Chapter 6
“CODE RED. CODE RED. DR. HILTON TO EMERGENCY.”
Olivia's butt barely touched her office chair when the loud voice boomed through the ceiling speakers. "Not now," she whispered, pushing herself up, regret in her blue and green eyes as she eyed her Starluxe coffee.
Today was particularly grueling. This morning, she had spent countless hours assisting Dr. Wilson, the expert neurosurgeon, who performed three separate surgeries, one of which was a complex spinal tumor removal that lasted five hours.
Her feet ached in her sensible shoes, and all she wanted was five minutes to sit down and drink the coffee that was now going cold on her desk.
The emergency department was two floors down, and even though the elevator would be faster, she took the stairs. Too many times she'd been stuck in a slow elevator during an emergency.
She practically sprinted through the hallway in an unladylike manner that would make Mrs. Hilton faint in horror if she saw her.
Slightly out of breath, the familiar chaos in the ER greeted her.
"What do we have?" she called out to Nurse Jessy, whose face lit up in an instant at the sight of her.
“Male patient. Estimated to be 20-25 years old. Motorcycle crash. He wasn't wearing a helmet when the accident happened and received a blow to the head.”
“May I see the CT scan results?”
Nurse Jessy handed her the clipboard. Olivia's expression shifted to intense concentration.
Her eyes briefly scanned the patient on the bed before shifting them back to the file in her hand.
She flipped through the pages and shook her head.
The results showed a fractured skull, with a portion of the skull pushed inward.
"Prep OR 1," she commanded, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded, considering this would be her first solo operation. Sure, the head neurosurgeon would be there, but she would be leading.
Her hands started to shake a little, but she stilled them. This young man's life depended on her now.
“I’ll get the team ready,” Nurse Jessy rushed to the door.
Less than ten minutes later, Olivia had scrubbed in. She was standing at the operating table. Dr. Wilson, the expert neurosurgeon, was behind her, ensuring the operation flowed smoothly.
“Stay focused. Remember, you're in control.” She repeated Dr. Wilson's words in her head like a mantra.
Olivia took a deep breath.
She could hear everything—the sounds of the operating room, the beeping of monitors, and even her own heartbeat. She was hyper-aware of every detail.
She was ready.
“Let’s begin.”
“Scalpel.”
The scrub nurse handed the instrument to her outstretched hand. This was it—the moment she had trained for.
Olivia made the initial incision. She took a good look at the damaged area, and before she knew it, her hands moved like they had minds of their own. She forgot everything in the world; all that mattered to her was saving the patient.
—
Olivia felt as if a massive thorn had been removed from her chest when she heard the steady beeping of the heart monitor.
The surgery was done. She had managed to save the man's life. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she stepped back from the operating table, letting the nurses begin their post-operation procedures.
She had stood there for two hours, but it felt like a day had passed. Yet she was happy.
Olivia scrubbed out before making her way out of the operating room. The young man's mother was pacing back and forth in the hallway, her eyes red from crying. When the mother saw her approaching, she jumped to her feet.
“H-how is m-my son?”
"Your son made it through the surgery. His condition is stable right now."
The mother collapsed against the hallway chair, sobbing. "Thank you… Thank you for saving him."
Later, in her office lounge, Olivia finally allowed herself to sit. Her untouched coffee from this morning was still on her desk, now completely cold.
Dr. Wilson burst through the door. "Well done, Dr. Hilton.” His voice carried a note of pride that made her throat tight. He had been her mentor ever since she started medicine. He was more of a parent to her than her adoptive parents, whom she'd lived with since she was fourteen.
“Thank you, Sir. That wouldn't have been possible without you.”
“I did nothing but watch. You've handled the surgery like a pro.” Dr. Wilson smiled, the kind of smile she had never received from her parents, even after being the best. “You’ve come a long way, Olivia. Today, you took a leap that many would hesitate to take.”
“I saw how you did the surgery, and I could tell. You're going to become a great doctor in no time. I bet you could even surpass me.” He added.
