Chapter 15
FINN
Breaking Down Walls
(Or How Everything Can Change in an Instant)
It’s three in the morning when someone starts knocking on my door.
Not the guesthouse door.
My door.
My bedroom door.
I sit up in bed, disoriented. The knocking continues.
Insistent.
Panicked.
I pull on a T-shirt and open the door.
Mary is standing there in pajamas, hair messy, worry written all over her face.
“There’s a patient downstairs. She says it’s urgent.”
I take the stairs two at a time with Mary right behind me.
Mrs. Campbell is standing in the entrance hall of the guesthouse.
The same woman who slammed the door in my face during my first failed consultation in Glenfield. The woman who looked at me like I was an imposter desecrating Dr. McKinnon’s memory.
She’s holding a little boy in her arms.
He can’t be older than six or seven.
His face is red, and his breathing wheezes harshly.
My doctor brain switches on instantly.
“He’s probably having an asthma attack,” I say. “How long has he been like this?”
“Fifteen minutes,” she answers in a trembling voice. “I tried his inhaler, but it isn’t working. I... I didn’t know where else to go. The clinic’s closed, the hospital is too far away…”
She looks at me.
Her eyes are full of tears and something that looks painfully close to shame.
“I know you have no reason to help me after the way I treated you, but my grandson…”
“Lay him down on the couch.”
There’s no time for apologies.
No time for anything except the emergency in front of me.
Mary switches on every light in the room while I kneel beside the child.
“What’s his name?”
“Robbie.”
“Okay, Robbie. I’m Dr. McLeod. I’m going to help you, alright?”
The boy stares at me with terrified eyes.
Every breath is a struggle.
I examine him quickly.
Severe wheezing in both lungs.
Respiratory rate too high.
Lips slightly cyanotic.
My heart starts pounding.
Not now.
Not here.
Not a child.
Panic rises suddenly inside me.
The memories from Edinburgh crash into me like a black wave threatening to drag me under. The monitor alarms. The shouting. The helplessness of watching someone die while being unable to stop it.
“Finn.”
Mary’s voice cuts through the chaos.
Calm.
Steady.
I look up at her.
“What do you need?” she asks.
The question pulls me back to the present. Back to the boy in front of me. Back to the fact that I do know what to do.
“My medical bag. It’s upstairs in my room. Left closet.”
She runs immediately, and I hear her sprinting up the stairs.
I turn back to Mrs. Campbell.
“Any history of allergies?”
“Dust mites. And cats.”
“Has he been around a cat recently?”
“No. Not that I know of. But... he was playing in the attic this afternoon. There’s a lot of dust up there. I never should’ve let him. I was busy and…”
Her throat closes before she can finish the sentence.
Mary returns with my medical bag.
I open it, pull out the portable nebulizer, and prepare a dose of salbutamol.
“Robbie, I’m going to give you medicine to help you breathe better. You’re going to wear this mask over your face, okay?”
The boy nods weakly.
I fit the mask over his face and start the nebulizer.
“Breathe normally. Don’t force it. Let the medicine do the work.”
We wait.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Mrs. Campbell cries silently in the corner while Mary places a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Five minutes.
Robbie’s breathing begins to improve.
The wheezing softens.
His shoulders relax slightly.
Seven minutes.
He’s breathing.
Not perfectly.
But better.
Much better.
I remove the mask and listen to his lungs again.
Clearer now.
Respiratory rate improving.
“You feeling better?” I ask him.
Robbie nods.
“Good. You’re going to stay sitting up for a while, alright? Don’t lie down yet.”
I turn toward Mrs. Campbell.
“The attack is stabilized, but he needs to see a specialist as soon as possible to adjust his treatment. His current inhaler clearly isn’t strong enough.”
She physically collapses with relief.
“Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.”
Mary disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water for Robbie. He drinks in small sips.
“You were very brave tonight,” she tells him gently.
He gives her a shy little smile.
I pack away my equipment and check Robbie’s vitals one more time.
Everything’s stabilizing.
Only then do I realize my hands are trembling slightly.
Mary approaches me while Mrs. Campbell comforts her grandson.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“Your hands disagree.”
I shove them into my pockets.
“I’m fine.”
She obviously doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push.
Twenty minutes later, Robbie’s vitals are stable.
He’s regained color.
He’s breathing almost normally.
Mrs. Campbell stands with Robbie asleep in her arms.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she says, looking directly at me. “After the way I treated you…”
“It’s nothing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She pauses.
“You know, when you first came to Glenfield, I was angry. Dr. McKinnon had been our doctor for forty years. He was our friend. Then you arrived—young, from the city—and everyone expected us to accept you like nothing had changed.”
I stay silent because I honestly don’t know what to say.
“But tonight... tonight you saved my grandson. Without hesitation. Without making me feel guilty. You just... did it.”
She swallows hard.
“Dr. McKinnon would’ve been proud of you. I’m going to make sure everyone in Glenfield knows what kind of doctor you truly are. I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Just take care of Robbie.”
She nods, tears shining in her eyes, then disappears into the night.
I close the door behind her, and silence settles over the guesthouse again.
Mary is still there, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
She’s looking at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just... you were incredible tonight.”
I shrug awkwardly, uncomfortable with the compliment.
“It was just an asthma attack. Nothing complicated.”
“Maybe for you. I would’ve panicked.”
“You’re a vet. You handle emergencies.”
