Chapter 2 The Strict Supervisor
[Freya]
Green Hospital's corridors buzzed with the familiar energy of morning shift change. Nurses hurried past with medication carts, residents clutched coffee cups like lifelines, and the overhead pages created a constant backdrop of controlled urgency.
I changed into fresh scrubs and pulled my hair back into a neat ponytail, checking my reflection in the small locker mirror. Professional. Composed. No one could see the exhaustion or the worry that gnawed at my insides.
"Freya!" Nancy's cheerful voice called as I entered the nurses' station. She'd been at Green for thirty years and somehow still managed to smile at 6 AM. Her gray hair was pulled into its usual practical bun, and she held out a small container toward me.
"Brought you some homemade muffins," she said with a warm smile. "Blueberry. And there's a thermos of real coffee—none of that hospital swill."
"Thank you, Nancy," I said, taking the container with genuine appreciation. The smell of fresh baking made my stomach growl embarrassingly.
She smiled, watching me with motherly concern. "You've gotten so thin lately. I know you girls are always watching your weight, but you're already gorgeous with those long slim legs. No need to be skipping meals."
I managed a weak smile, not bothering to correct her assumption that my weight loss was intentional rather than the result of stress, insomnia, and a home life I couldn't begin to explain. "The muffins smell amazing. You're too good to me."
"You know," Nancy said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "my nephew just moved to Harmonia. He's a physical therapist, very handsome, and—"
"Nancy..." I started, already feeling my cheeks warm.
"Just hear me out," she insisted, reaching for her phone. "He's smart, stable job, owns his condo. I showed him your picture from the staff holiday party and he thought you were beautiful. Let me show you his profile—"
"Is this a hospital or a dating service?"
Dr. Salvatore's cool voice cut through our conversation like a scalpel. I nearly jumped, my face burning as I turned to find him standing directly behind us, his expression unreadable. He'd appeared behind us without making a sound—he always did that, moved through the hospital like he was walking on air.
"These patient files won't review themselves," he continued, his gaze flicking between Nancy's phone and my flushed face. "I suggest less time on social media and more time on medicine."
Nancy quickly tucked her phone away. "Just a moment of girl talk, Dr. Salvatore. Won't happen again."
"Dr. Harper," he said, ignoring Nancy's explanation, "I need you to review Mrs. Patterson's post-op notes from yesterday. There are some inconsistencies that need clarification."
"Of course, Dr. Salvatore. I'll pull the file now."
The intensity of his gaze made my pulse quicken. Then he moved on, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive cologne that lingered in the air long after he'd gone.
"I'll tell you about him later," Nancy whispered with a wink before bustling off to check on her patients.
I gave her a noncommittal nod, already dismissing the idea. Dating was the absolute last thing I needed right now. My life was already a pressure cooker of hospital shifts, my mother's addiction, mounting bills, and the constant fear of failure. I couldn't imagine dragging someone else into that mess.
The morning flew by in the usual chaos of patient rounds, medication reviews, and documentation. I managed to avoid any major mistakes, though I caught myself double-checking everything with paranoid precision. The last thing I needed was to give Dr. Salvatore another reason to notice me—for the wrong reasons.
But of course, the very thing I dreaded most happened anyway. Dr. Salvatore appeared beside me, his presence materializing like a summons I couldn't escape.
"Dr. Harper, I need to speak with you. My office. Now."
My stomach dropped. I followed him down the corridor, my mind racing through every patient interaction, every chart entry, every possible mistake I might have made.
His office was immaculate, organized, with diplomas and medical journals arranged with military precision. He gestured for me to sit while he remained standing, hands clasped behind his back.
"Your performance this week has been concerning," he said without preamble, his voice clipped and professional. "Three documentation errors, delayed patient rounds yesterday, and now you're showing visible signs of fatigue that could compromise patient safety."
I straightened in my chair, trying to project alertness I didn't feel. "I apologize, Dr. Salvatore. It won't happen again."
"Won't it?" His blue eyes fixed on me with laser focus. "Because this is a pattern, Dr. Harper. Your attention to detail has declined significantly over the past two weeks."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I understand your concerns—"
"Do you?" He moved to stand behind his desk, his presence commanding even from across the room. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you're treating this residency as optional. As something you can coast through when you're feeling up to it."
The accusation stung because it was so far from the truth. This residency was everything to me—my future, my career, the only way I'd ever be able to dig us out of the financial hole Mom had created.
"That's not true," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
"Then prove it." His tone brooked no argument. "Is this about your personal life? Looking for a relationship instead of focusing on medicine?"
I felt my face flush with embarrassment and indignation. "No, that's not—"
"I expect your documentation to be flawless. Your patient care to be exemplary. Your focus to be absolute. If you can't meet those standards, you don't belong in my program." He leaned forward slightly. "Your mind needs to be here, Dr. Harper. Not on dating or whatever else is distracting you."
The threat hung in the air between us. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, my fingers nervously finding the star pendant at my neck.
"Review all your cases from this week and submit corrected documentation by tomorrow morning. And Dr. Harper?" He sat down, already reaching for another file, dismissing me. "Get more sleep. Whatever is keeping you up at night isn't worth your medical career."
I escaped his office on unsteady legs, my heart hammering. It was suffocating—the way he could switch from gentle compassion with patients to ruthless scrutiny with me. His intense focus made me feel like I was constantly under a microscope, struggling for air while he catalogued my every flaw.
Though I had to admit, when Dr. John Martinez from the ER had cornered me last week with his wandering hands and crude suggestions, Dr. Salvatore had appeared out of nowhere and literally growled at the man—a sound I'd never heard a human throat make. Martinez had fled so fast he'd nearly tripped over his own feet.
The rest of my shift passed in a blur. By the time I clocked out at 6 PM, exhaustion was weighing on me like a physical force.
I unlocked the front door, anxiety gnawing at my stomach. "Mom, I'm home!" I called out.
"Mom, I'm home!" I called as I unlocked the door.
Silence.
The house felt different somehow—too quiet, too still. Mom's coffee cup sat unwashed in the sink, and her morning newspaper was folded neatly on the table, unread.
"Mom?" I checked the bedroom, then the bathroom. Empty.
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, chewing my lower lip as it rang.
"Hey, sweetie," she answered after the fourth ring, her voice sounding distant.
"Where are you? I thought you'd be home."
"Still at work. Got asked to cover an extra shift. The money's good, couldn't say no." There was something off about her tone, but I couldn't place it.
"Oh. Okay. When will you be back?"
"Not sure. Don't wait up."
As the hours ticked by, worry began to creep in. By 9 PM, I was pacing the small house, checking my phone every few minutes.
At 10:30, she finally came home.
"Hey, sweetheart," she said, but something was off. Her eyes were bright in a way that had nothing to do with happiness.