**The Autumn of Forgiveness**
“Dr. Eleanor Whitmore, why would you do this? Let Dr. Harrison take the case!” Nurse Emily’s voice trembled with worry as she struggled to keep pace with the head of surgery, a woman renowned as one of the finest in the hospital.
“Emily, prep the theatre. We need blood for transfusion. And get hold of James—I need him in surgery,” Eleanor commanded without breaking stride.
In the emergency room, a woman lay unconscious—thirtyish, dressed in black, one boot missing.
“Hit on a zebra crossing. Driver was plastered,” the paramedic reported briskly. “BP’s dropping, suspected internal bleeding.”
“Theatre. Now!” Eleanor snapped, and the gurney was wheeled away by two orderlies.
“Ellie! Ellie!” A frantic shout echoed behind her. She knew that voice. Steven. Her ex-husband. The man who had left her for *this* woman.
“Is it true?” He gripped her shoulders. “Was it Charlotte?”
“Steven, we’re doing everything we can. Now—I need to work.”
“*You’re* operating on her? No! I won’t allow it! You’ll kill her!” Fear, not fury, laced his words. Eleanor motioned to a nurse and ordered a sedative.
The moment she stepped into the theatre, conversation died. She felt their stares. Their judgment. But she didn’t falter.
“Yes, it’s *that* woman. And yes, *I’m* doing this surgery. Because I’m a surgeon. One of the best in this city. If anyone doubts I can handle it—speak now. Otherwise, we save her life. Understood?”
Three hours. Twice, the monitors flatlined. But Eleanor fought. And she won. Charlotte would live.
*Two days in ICU, good as new*, she texted Steven, who had slumped outside the doors.
“Ellie… God, I’m sorry. I’m a fool. I’ll owe you forever—” He clutched her hands, wept, sank to his knees.
“Steve… Enough. It’s over. Go home. She won’t be awake for hours. I’ll call if anything changes.”
Eleanor made instant coffee, collapsing onto the worn-out staff-room sofa with a pastry. Only when she closed her eyes did she realize how ravenous she was.
The door creaked open. Emily.
“You’re a *hero*. Bloody brilliant! But… *why?* After what that viper did—”
“Emily, I’m a doctor. She was bleeding. As for the rest… Steven and I destroyed *us*. I’m not even sure I ever truly loved him.”
“You’re a saint,” Emily whispered, hugging her tightly.
Days later, Charlotte was discharged. Steven arrived with two bouquets—deep red roses, and fragile wildflowers.
“For you, Ellie. I hadn’t forgotten—”
“You shouldn’t have.” But she took them anyway.
“Dr. Whitmore… Thank you. For saving me,” Charlotte murmured, unable to meet her eyes.
“It’s over,” Eleanor said softly. Mostly to herself.
Her shift ended. Home—empty, silent—held no appeal. Instead, she wandered the old city centre, playing her favourite game: guessing professions. Winner treated herself to coffee.
A man sat on a bench. Trench coat, expensive watch, briefcase. *Solicitor?* Probably.
“Excuse me…” She hadn’t realized she’d approached him. “You wouldn’t happen to be a barrister?”
“Spot on,” he grinned. “And I’d wager *you’re* a doctor?”
“How on earth—?” She laughed, startled.
“More than that—a surgeon. And your name is… Eleanor?”
“Christ, are you psychic?”
“No, just literate. Your ID badge is visible,” he chuckled. “Alexander, by the way.”
“Then you owe me *both* coffee *and* a croissant,” she shot back.
For the first time in years, Eleanor laughed—*really* laughed. As if her heart remembered joy. Outside, autumn raged. But inside her? Spring had come.
