deeper into the world where she wouldspend the next year proving herself worthy of the Langston name.
Phoenix Ridge General Hospital's conference room buzzed with the particular energy of new beginnings and barely contained ambition. Twelve other first-year surgical interns sat around the table, each one a carefully curated collection of achievements and recommendations. Harper recognized the type immediately; she'd been competing with versions of these people her entire academic life.
Dr. Josephine Mars commanded attention without effort. She had sandy hair touched with silver, a designer suit that probably cost more than Harper's monthly rent, and the kind of presence that made even accomplished surgeons sit up straighter. The Chief Medical Officer's reputation preceded her: legendary surgeon, innovative leader, and the woman who'd transformed Phoenix Ridge General Hospital into one of the West Coast's most respected teaching hospitals.
"Welcome to what will either be the most challenging year of your medical careers or a very expensive lesson in humility," Dr. Mars said, her voice carrying just enough humor to soften the warning. "You're here because you've demonstrated exceptional skill and potential. You'll stay because you prove you can handle the reality of surgical practice."
Harper's pen moved across her notepad, capturing every detail. Around the table, her fellow interns shifted nervously or leaned forward with eager anticipation. She cataloged their reactions with clinical detachment: the anxious nail-biter who'd probably burn out by month three, the overly confident Harvard graduate who'd never failed at anything, the quiet observer who reminded Harper uncomfortably of herself.
"Dr. Parker will coordinate your trauma surgery rotations," Dr. Mars continued, gesturing to a woman with short auburn hair and the kind of steady composure that came from yearsof emergency medicine. "Dr. Hassan manages our emergency medicine department. You'll also work with our other department heads as your rotations progress."
Each name added another layer to Harper's growing map of hospital hierarchy. She'd researched them all, of course, but seeing them in person revealed details no online profile could capture. Dr. Parker's slight scar along her left temple suggested field experience. Dr. Hassan's hijab in deep emerald that somehow made her scrubs look elegant rather than utilitarian.
"Questions about department structure?" Dr. Mars asked.
Harper found herself raising her hand before conscious thought could stop her. "What's the protocol for inter-departmental consultation on complex cases?"
It was exactly the kind of question Dr. Langston's daughter would ask: thoughtful, professional, and demonstrating both knowledge and respect for established systems.
"Excellent question, Dr. Langston." Dr. Mars' approval was evident. "We operate on a collaborative model here. Ego has no place in patient care. If you're unsure about anything—surgical approach, post-op complications, even personality conflicts with attending physicians—you bring it to your supervisor immediately."
The irony wasn't lost on Harper. She was already harboring the kind of conflict that could destroy careers, and her first day hadn't even officially started.
"Our reputation depends on three things," Dr. Mars continued, her gaze sweeping the room. "Clinical excellence, professional integrity, and collaborative respect. Compromise any of those, and you'll find yourself explaining your choices to me personally."
Harper's hands remained perfectly steady as she took notes, but something cold settled in her stomach. Professional integrity. The phrase echoed in her mind like an indictment.
She'd compromised her integrity before she'd even walked through the hospital doors.
Around the table, her fellow interns nodded solemnly, probably imagining the standard challenges of surgical training. None of them were sitting there having lied to a senior attending physician, slept with her, and then disappeared without giving an explanation.
Harper kept her expression neutral and continued taking meticulous notes, even as her world balanced on the edge of complete destruction.
The orientation concluded with schedule distribution and final instructions. Harper gathered her materials, then made her way through the hospital corridors toward the third floor. Each step carried her deeper into the professional world where she and her mother would now be colleagues as well as family.
Harper found her mother's office exactly where the hospital directory indicated: third floor, east wing, with "Dr. Natalie Langston, OB/GYN" printed in elegant script on the door. Through the frosted glass, she could see her mother's familiar silhouette bent over paperwork, and for a moment, Harper felt like she was twelve years old again, waiting to show off a perfect report card.
She knocked softly and stepped inside when her mother looked up with that radiant smile that never failed to make Harper feel simultaneously loved and inadequate.
"There you are," Natalie said, rising from behind a desk that spoke of years of successful practice. Awards lined the walls, interspersed with photos of Harper's academic achievements and what looked like thank-you cards from grateful patients. "How does it feel to be Dr. Langston on your first day?"
