In my first year of residency training, my face was severely burned and scarred while shielding my boyfriend, Winslow Larson, from sulfuric acid during a hospital attack. This disfigured face made my work in pediatrics an uphill battle. Meanwhile, Winslow rose to prominence as the country’s leading researcher in rare pediatric diseases. People praised him as young and promising, advising him that he didn’t need to stay with someone as disfigured as me. But he would gently caress my scarred face, saying that a doctor’s worth lay in their skill, not their appearance. He told me he loved me for who I was, that my face didn’t matter. Yet, when a newly graduated and stunningly beautiful doctor, Madeleine Brooks, entered the picture, he fell for her almost instantly. He put her name on the rare disease paper we had spent ten years researching together. He claimed that top-tier doctors needed compatible partners. So, just before I was set to perform the surgery I’d spent a decade preparing for, he pushed me aside. He told me not to overthink it, assuring me I was still the one he loved the most. I smiled, turned away, and handed in my resignation. Then, I disappeared from his world entirely. When we met again, he looked at me with tears in his eyes as he begged for my forgiveness. But by then, I held multiple medical patents and had made a name for myself in the field. He had been right. A doctor’s worth truly lay in their skill. So, I chose to live for myself. ***** Madeleine’s résumé was as dazzling as her appearance. The resident, smiling with pride, said enthusiastically, “Dr. Brooks graduated from the country’s top medical school with a doctorate. During her residency training, she participated in numerous major surgeries and published several SCI papers on rare pediatric diseases. No wonder she was able to join Mr. Larson’s team as soon as she graduated!” I stood at the scrub sink, just one door away from the operating room. I glanced at the patient already lying on the operating table, unsure of what to say. In silence, I turned to look at the lead surgeon for this procedure. Today’s lead surgeon was none other than Winslow, my boyfriend, the man I had grown up with. To him, my silence meant acquiescence. “After all, this is the first surgery using the BTR technique. Madeleine has more hands-on experience than you,” he said. “Aleena, you’re a doctor. You should have the most basic sense of professional ethics. “And besides…” He studied my expression and added in a soothing tone, “We promised to bring the BTR technique to the world. We can’t let it fail at the first step.” Hearing him suddenly invoke the promise we’d made ten years ago, I felt nothing but cold emptiness. He had taken my scarred hand in his, promising sincerely, “Aleena, I swore to you I’d never let Aaron’s tragedy happen again.” At the mention of my late brother, Aaron Wilson, my eyes stung. I turned and left the scrub sink without a word. From the observation room, I watched the two of them perform the microscopic surgery below. Their conversation was intimate. “That’s right! Madeleine, you’re doing great. The wound closure looks perfect! “You’re definitely the most talented doctor I’ve ever worked with.” Madeleine stood beside him, her eyes sparkling with delight. She teased playfully, “Mr. Larson, it’s just a simple suture. Hardly worth such high praise! “Don’t spoil me too much!” Winslow, usually so serious, was smiling warmly. His tone was gentle and affectionate, far from how one typically spoke to a trainee. “What, I can’t even compliment you? You’re impossible…” I could feel the glances from the other doctors in the operating room shifting toward me. Everyone present knew I had been by Winslow’s side for over a decade. I wasn’t just his girlfriend; I had been his indispensable partner. Yet here I was, pushed aside before the surgery I had dedicated ten years of my life to. Hours flew by. After the patient’s wounds were sutured, the room erupted in applause. Overcome with excitement, Winslow broke the sterile protocol and pulled Madeleine into an embrace. “Madeleine, I’ve waited ten years for this! We finally did it!” I switched off the lights in the observation room and left without a word.