“With animals. Not six-year-olds who can’t breathe.”
I avoid her gaze while putting away my medical bag.
“You want tea?” she asks softly.
I should say no.
I should go back upstairs and try to sleep.
Instead, I nod.
We sit together in the kitchen while Mary boils water for tea.
I stay there with my hands wrapped around an empty mug, staring into space.
She sits across from me.
“You want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Why your hands were shaking.”
“It was adrenaline.”
“Finn.”
I lift my eyes.
She’s looking at me with that intense expression she gets sometimes.
The one that makes me feel like she can read me as easily as an open book.
“You were scared,” she says quietly. “Not for yourself. For him.”
I don’t answer.
The kettle whistles softly, and Mary stands to pour our tea.
“That’s why you left Edinburgh, isn’t it? Something went wrong.”
My heart starts racing.
I want to stand up.
Leave.
End this conversation immediately.
“A patient died,” I finally admit. “While she was under my care.”
I take a sip of tea.
It’s too hot, but I don’t care.
Mary says nothing.
She waits.
“I... minimized a symptom. At the time, it didn’t seem particularly alarming, so I delayed further testing. There wasn’t enough for an official complaint, but enough that…”
I stop.
Swallow hard.
“She could’ve been saved. If I’d paid closer attention. If I’d trusted my instincts instead of following protocol. If I had…”
“Finn, stop.”
Her voice is gentle but firm.
I look at her, expecting disgust.
Disappointment.
Instead, I find neither.
Something inside me loosens unexpectedly, and I realize with startling clarity that Mary’s opinion matters far more to me than it should.
“You can’t do this to yourself,” she says softly.
“I have to. Because if I don’t, I might forget. And if I forget, I could make the same mistake again. Tonight, when Mrs. Campbell walked in with Robbie, all I could see was…”
I stop, unable to finish the sentence.
Mary reaches across the table.
She hesitates for one brief second before placing her hand over mine.
The contact is warm.
Comforting.
“Tonight, you saved a child,” she says quietly. “Without hesitation. Without letting fear stop you. You did exactly what needed to be done.”
“This time.”
“Every time,” she corrects softly. “Because you’re a good doctor, Finn. And being a good doctor doesn’t mean never making mistakes. It means continuing anyway, despite the fear.”
I stare at our joined hands.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you treat your patients. The way you listen to Old Angus even when he invents symptoms. The way you reassured Mrs. Campbell tonight even after she rejected you. The way you knelt beside Robbie and spoke to him like he was the most important person in the world.”
She squeezes my hand lightly.
“That’s what makes a good doctor.”
A long silence settles between us.
“Thank you,” I finally say. “For helping tonight. And for... this.”
I gesture vaguely toward our hands.
Mary smiles and gently pulls hers away.
“You’re welcome. That’s what fake boyfriends are for, right?”
“I don’t think that was part of the agreement.”
“We can renegotiate the terms.”
I laugh despite myself.
A brief laugh.
But real.
We finish our tea in silence.
A comfortable silence this time.
When we finally stand to go upstairs, Mary pauses at the bottom of the staircase.
“Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“What Mrs. Campbell said about McKinnon... she was right.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
Mary heads upstairs.
I watch her go before turning toward my own room.
The next morning, I wake feeling like I barely slept at all.
I head downstairs.
Mary’s already in the kitchen making coffee.
“Morning,” she says with a smile.
“Morning.”
She hands me a mug.
“You have appointments today?”
“Four. Assuming they don’t get canceled…”
“They won’t. And something tells me you’re about to have a lot more patients than you expect.”
She says it with such confidence that I almost believe her.
My phone vibrates.
A text message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Dr. McLeod, this is Fiona Campbell. Robbie is doing much better this morning. We’re seeing the specialist this afternoon. Thank you again for everything. I’ll never forget what you did for him.
I show the message to Mary.
“See?” she says softly. “You broke down the wall.”
“One wall, maybe. There are still plenty left.”
“One at a time.”
Mary was right.
I’m starting to realize she usually is.
Over the next few days, something changes in Glenfield.
Mrs. Campbell keeps her promise.
She tells the story.
To everyone.
The butcher greets me on the street.
The bookstore owner smiles at me.
Old Angus schedules an appointment “for real this time, doctor.”
Even Duncan Fraser—who until now mostly commented on my relationship with Mary—gives me a respectful nod when I walk past the pub.
One evening, I return to the guesthouse after a full day of appointments and find Mary in the kitchen making dinner.
“How was your day?” she asks.
I lean against the counter.
“Strangely good.”
“Strangely?”
“I had seven appointments today without being compared to McKinnon once.”
Mary smiles.
“Told you you’d break down the wall.”
“We broke down the wall. Without our fake relationship, Mrs. Campbell never would’ve come to me that night.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she still would’ve come because you’re a good doctor.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling.
Outside the window, I spot Ragnar stretched out in the grass.
“Ragnar’s still standing guard,” I observe.
Mary follows my gaze.
“He likes you.”
“He’s the only living creature in Glenfield who liked me from the beginning.”
“That’s not true.”
I turn toward her.
“What?”
“That he’s the only living creature in Glenfield who liked you from the beginning.”
She looks at me, and there’s something in her eyes that steals the air from my lungs.
Before I can answer, she turns back toward the stove.
“Dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
I remain standing there, completely still, trying to figure out what exactly she just said.
And whether she truly meant it.