The fluorescent lights buzzed gently overhead as Rose Cruz stepped into Operating Room 3, already masked. She just wore her gloves and dressed up . The monitors beeped a quiet rhythm in the background like a second pulse under her skin. Around her, the surgical team prepped in silence, a calm before the storm of focus and pressure.
She didn't need introductions. Everyone here knew her—fifth-year neurosurgery resident, top of her class, fierce, meticulous, unshakable. She had one rule: excellence above all. Mistakes were not an option.
The lead surgeon followed behind and was assisted with his gloves , and every other thing by one of the team members.
"We have a 32-year-old male with a ruptured AVM," Dr. Ellman, the lead surgeon, announced from across the table. "Cruz, you'll assist."
Rose nodded, already scanning the imaging displayed on the overhead monitor. Her fingers twitched slightly in her gloves, not out of nerves but muscle memory.
The moment the scalpel met skin, she tuned out the world. This was her sanctuary—a place where chaos was silenced by control, where precision reigned. Outside these sterile walls, life was messy, uncertain. But here, she knew who she was.
Two hours later, the patient was stable, the procedure a success. Applause erupted faintly from the observing interns. Dr. Ellman clapped her on the shoulder.
"That was flawless, Cruz. You're shaping up to be one of the best I've ever taught."
"Thank you, sir," she said, pulling off her gloves.
She didn't even smile in praise. Instead, she slipped into the locker room, washed her face in cold water, and tied her hair back again with a tighter grip. Her reflection stared back at her with tired, dark eyes. She checked her phone.
It was a text from Isabella
Can I go to Dana's tonight? She's having a horror movie thing. Dad said ask you.
Another text followed,
Also, Dad's acting weird. Like really weird. I think something's wrong but he won't talk about it.
Rose smiled at the screen, letting out a soft laugh. Her younger sister was dramatic, but rarely wrong.
So she sent her a reply,
Yes, but no scary movies after midnight. Take your meds with you. I'll talk to Dad.
Then another text from Isabella
Love you, boss lady doctor.
Rose just gave a slight smirk. She wasn't always the lovey dovey Infront of her sister . But her sister was her whole world. She loves her so much.
The early evening air hit her like a balm as she stepped out of City General Hospital. The sun had begun its descent. Her feet ached in her flats, and her shoulders sagged under her long white coat, but she welcomed the fatigue. It was a familiar weight.
She stopped at a small café on the way home, ordering her usual chamomile tea. As she waited, her phone buzzed again.
It was a text from her mother.
Are you coming home for dinner?
Rose gave a reply,
Thinking about it. Why?
Her mom replied,
Nothing darling. Your father and I just miss you. It's been long.
That text made her pause. Her parents rarely asked for her. Did they suddenly develop so much love for her overnight.
The Cruz family home stood quietly at the edge of the city—a modest two-story structure with cream-colored walls and a garden that had seen better days. Rose unlocked the front door and was greeted by the faint scent of garlic and rosemary.
Her mother stood at the gas plate stirring soup. She smiled when she saw Rose, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"There's arroz caldo and fresh bread," she said.
"Smells amazing," Rose replied. "Where's Dad?"
"In the study."
Rose walked to the back of the house where the study door was slightly ajar. She could hear the soft creak of the leather chair and hushed muttering.
"We can't stall much longer," her father was saying. "The deadlines are coming up."
A pause.
"Yes. I understand. I'll call back."
She tapped the door gently. Emilio Cruz looked up, startled.
"You're home dear," he said.
"Yeah. Mom said you both missed me. But I know something's up. So what's it .?"
"Nothing darling, we just missed you. Come in let's talk about how work has been he said smiling."
His smile was tired. Paperwork was scattered across his desk, some of it stained with coffee. A spreadsheet blinked on the monitor behind him, rows of red cells stark against a sea of numbers.
Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.
Rose glanced between her parents. Her mother barely touched her soup, and her father seemed lost in thought. When she asked about work, her father mumbled something about restructuring. When she asked about her mother's gardening club, she just smiled vaguely and changed the topic.
It was Isabella who broke the tension.
"So... what's with the funeral energy?" she asked.
"Bella!," her mother said sharply.
"What? Someone had to say it."
Rose couldn't help but laugh. " I've always loved you for your damn honest attitude and sharp mouth." She said in-between her laughs But the laugh didn't last.
"Seriously," Rose said, setting down her spoon. "What's going on with you two? You've been off for sometime now. Dad's barely around. Mom's avoiding my questions. Did someone die and forget to tell us?"
Silence.
Her parents exchanged a glance.
"It's nothing you need to worry about," her father said.
"Don't do that. Don't lie to me like I'm some stranger who wandered off the street."
Her mom opened her mouth, then closed it.
Isabella, confused, looked fro
m one adult to another.
Rose stood, arms crossed. "Dad. Are we bankrupt?"
Her father went completely still.