Olivia felt a little embarrassed by the praise. If this were her reward each time she performed surgery, she might just find herself chasing that feeling more often. The sense of accomplishment, the feeling of a father's pride toward a child—it made her crave opportunities to save lives.
Dr. Wilson pulled out a worn case. Inside was a stethoscope. "This was my father's. He passed it to me when I completed my first solo surgery, and now I'm passing it to you. It's been in my family for two generations of doctors."
"I... I can't accept this. This is too much. It should go to your children."
"I don't have any children in the medical field. They hated my profession because I had less time for them. You are now its rightful owner.” He replied, thrusting the gift into her hands, which she took with reluctance.
“I've watched you grow since you started medical school. You are like my child, Olivia… Maybe not by blood, but in every way that matters.”
Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking about all the times Dr. Wilson had been there—attending her parents' meetings and family activities when her adoptive parents couldn't be bothered.
Olivia stood up and did something she'd never done before—she hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered.
“You’re welcome… Always.” He ruffled her hair, then smiled. "Now, how about we get you some fresh coffee? That one's probably grown mold by now."
Olivia laughed, wiping away tears. “Let's go… This time it's my treat.”
—
Olivia had just returned from her coffee break. The first thing that greeted her when she entered the hospital was the commotion in the lobby. Nurses were gathered. She could hear their squeals and giggles while their eyes were fixed on something—or someone—she couldn't see.
She wondered if a celebrity had come to visit, something that often happened at the hospital. The thought of her rounds made her pull back and decide to return to the doctor's lounge.
Olivia!”
She stopped in her tracks. Deep, rich, and achingly familiar. It was a voice she hadn't heard in a long time.
She turned slowly, and there he stood—Clayton Bradford in his military uniform. No longer the carefree college graduate who'd kissed her lips so hard—six years wasn't enough to make her forget.
His shoulders were broader, his stance confident.
The years had carved away the softness of youth, leaving behind a jaw so perfect it might have been sculpted by the finest artist. There was now a small scar near his left eyebrow, but it didn't detract from his striking features.
Instead, it seemed to add to his appeal.
His hair, which used to be long, was now cut military-short, but his eyes—those penetrating eyes—were exactly as she remembered.
"Clayton," she whispered, but she couldn't move. She couldn't stop staring.
He cleared his throat and held out a bouquet of red and white roses. Her heart squeezed painfully as she took them. They were beautiful, but all she could think was that he had given them out of obligation because, probably, Mrs. Bradford had pestered him again.
"Thank you," she mumbled, hating how her fingers trembled as they brushed against his.
He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope. "Here. It's an invitation. For my birthday tomorrow."
Olivia stared at the envelope.
"Mom's been... persistent," Clayton continued, running a hand through his short hair. "She calls every day asking if I've invited you yet. Says it wouldn't be right to have the party without you there."
"I see," she said. The bitterness in her voice surprised her. She remembered all those nights she'd cried herself to sleep, waiting for letters that never came, hoping for calls that were never made.
"I should get back to work," she said, stepping back. "Thank you for the invitation. I'll... I'll check my schedule and see if I can attend."
"Olivia..." He called her name as though he wanted to say something but then shut himself up again.
"Dr. Hilton," she corrected him firmly. "It's Dr. Hilton now, Captain Bradford."
She saw some emotion flash across his face, an emotion she still failed to name even after half a decade.
"Right," he said stiffly. "Dr. Hilton. I apologize for taking up your time."
He turned to leave, his back straight and rigid. Just before he reached the door, he paused. "I... I hope you can make it."
Then he was gone, leaving her standing there with an armful of flowers and an invitation she wanted to tear to pieces.
Clayton had turned from a young man to a respected Captain.
He subdued foreign nationals who had hijacked a commercial aircraft and piloted the plane when the pilot got injured, saving 400 passengers from plummeting to their deaths.
He stopped a terrorist attack and saved an elderly man by protecting him with his body. Olivia remembered crying her eyes out that night, thinking he would die because of the extent of his injuries, but somehow he survived, and she thanked God every single day for it.
He's now different from the Clayton Bradford she used to know, but one thing remained the same, he was still the man who made her heart unable to let go.