Rebirth Into My Second Chance

At lunchtime, I headed to the cafeteria with some colleagues and from a distance, we spotted Max dining alone. It seemed like an invisible barrier surrounded him, leaving a few empty tables in his wake. Doctors passing by would offer polite greetings before choosing seats further away. One colleague nudged my shoulder, saying, "See? Your mentor's prestige in the hospital is undeniable. It's like he's off-limits to most, and here you are, up close and personal. We're all quite impressed. You're doing great."

Another chimed in with a giggle, "Dr. Hilton is so handsome. I've assisted him in surgeries and found myself stealing extra glances while mopping his brow. For some reason, even his sweat seemed to smell good."

This comment drew a playful rebuke from the first colleague, "That crush of yours got you transferred to another department by Dr. Hilton himself. Served you right."

"They say people with connections avoid becoming Dr. Hilton's students. Nobody wants to be reduced to tears after a surgery session with him."

Their banter continued as I absent-mindedly poked at my unappetizing meal. Coming from the Hart family had made my palate quite finicky over the years.

Just as I was lamenting the poor quality of the cafeteria food, I saw Claude's assistant, Neil, approaching with a lunch box in hand. Neil typically only ran errands for her, which made me frown in anticipation of the awkwardness to follow. Before I could refuse any special treatment, Neil was already by my side, respectfully handing me the insulated lunch box.

"Miss, Mrs. Hart has sent your lunch."

My colleagues gaped at me, their mouths full of food, stunned by the revelation of my family's attentiveness.

like royalty!" they managed to sputter out, choking down their surprise along

my casual white T-shirt and jeans with a

choosing to endure Dr. Hilton's rigorous

be whether my internship choice was influenced by

smiled, looking towards where Max had been seated, only to

remarked, "No need for this anymore;

change, but I could tell he knew I hadn't touched my cafeteria meal. He was too

gets too tough, she could arrange something else for you," he

Mrs. Hart's name. Claude was indeed behind this

box with my colleagues. Inside were all my favorites: lobster thermidor, roast chicken legs, grilled salmon,

had been just as caring until

kindness was just a public act, a way to keep up his image as a benefactor to the

cooking is