Winslow and I had known each other since childhood. We grew up inseparable, side by side, through everything. Both of us excelled in school, and when it came time for college, we chose the same major. In our first year of residency, he got into trouble for saying the wrong thing in front of a patient’s family. When the furious family member hurled sulfuric acid at him, I didn’t hesitate and pushed him out of the way. He was unharmed, but I was left with horrific scars all over my face and body. At my hospital bed, Winslow’s voice was hoarse as he made a solemn vow. “Aleena, for the rest of my life, I will never let go of your hand.” Later, his groundbreaking paper catapulted him to the forefront of rare disease research. At the time, I was his assistant. There were whispers behind my back. “Aleena’s face is ruined. How can she stay by Mr. Larson’s side as his assistant?” “With her résumé, she doesn’t deserve to be Mr. Larson’s girlfriend!” But at the highest-level medical summit, Winslow stood on stage holding my hand. “The BTR technique isn’t my achievement alone. I owe everything to Aleena’s dedication. Her intelligence, precision, and care have brought hope to children suffering from rare diseases. “To me, she is the best doctor and my destined partner.” I could still hear his words echoing in my ears. But now, Madeleine had entered his life. She was brilliant and beautiful, her education a glittering record of top-tier schools from childhood to adulthood. She returned from studying abroad, well-versed in the latest international research and advancements. “Professor Stan has an unpublished paper on this very subject. “There’s an academic conference on this topic in Sweden soon, and my mentor has two slots available.” “The L897 drug showed excellent results in the Phase III clinical trials for pediatric rare diseases.” She had a solid foundation, a sharp mind, and access to abundant academic resources. Madeleine’s arrival completely disrupted our work. She redefined what Winslow thought an assistant could be. For the first time, he realized how much a true elite could contribute. And compared to her, I paled. I had built my life entirely around rare diseases, driven by an obsession. I was quiet and reserved, someone who seemed cold and dull in the eyes of others. However, I still hadn’t expected that Winslow would push me out of the surgery that meant everything to me for Madeleine’s sake. He knew how much it mattered to me. I took a deep breath and buried my face in the pillow. Tears soaked through the fabric. A few nights later, during a late shift, I had just closed my eyes for a brief rest when Winslow suddenly pushed open the door to the lounge. “Aleena, I’m here… I…” He stood there, breath still uneven, as though he had rushed straight over. He must have remembered our plan at the last minute. “I got too caught up in the surgery. I forgot… I forgot we were supposed to celebrate with a nice meal.” My chest tightened, disappointment flooding through me. I could only stare at him silently, feeling a bitter mockery rise in my heart. “What is this?” I thought. For a moment, I felt ridiculous. I had been foolish enough to hope he’d remember our promise from ten years ago and come to apologize. Yet he could recall an offhand comment about a nice meal from days ago but had completely forgotten something so important. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I didn’t even take part in the surgery. There’s no reason for me to celebrate with a nice meal.” Winslow frowned, confusion clouding his face. His grip on my wrist tightened. I forced a smile, my voice steady and calm. “Since Aaron’s death, I’ve been entangled with rare diseases for ten years. Every single moment, I’ve wanted to overcome them, to avenge my brother Aaron with my own hands. “For this surgery, I haven’t rested in a month. Every day, I went to see that child. I’ve read his medical records so many times I could recite them by heart. “Winslow, ten years ago, you promised me I would perform the first curative surgery myself. So… I thought I could save him with my own hands, as if saving him would mean I could somehow bring Aaron back.” I lifted my head and saw the panic in Winslow’s eyes.
I said a lot. And slowly, from my words, Winslow seemed to recall the long-forgotten promise he had made. He opened his mouth, instinctively trying to explain, but no words came out. In the end, he just held onto my wrist tightly, saying nothing at all. A coldness spread through me. I pulled my wrist free with a sharp tug. I turned away, intending to sit back down. But Winslow grabbed me again. “Aleena, don’t go! It’s my fault… I let you down. I…” His words were cut off by the shrill ring of his phone. One glance at the screen and his expression immediately changed. It was Madeleine. “A special case at MediLexa Hospital?” He answered the call, glancing at me before softening his tone. “Does it have to be transferred now? I’m