Page 64 of Crossing the Line
Instead, she felt the devastating weight of what she'd lost.
"She's certainly capable," Carmen managed, her voice neutral despite the chaos in her chest.
"More than capable. I've seen her handle three complex cases just this week, and each one showcased different strengths. She's the complete package." Dr. Wexler's enthusiasm was genuine and well-informed. "Dr. Parker says she's never seen a first-year intern with such mature surgical judgment."
Carmen nodded appropriately while her heart hammered against her ribs. Below them, Harper was completing the splenectomy with the kind of fluid technique that made difficult procedures look effortless. Other surgical staff moved aroundher with the deference usually reserved for attending physicians, seeking her input and trusting her decisions.
"I should review these scans," Carmen said, accepting the imaging results without really seeing them.
"Of course. But Dr. Méndez?" Dr. Wexler paused. "Harper's presentation at next week's trauma conference is generating significant interest. Her analysis of emergency cardiac protocols during multi-organ trauma is groundbreaking work."
Carmen's chest tightened further. Harper was presenting research at departmental conferences, earning recognition from colleagues, and building the kind of professional reputation that would define her career. All without Carmen's mentorship or involvement.
"Thank you for letting me know," Carmen said, turning back toward the observation window.
Below, Harper was closing the surgical site with meticulous attention to detail, explaining her technique to the assisting interns with the patience and clarity that made exceptional teachers. Carmen could see the respect in the other surgeon's posture, the way the entire surgical team deferred to Harper's expertise despite her junior status.
"Beautiful work, Dr. Langston," Dr. Parker's voice carried clear approval. "Recovery time?"
"Standard post-splenectomy protocols, but given the patient's age and overall health, I'd anticipate full recovery within six weeks. We'll want to monitor for infection and ensure proper immunization follow-up, but the prognosis is excellent."
Carmen pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the woman she loved demonstrate the brilliance that had drawn Carmen to her from the beginning. But now Harper's competence felt like a reproach, evidence of everything Carmen had been too afraid to fight for.
Harper looked happy. Not just professionally satisfied, but genuinely content. She'd found her place in trauma surgery, earned respect from colleagues, and built a reputation based entirely on her own abilities.
Carmen had spent weeks telling herself that ending their relationship was protecting Harper's career. But watching from the observation deck, she realized the opposite was true. Harper was thriving not because of Carmen, but in spite of her.
As the surgical team filed out of the operating room, Carmen remained at the observation window, staring down at the empty suite where Harper had just proven herself worthy of every opportunity. The magnitude of her mistake settled in her chest like lead, heavy and undeniable.
She'd given up the most exceptional person she'd ever known because she was too cowardly to fight for something that mattered.
Carmen straightened from the glass, her reflection staring back from the window—composed, controlled, and completely alone. But for the first time since Harper had walked out of her office, Carmen felt something other than regret.
She felt determination.
Harper deserved someone willing to fight for her publicly, someone who saw her brilliance as a gift rather than a complication. Carmen had failed that test once, choosing professional safety over personal courage.
But standing in the observation deck, watching the evidence of what she'd lost, Carmen finally understood what Julia had been trying to tell her: some things were worth any risk.
Harper was worth every risk, and Carmen was done being afraid.
Carmen forced herself to leave the observation deck, her newfound determination warring with the familiar instinct to retreat. The hospital corridors felt different as she walkedtoward the OBGYN wing—not the sterile maze she'd been navigating for weeks, but a path toward something that mattered more than her carefully constructed reputation.
She found Natalie in her office, reviewing patient charts with the focused efficiency Carmen had always admired. Through the glass door, Carmen could see her friend's familiar profile, the silver-streaked hair that caught afternoon light and the reading glasses perched on her nose. For a moment, Carmen hesitated. The last time they'd spoken, Natalie's disappointment had been devastating. But watching Harper's surgical excellence had crystallized something Carmen could no longer ignore.
She knocked once and entered without waiting for permission.
Natalie looked up, and Carmen watched her expression shift from professional courtesy to guarded coolness. "Carmen. What can I do for you?"
The formal tone struck her. They'd been friends for years, sharing everything from complex cases to personal struggles. Now they sat across from each other like strangers forced into uncomfortable proximity.
"I just watched your daughter perform a complex splenectomy with the kind of surgical skill I've seen in attending physicians with decades of experience," Carmen said, settling into the chair across from Natalie's desk without invitation. "She's exceptional, Natalie. More than I ever imagined she could become."
"I'm glad you recognize Harper's abilities," Natalie replied, her voice carefully neutral. "Though I'm not sure why you're telling me this now."
Carmen felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Because I've been an idiot letting fear make my decisions for me, and in doing so, I almost destroyed the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Natalie's pen stilled on her patient notes. "Carmen?—"
