Page 40 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)
CARMEN
C armen pressed her palms against the observation deck's glass, watching the surgical suite below with focused attention.
She told herself she was here for educational purposes—trauma surgery coordination was part of her administrative responsibilities—but the lie felt transparent even to her own analytical mind.
She was here because Harper was operating.
Dr. Parker had scheduled a complex abdominal repair following a motorcycle accident, multiple organ involvement requiring the kind of surgical precision that separated competent residents from exceptional ones.
Carmen had seen the case notes, understood the technical challenges, and knew this would test every skill Harper had developed during her trauma rotation.
What she hadn't expected was to watch Harper take the lead.
"Beginning exploratory laparotomy," Harper's voice carried through the intercom system, steady and authoritative in ways that made Carmen's chest tighten with recognition.
This wasn't the defensive young woman who'd challenged Carmen's authority or the wounded intern who'd begged for another chance. This was a surgeon who belonged in that operating room.
Harper's hands moved with confidence as she assessed the damage, her commentary clear and precise as she guided the assisting intern through their first complex abdominal case.
"We've got a liver laceration, grade three, and what looks like splenic involvement.
Piper, can you control the bleeding while I examine the duodenum? "
Carmen found herself leaning forward, drawn into Harper's surgical technique despite the professional distance she'd tried to maintain.
Every movement demonstrated the spatial reasoning and crisis management skills that couldn't be taught, only recognized and refined.
Harper was thinking three steps ahead, anticipating complications while maintaining the steady rhythm that kept patients alive.
"Excellent visualization, Dr. Langston," Dr. Parker's voice carried approval. "Your assessment?"
"Liver repair is straightforward, but the spleen damage is extensive. I recommend a splenectomy rather than attempting to repair it. The patient's young enough to adapt, and the hemorrhage risk isn't worth the preservation attempt."
The decision was sophisticated, weighing multiple factors with the kind of clinical judgment Carmen had hoped Harper would develop. But watching from the observation deck, Carmen realized Harper had already exceeded her expectations.
"I concur," Dr. Parker said. "Proceed with a splenectomy. Dr. Barrett”—she turned to Piper—“observe Dr. Langston's technique."
Carmen's throat constricted as she watched Harper work, her movements economical and precise as she began the delicate process of organ removal.
The woman operating below bore little resemblance to the intern who'd once sought Carmen's approval for every decision.
Harper had found her voice, and it was confident without being arrogant or reckless.
"Dr. Méndez?"
Carmen turned to find Dr. Paula Wexler from radiology approaching with imaging results, her expression curious. Carmen had been standing at the observation window for forty minutes, longer than any casual educational interest would justify.
"Dr. Wexler, how can I help you?"
"I have the post-operative scans from your valve replacement yesterday, but I couldn't help noticing"—Dr. Wexler's gaze shifted toward the surgical suite below—"Dr. Langston is impressive.
Natural instincts, excellent technical skills.
Dr. Parker mentioned she's considering recommending Harper for the competitive fellowship program. "
Carmen’s eyebrows raised. Fellowship recommendations were reserved for the most exceptional residents, the ones who demonstrated not just competence but genuine surgical brilliance. Carmen should have felt proud that her former intern was earning such recognition.
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 around her 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 walked toward 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."