Page 39 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

Harper considered the question, trying to articulate feelings she'd never fully examined.

"I wanted to matter enough to be worth a risk.

I wanted someone who would choose me even when it was complicated, even when it required courage.

" She paused, watching a couple near the bar planning their weekend with voices low but unguarded.

"I wanted to be loved openly, not hidden like something shameful. "

"And Carmen couldn't give you that?"

"Carmen couldn't risk it. There's a difference." Harper felt something shift in her chest, not quite clarity but the beginning of understanding. "She said she loved me, but only in private. Only when it was safe. The moment our relationship threatened her perfectly controlled life, she retreated."

"So what does that tell you about what she was offering?"

She'd been so focused on Carmen's fears and past betrayals that she hadn't examined what their relationship had actually provided versus what she'd needed.

"It tells me she loved the version of me that fit into her boundaries," Harper said slowly. "The secret girlfriend who didn't require public acknowledgment or professional risk. She loved me as long as I stayed small enough not to threaten her world."

"And is that enough for you?"

"No." The word came out with startling clarity. "It's not enough. I deserve someone who's proud to love me, not someone who's merely comfortable hiding with me."

Lavender's smile was warm with approval. "There's the woman I was hoping to see again."

They sat in comfortable silence while Harper processed the conversation, feeling something fundamental shift in her understanding.

She'd been focusing on Carmen's pain and fear, making excuses for choices that had ultimately diminished them both.

But love shouldn't require making yourself smaller to accommodate someone else's limitations.

"I spent weeks trying to prove I was worth the risk," Harper said, the realization building momentum as she spoke. "But the right person wouldn't see loving me as a risk to be managed. They'd see it as a gift worth protecting."

"Exactly." Lavender leaned forward slightly. "Harper, there's a difference between patience and accepting less than you deserve. Patience means waiting for the right time to build something real. Accepting less means convincing yourself that partial love is enough."

The distinction resonated through Harper's chest like a bell finally ringing true. She'd been so grateful for Carmen's attention, so desperate to prove herself worthy, that she'd accepted scraps instead of demanding the whole meal.

Harper looked around the café one more time, but now she saw possibility instead of loss.

These couples weren't reminders of what she lacked; they were examples of what she deserved.

Love that didn't require hiding. Partnership that faced challenges together instead of retreating into separate corners.

"I've been thinking about this all wrong," Harper said, surprised by the strength in her own voice. "I've been trying to convince Carmen I was worth loving openly. But the problem isn't my worthiness. It's her willingness to be brave."

"And you can't make someone else brave," Lavender observed. "You can only be brave yourself and see who's willing to meet you there."

The fog had thickened outside, making their conversation feel sacred. Harper felt something settling in her chest. She couldn't control Carmen's choices, but she could choose for herself.

"I'm done accepting less than I deserve," Harper said, and heard the determination in her own voice. "If Carmen can't see what we could have built together, that's her loss. I won't spend my life trying to convince someone to be brave enough to love me."

"Good," Lavender said, squeezing Harper's hand. "You deserve someone who fights for you, not someone who hides from you."

As Harper prepared to leave, she felt lighter than she had in days.

The wine had helped, but more than that, Lavender's wisdom had helped her see the situation clearly.

She wasn't asking for too much by wanting to be loved openly.

She was asking for exactly what love should provide: partnership, courage, and the security that came from being chosen completely.

Outside, the fog had grown thick enough to muffle the sounds of Phoenix Ridge settling into night.

But Harper walked through it with purpose, no longer lost in someone else's fears.

Tomorrow, she would prove herself in trauma surgery.

She would excel not to win Carmen back, but to demonstrate the worth that had always been there.

And if Carmen eventually realized what she'd lost, she'd have to prove she was worthy of Harper's love, not the other way around.

The thought felt like stepping into her own power for the first time in her adult life.

Harper's apartment looked different in the morning light streaming through her windows. She moved through her routine with purpose, and for the first time since Carmen's rejection, she felt like the protagonist of her own story.

The conversation with Lavender had settled into her bones. Harper wasn't broken or unworthy; she'd simply been accepting less than she deserved from someone too afraid to offer more.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Alice: "Coffee before rounds? You seemed off yesterday."

Harper typed back: "Tomorrow? Big day ahead."

