Chapter 17 Isla #2
Isla had told herself it was because of the circumstances. The forbidden nature of their relationship. The pressure they were both under. She had believed that once the audit was over, once the external crisis resolved, they would be able to build something real.
Instead, Marianne had chosen her career. Had walked away the moment the choice became impossible to avoid. Had proved that all of Isla's fears about vulnerability and abandonment were justified.
The apartment felt like a prison. Every corner held memories of Marianne. The kitchen where they had cooked breakfast together. The couch where they had talked for hours. The bedroom where they had made love with an intensity that had felt like everything.
Isla couldn't escape any of it. Couldn't stop thinking about what she had lost. Couldn't convince herself that she was better off without someone who would choose safety over love.
Because the truth was, part of her understood why Marianne had made that choice. Understood the fear of losing everything she had rebuilt. Understood the terror of vulnerability when you had already been destroyed once.
The understanding didn't make it hurt any less.
She missed Marianne with an intensity that surprised her. Missed her voice in the quiet moments. Missed her hands, her mouth, the way she looked when she finally let her guard down. Missed having someone who knew her, really knew her, beneath all the professional armor.
The nights were the hardest. Isla would lie awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment they had shared. The first kiss in the conference room. The desperate coupling in the locker room. The quiet mornings in San Diego when she had let herself believe they had a future.
She had been a fool to hope. Had known from the beginning that Marianne was damaged in ways that made commitment impossible. But she had hoped anyway. Had let herself be vulnerable. Had trusted someone with her heart.
And now she was paying the price.
---
On the fourth day, she got a text from Elena, one of the trauma nurses.
Just wanted you to know we're thinking about you. You're the best, Dr. B. Don't let them make you forget that.
The next day, another text. This one from Marcus, the anesthesiologist she worked with most often.
Heard what's happening. It's bullshit. You saved my patient last month when everyone else would have let him die. That counts for something.
The messages kept coming.
The department isn't the same without you. Come back soon.
The support felt like a lifeline. A reminder that her value wasn't defined by the board's judgment or Shaw's vendetta. That the people who actually worked with her, who saw what she could do, still believed in her.
It couldn't stop the spiral of self-doubt and fear. But their belief in her—a few people who had actually seen what she could do, who stood by her when no one else would—kept her from drowning completely when the weight of the investigation threatened to pull her under.
---
A week into her suspension, Isla got a text from Dr. Hartman.
Lunch? Off campus. My treat.
She almost said no. Had been avoiding social contact, retreating into isolation the way she always did when things got hard. But something about the invitation felt different. Important.
They met at a small Thai restaurant far enough from the hospital that they were unlikely to be seen by colleagues.
The rich aroma of lemongrass and coconut filled the air, steam rising from dishes at nearby tables.
Hartman was already at a table when Isla arrived, his face grave but his eyes sharp with purpose.
"You look terrible," he said as she sat down.
"Thank you for the observation."
"I mean it. Have you been eating? Sleeping?"
"Is this an intervention?"
Hartman signaled the waiter and ordered for both of them without asking. Then he leaned forward, his voice low.
"The investigation is a farce. Everyone knows it. The external reviewers are following a script that was written before they even started, and the outcome was decided before the first meeting."
"I figured."
"Shaw has been pushing for a permanent revocation of your privileges. He's using your file as evidence of a pattern of disregard for institutional authority. He's framing every deviation as insubordination rather than clinical judgment."
Isla felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "And the board is listening?"
"The board is scared. The Hendricks family is suing for twenty million dollars. The insurance carriers are threatening to raise rates. Everyone is looking for someone to blame, and you're convenient." Hartman's expression was grim. "They're going to sacrifice you to protect themselves."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't think you should let them."
Isla stared at him. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
"Fight back. Get a lawyer. Go to the press if you have to.
Make them see that what they're doing is wrong.
" Hartman's voice was fierce. "You're the best trauma surgeon this hospital has.
The best I've ever worked with. If they destroy you to protect themselves, they deserve to face the consequences. "
"And what about my career? If I make this a public fight, I'll never work in medicine again."
"If you let them do this quietly, you'll never work in medicine again anyway." Hartman reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "The difference is whether you go down with your integrity intact."
The food arrived, but Isla barely noticed. She was thinking about everything she had built over the past fifteen years. The skills she had developed. The lives she had saved. The person she had become.
Was she willing to let all of that be destroyed without a fight?
She thought about Marianne, who had chosen safety over truth. Who had walked away rather than risk her career for something she believed in.
Isla didn't want to be that person.
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
Hartman nodded, apparently satisfied. "That's all I ask. Just don't give up without a fight. You're worth more than that. To this hospital and to everyone who's ever been saved by your hands."
They ate in silence, but Isla's mind was racing.
She had spent the past week drowning in self-doubt, questioning everything she had ever believed about herself.
But Hartman's words had sparked something.
A reminder that she had never been someone who gave up.
Never been someone who accepted defeat without a fight.
The self-doubt wasn't gone. The questions still circled in her head, vultures waiting for weakness. But underneath them, something else was stirring. A flame that had been dampened but not extinguished.
She was Isla Bennett. She had survived medical school on stubbornness and black coffee. Had clawed her way through residency by refusing to accept that anything was impossible. Had built a reputation as the surgeon other surgeons called when no one else knew what to do.
The board might be afraid of her. The administration might want to sacrifice her. But she was not going to make it easy for them.
Maybe it was time to remember who she really was.
As she walked out of the restaurant into the afternoon sunlight, Isla felt something shift in her chest. Not hope, exactly. Not yet. But something like determination. A willingness to fight, even if she didn't know what the outcome would be.
She thought about Marianne, briefly. Wondered if she was watching the investigation unfold. Wondered if she regretted her choice. Wondered if she ever would.
Then she pushed the thought away. Marianne had made her decision. Now Isla had to make hers.
And she wasn't going to let fear decide for her.