still…” They exchanged a few quick words before he hung up. “Aleena, Madeleine said she arranged for a special case at MediLexa Hospital. It’s closely related to our project. She’s already there waiting for me. I might need to…” I listened as he earnestly explained, his demeanor as serious as if he were heading into a critical consultation. “Is it a critical patient? Without hospital authorization, her private arrangements wouldn’t even have transfer procedures in place, right?” Winslow’s face darkened. He mumbled an awkward response. I turned my head away, unwilling to hear more. MediLexa Hospital was only a few kilometers away, with minimal transfer risks. I wasn’t a fool. I couldn’t imagine what kind of critical patient would require both Winslow and Madeleine to personally handle the transfer. I bit the inside of my cheek in self-torment, letting the sharp pain suppress the burning ache in my eyes. Swallowing my sobs felt like choking down a stone. “Winslow, if I told you the scars on my face hurt a lot today, and they itch terribly, could you delay the transfer… and stay with me for a while?” It was the changing season, and my scars had been itching and burning relentlessly, day and night. I had been overworking myself for the surgery, pushing my body to the brink. Originally, I’d planned to take a few days off starting tomorrow to rest and recover. But tonight, driven by physical pain, I allowed myself a rare moment of vulnerability. I held onto his hand. Yet the moment my rough, scarred skin brushed against his, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. He instinctively adjusted his already perfectly straight tie. “Madeleine said the patient is still waiting. I should…” “Madeleine, Madeleine… She got to participate in the first BTR surgery right after graduation. Her future is certainly bright.” I curved my lips into a smile, my tone dripping with mockery. “She’s nothing like me. First, I lose my chance. Now, I lose my boyfriend too…” “Enough!” Winslow’s sharp voice cut me off, his expression full of impatience. “This is a matter of life and death! Aleena, where is your sense of medical ethics?” A sharp pain pierced my chest. I felt as though something was choking me, robbing me of speech. Winslow turned decisively and strode away. His voice was curt as he said, “I’ve approved three days off for you. Rest well if your scars are bothering you. “You’re not just physically weak. You’re not as smart or capable as Madeleine. Even your sense of duty as a doctor doesn’t measure up to hers!” The wind lifted the hem of his long coat, billowing it high. His figure was still as lean and boyish as ever. But I could no longer find any trace of the young man who had once stood by my hospital bed and sworn never to let go of my hand. Ten years had passed in a blur. The Winslow before me now was nothing but a stranger. The sharp ring of a call bell from Bed 332 broke through my thoughts. I had no time to dwell on my emotions. I rushed out the door. By the time I had answered five or six calls, dawn had broken. Exhausted, I leaned against the nurse’s station to rest for a moment. Out of habit, I opened Twitter. What greeted me was Madeleine’s carefully curated post. [Transfer canceled. Exploring the hidden alleys with Mr. Larson.] I scrolled silently through her nine photos, feeling nothing but numbness. In one of them, Winslow was feeding her hotdog, his eyes filled with unguarded tenderness. The storefront in the photo was narrow, its plastic tabletops stained with years of grease. Discarded single-use wrappers littered the dark cement floor. Winslow, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, sat among it all without the slightest hint of disdain. Normally, he was the most fastidious about food safety. Yet there he was, indulging in street food with Madeleine as if the chaos around him didn’t exist. I stared at the screen with a blank expression liked the post. The next moment, Madeleine sent me a message. [Dr. Wilson, Mr. Larson asked me to check if you’re still at the hospital. We brought back some leftover hot dogs.] [I heard you were upset about me stepping in for your surgery. Consider this my apology.] [I just got back to the country, so I’m not familiar with these unspoken rules. I assumed doctors operated on the principle that the best person gets the job.] She even added a pitiful little emoji at the end. I ignored her juvenile provocation and turned off my screen, ready to leave for the day. But the head nurse stopped me. “Dr. Wilson, Ms. Estrada wants to see you.” I nodded vaguely, forcing