For weeks, she'd been deflecting her colleagues' concern, unable to share the most important part of her life because it was wrapped in Carmen's secrets. But Harper had nothing to be ashamed of—she'd loved someone completely and authentically.

In the shower, Harper let the hot water wash away the last traces of self-doubt. She'd proven her surgical competence under Dr. Parker's supervision with skill that had nothing to do with her mother's reputation or Carmen's mentorship. Her abilities were her own.

Getting dressed felt like putting on new skin. Harper caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw strength where there had been uncertainty and determination where there had been desperation.

She was Harper Langston: brilliant surgeon and a woman worthy of being loved completely. If Carmen couldn't see that, the problem wasn't Harper's inadequacy; it was Carmen's failure of vision.

The walk to Phoenix Ridge General took longer than usual through the quiet streets.

But where Harper had once dreaded navigating hospital corridors where she might glimpse Carmen's retreating figure, now she felt ready to face whatever the day brought.

She belonged in that hospital not because of who her mother was or who had evaluated her work, but because she'd earned her place through skill and dedication that no one could diminish.

The trauma wing was buzzing as Harper arrived for rounds. Dr. Parker stood reviewing overnight cases with the efficiency Harper had learned to appreciate, her sharp focus creating an environment where excellence was expected rather than hoped for.

"Langston," Dr. Parker said as Harper approached. "You're early."

"Yes, ma'am. I wanted to review yesterday's cases and prepare for whatever comes today."

Dr. Parker's eyebrows rose slightly, something that might have been approval flickering in her expression. "Good. We've got a full schedule, and I need someone who's completely present. Yesterday you were competent but distracted. What's different about today?"

Harper met her supervisor's direct gaze without flinching. "Today I remember why I became a surgeon. Not to prove myself to anyone else, but because I'm good at saving lives."

Something shifted in Dr. Parker's expression—recognition of an intern who'd finally found her footing. "Excellent. Let's see if you can maintain that focus when things get complicated."

The morning flew by in a blur that felt effortless for the first time in weeks.

Harper assisted with a motor vehicle accident victim, managed multiple trauma consults, and handled each case with the natural competence that had always been there beneath her anxiety about external approval.

Her hands were steady, her decisions sound, and her interactions with colleagues carried the quiet confidence of someone who belonged exactly where they were.

During a brief break between cases, Harper found herself in the hospital corridor where she'd once lingered outside Carmen's office like a ghost. But today, she walked past the cardiac wing without slowing down.

Carmen was somewhere in that maze of examination rooms and surgical suites, probably wondering why Harper no longer sought her approval or tried to catch her attention.

Let her wonder. Harper was done making herself small to accommodate someone else's fear.

"Dr. Langston?" a voice called behind her.

Harper turned to find Dr. Hassan approaching with patient files, the same kind expression Harper remembered from their previous encounter. But today, Harper didn't feel like she needed rescue from her own emotions.

"Dr. Hassan, how can I help you?"

"I wanted to tell you that Dr. Parker has been impressed with your work this week. She mentioned you've found your focus."

Harper smiled, and it felt genuine for the first time in days. "I think I finally remembered who I am underneath everyone else's expectations."

"That's the most important thing any of us can learn," Dr. Hassan said warmly. "You're going to be an excellent surgeon, Harper. Trust in that."

As Dr. Hassan walked away, Harper felt something settle in her chest that had nothing to do with external validation and everything to do with recognizing her own worth. She didn't need Carmen's approval to know she was brilliant.

The afternoon brought more complex cases, opportunities to demonstrate the surgical instincts that had always set her apart. Harper moved through each procedure with the kind of focused excellence that made other medical professionals take notice.

By evening, as Harper changed out of scrubs that no longer felt like a costume, she realized the devastating heartbreak of losing Carmen had taught her something invaluable: she was complete without anyone else's love.

Harper gathered her things and headed for the exit, but this time the hospital felt like home again. Not because of any romantic connection, but because she'd reclaimed her place in it through competence and confidence that belonged entirely to her.

Tomorrow would bring new cases, new opportunities to prove herself, and the growing certainty that she was exactly who she'd always been meant to be. Carmen's loss had become Harper's liberation, and that felt like the most important victory of her life.