Dear Ex Wife Please take me back by The Every Woman

Chapter 90 ~ Critical

ATHENA

Isabelle's lips curl into a small but encouraging smile.

"Alright. I'll be there. But you, Dr. Dawson will be the one leading the operation."

My stomach drops at the thought.

"Lead? But I'm not ready for this. This is a complex case. I don't think-"

She raises a hand, cutting me off. "Listen. I know what you're thinking, but you've been trained for this moment. You know the procedures, the protocols, and the risks. You're ready. Don't let your doubts cloud your skills. I'll be there every step of the way, ready to back you up if needed. But you've got this. Believe in yourself."

I swallow hard, trying to push down the anxiety that's rising like a tidal wave in my chest. My palms feel clammy as I grip the file in my hands tighter.

"You can do this, Athena," Isabelle continues, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'm sure you've been through worse. This is no different. You've got the knowledge, and more importantly, you've got the heart. I'll be right behind you."

Her words give me a sliver of confidence, even though it's hard to shake the weight of Leah's words that felt like a trap. I'm slowly starting to get ready for this, and yet, somehow, my mind shifts into something more positive.

Mum and Dad, are you watching me from heaven?

Are you proud of me?

I'm about to walk into an operating room as the lead surgeon.

remembering everything I've learned, every drill, every textbook, every piece of advice drilled into me by mentors

can see you agree with me that you can do this!" Isabelle gives me a brief nod and stands. "I'll meet you at 4. Get ready. This is

and sterile, and the hum of the machines sends a thrill

wash. The familiar scent of antiseptic does little

my side as we prepare. She's been walking me through everything, reminding me to stay calm, breathe, and take it one step

table, my eyes flickering over the sterile drapes that cover the patient.

It's my turn.

deep breath, I make the

afford mistakes. I glance at Isabelle

steady myself, placing the scalpel carefully. The tissue yields under

smooth cut.

hands aren't

like the world

my ears as I work.Dgo step-by-step, fixing the arrhythmia, and repairing

as I guide the sutures in thread after thread until the heart is

sigh of relief. We're not

peering over my shoulder. "Good work," she

and I realize she's right. I've done it. I've led the surgery. For once, the weight of expectation doesn't feel like a burden. It feels like responsibility,

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is a success. I stand at the foot of the bed, watching the