myself to gather what energy I had left, and knocked on the office door. Claudine Estrada was our director. She was a kind and gentle older woman, who was always smiling. But today, her expression was unusually serious. “Aleena, I received another complaint last night.” Hearing this, I clenched my hands and lowered my head, shame prickling at my skin. As a pediatrician, the scars on my face had always been a problem. No matter how skilled I was, many children took one look at me and flat-out refused to let me treat them. On night shifts, my scarred face often frightened the children, which naturally led to complaints from their worried parents. “Ms. Estrada… I wore a mask last night,” I muttered, attempting to defend myself in a soft voice, though it sounded feeble even to me. In the past, whenever a complaint came in, Winslow, as the deputy director, would always be the first to know. He would stand by my side when I met with Claudine, explaining how crucial I was to the BTR project and tirelessly pleading my case. But today, he wasn’t here. “With your condition, whether you wear a mask or not doesn’t seem to matter much anymore.” Claudine’s unsmiling face made my palms damp with cold sweat. “Winslow usually defends you to no end. Luckily, he’s not here today, or he’d be giving me another long lecture about principles and fairness.” I forced a bitter smile. “He probably… won’t anymore.” “Won’t?” Claudine waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t believe that.” “But let’s get to the point. We all know your scars are the result of an accident. The hospital understands your situation. But Aleena, this is a children’s hospital. We have to put the patients first.” “I’m not saying this to push you out. I’m asking you to think about your own future.” “Your complaint rate is high, and fewer patients are requesting you. If this continues, it’s not going to be good for your career.” Her words stung with bitter truth. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but no argument came. There was nothing I could say. My eyes burned, but no tears fell. Then Claudine placed a stack of English documents in front of me. “You have a background in BTR research and clinical experience. You’re a perfect fit for this project in Auroria Country.” I took the papers with both hands, looking up at her in disbelief. Claudine smiled and patted my shoulder. “Aleena, you’re still young. You should explore more opportunities.” “Being a doctor isn’t just about clinical work.” That evening, I sat at home, poring over the English documents, lost in thought. Even by nightfall, I remained torn. The unsent message I had typed out to Winslow still lingered in the chat box: [Winslow, there’s something I want to talk to you about.] If I decided to go, it would mean abandoning the BTR project I had spent ten years fighting for. It would also mean letting go of Winslow. I couldn’t bring myself to make a decision. Winslow ignored my unsent messages and instead sent me something that felt more like a notice: [I’m heading home to pack. I’ll be traveling for lectures over the next two weeks.] I stared at his message for a long time before finally typing out a single question: [Is Madeleine going too?] [Madeleine is my student and also assisted with the first surgery. It wouldn’t be right to leave her out.] [Bear with it for now. I’ll make it up to you when I’m back.] I reread his words, my thoughts spiraling. I thought, “Bear with it? Why is it that every time something involves Madeleine, I’m the one who has to bear with it?” I didn’t reply. Instead, I buried my head back into the pillow. Perhaps out of guilt, Winslow dutifully checked in with me every day for the next two weeks. He sent dozens of messages, which I found so annoying that I muted him. But I couldn’t avoid Madeleine’s Twitter. [The coffee break today was amazing! I was standing next to Mr. Larson, and a few grad students even said we looked like a couple.] [It’s true! When capable people stand on stage, they really shine. I want to be close to you, to become you! @Winslow] [Today, Mr. Larson praised me during my presentation, saying I have a bright future ahead. But the only future I want is with you…] Her words were no longer subtle. The photos she posted were even worse. They were full of intimacy and closeness. I scrolled through her posts expressionlessly until someone abruptly shoved me. “Ugly freak!” A boy, no more than seven or eight, stood beside me. He was tall for his age, almost up to my chin, and suffered from an endocrine disorder. He was clearly spoiled at home. With