*”Autumn of Forgiveness”*
“Natasha, love, why are you doing this?! Let Dr. Evans handle her!” The nurse, Gemma, was practically breathless with worry as she hurried after the head of surgery—one of the best in the hospital.
“Gemma, prep the OR. We need blood for transfusion. And ring up Ben—I need him assisting,” Natasha threw over her shoulder without slowing down.
In the ER lay a woman—early thirties, dressed in black, one boot missing. Unconscious.
“Hit on a zebra crossing. Driver was plastered,” the paramedic briefed quickly. “BP’s dropping, suspected internal bleeding.”
“Get her to theatre—now!” Natasha commanded, and two orderlies whisked the stretcher away.
“Natalie! Nat!” A voice cracked behind her. She knew it instantly. James. Her ex-husband. The one who’d left her for *that* woman.
“Is it true?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Was it Sophie? Was it *her*?”
“James, we’re doing everything we can. Now—I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“*You*? *You’re* operating on her? No! I won’t allow it! You’ll kill her!” His voice shook more with fear than anger. Natasha motioned to Gemma, who slipped off to fetch a sedative.
When she walked into the OR, the murmurs died. She felt the stares. The judgment. But she didn’t flinch.
“Yes, it’s *that* woman. Yes, I’m operating. Because I’m a surgeon. One of the best in London. If anyone here doubts me, speak now. Otherwise—let’s work. Save her life. Understood?”
The surgery took three hours. Twice, Sophie’s stats nosedived. But Natasha fought—hard. And she pulled her through. Sophie would live.
*”A few days in ICU, good as new,”* she texted James, who was slumped outside the door.
“Natalie… Christ, I’m sorry. I’m a *wanker*. I’ll owe you forever—*forever*—” He clutched her hands, sobbing, knees buckling.
“Jamie… enough. It’s over. Go home. She won’t be awake yet. I’ll call if anything changes.”
Natasha brewed terrible instant coffee, slumped onto the lumpy staff sofa with a stale scone, and realised she was starving. Just as she shut her eyes, Gemma burst in.
“You’re an *angel*! I’m in *awe*! But *why*? Why save that witch? She wrecked your marriage—”
“Gem, I’m a doctor. Patient came in bleeding. As for the rest… James and I burned it down ourselves. Doubt I ever really loved him, truth be told.”
“You’re *saintly*, you are,” Gemma whispered, hugging her fiercely.
Days later, Sophie was discharged. James arrived with two bouquets—deep red roses and delicate wildflowers.
“These… these are for you, Nat. I remembered—”
“Shouldn’t have.” But she took them anyway.
“Natalie… forgive me. Thank you. For saving me…” Sophie couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“It’s done,” Natasha said softly. Mostly to herself.
Shift over. Home felt hollow. Instead, she wandered the city centre, playing her favourite game: guessing strangers’ jobs. Winner treated themselves to a coffee.
On a bench sat a man—trench coat, Rolex, briefcase. Solicitor? Definitely.
“Sorry—” She hadn’t meant to approach. “You’re not… a lawyer, by any chance?”
“Dead on,” he grinned. “And you, I’d wager, are a doctor?”
“How on earth—” She laughed, stunned.
“Surgeon, even. And your name’s… Natalie?”
“Hold on—*how*? Are you psychic?”
“Nope. Just literate. Your ID badge,” he chuckled. “I’m Oliver, by the way.”
“Well then, Oliver, you owe me *both* coffee *and* a pastry!”
For the first time in years, Natasha laughed—*properly*. Like her heart had forgotten joy and just remembered. Outside, autumn carried on. But inside? Spring.