his height and stocky build, he loomed over me like a wall. “You’re an ugly freak! Bed 19 told me there was a freak in here, and I didn’t believe it. But you’re so ugly. Why don’t you just go die?” As he spoke, he raised his foot and kicked me without hesitation. I staggered back, instinctively wanting to push him away. But then I caught sight of the IV needle taped to his hand and the hospital wristband. I froze. I realized he was the boy who had undergone the first BTR surgery. My chest tightened. I didn’t dodge as he kicked me again, this time harder. A nurse saw the chaos here and rushed over. It took several people to restrain him. I held my aching abdomen and turned to leave, hearing him yell from the lobby that I had scared him. Once I found a quiet corner, I sank down against the wall. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My sobs escaped in ragged whispers. This face of mine… It had barred me from every medical forum. This face of mine… It had never earned a single word of gratitude from a patient. I couldn’t stop thinking, “If only that accident hasn’t happened. If only I haven’t pushed Winslow out of harm’s way. Would my life be different now? Would I have been the one to lead the BTR project, the one to conquer rare diseases with my own hands?” My phone buzzed. Madeleine had just posted in the department group chat. She shared photos from her presentation, along with a caption: [Thank you to the hospital leadership and Mr. Larson for this incredible opportunity. I’ve successfully delivered the first external lecture on BTR therapy. We’ve taken the first step toward bringing BTR therapy to the world.] The chat erupted with congratulatory messages. But my heart felt like it was being torn apart. I gripped my phone tightly, wishing for Winslow to call me. Even if all he offered were a flimsy excuse, anything would have been better than silence. But as my tears dried, my phone remained dark. A week later, the two of them returned to the hospital in a flurry of fanfare. When Winslow brought her to see me, his face was alight with joy. “Aleena, the BTR therapy was highly praised by our peers. Let’s go out for sashimi tonight and celebrate properly!” There wasn’t a trace of inquiry in his tone. It was a notice, not an invitation. Madeleine stood close beside him, dressed in a fitted, low-cut cocktail dress. Her flawless makeup highlighted her striking features, making her look every bit the part of his companion. She clung to his side like they belonged together. I glanced at the two of them and let out a sharp laugh. “Just sashimi? I thought the two of you were headed to a gala.” Winslow’s face darkened. “Enough. Madeleine was worried you’d feel left out, so she went out of her way to get you an extra ticket. Don’t be ungrateful.” He gestured for Madeleine, who fished an envelope out of her clutch and handed it to me. I took the invitation and tore it cleanly in half. “Aleena, have you lost your mind?” Winslow grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. “Sashimi? You know I can’t stand raw dishes!” He knew. He knew my brother’s rare illness had been triggered by parasites in raw food. Since then, I hadn’t been able to stomach anything raw. The man who used to care about what I couldn’t eat didn’t seem to care anymore. Winslow froze for a moment before it dawned on him. His expression twisted into annoyance. “It’s been years. Do you really have to keep holding onto this? “Aleena, you need to move on. Aaron’s been dead for over a decade. Why are you taking it out on Madeleine?” I knew Aaron had been gone for over ten years. By all accounts, I should have moved on by now. But at that moment, I couldn’t stand his lectures anymore. I slapped him across the face. “Yes! I can’t move on! I can’t let it go! “I can’t accept that ten years later, I still haven’t been able to conquer rare diseases with my own hands!” All the emotions I’d buried for so long came bursting out. Winslow, however, just frowned, his disdain plain on his face. “This doesn’t justify you taking it out on Madeleine. Apologize to her, Aleena.” I stared at him, trembling as every ounce of strength drained from my body. I staggered back a step, my face wet with tears. “Apologize?” I let out a laugh that was more of a sob, my voice cracking as I said, “Winslow… I just didn’t want to eat that tonight. “Today is my brother’s death anniversary… I just didn’t want to eat raw food. “If you can’t handle that, then let’s break up.” Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away.
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