I brewed a cup of coffee before leaving — anything to calm my nerves.
By the time I got to the hospital, I felt a little more relaxed. The morning air was sharp with disinfectant and the hum of rushing footsteps. St. Martins Medical Center looked even larger now than when I'd been admitted days ago.
I was impressed. Grandfather really did his big one here.
Inside, nurses moved briskly behind wide reception desks, phones ringing nonstop. A nurse spotted me lingering near the counter.
"Are you one of the newly transferred employees?" she asked with a polite but clipped smile.
"Yes, I am."
"Please head to the auditorium. The orientation will begin soon."
"Hi, Maya!"
I turned and saw Roxanne Grey — a fellow resident from my previous hospital — waving at me. Her curls bounced as she approached, clutching a folder to her chest.
"Oh, hi," I said, relieved to see at least one familiar face.
She exhaled shakily. "I'm nervous. Everyone looks so serious here."
Before I could respond, a voice echoed through the hospital speakers:
"All doctors and nurses, please gather at the auditorium. The orientation will begin shortly."
"Let's go," I said.
I followed the crowd down a long corridor, Roxanne and a few nurses behind me.
"Is that the new Prada she's wearing?" one murmured.
"It must be a knockoff," another replied.
"She's loaded," Roxanne whispered under her breath.
I ignored the whispers but felt their stares crawl down my back. I'd been used to stares like that since Mom dressed me like I belonged in a fairytale when I was young.
I quickened my pace, hoping I wouldn't become a topic of gossip like at my last hospital. More reasons I didn't want people to know my grandfather owns this place. People judge before they even know you.
The auditorium was vast and brightly lit, filled with smartly dressed professionals. Some scrolled through their phones while others exchanged polite smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. The air buzzed with the quiet tension of competition.
We sat down as the Chief Medical Director gave a brief welcome. Shortly after, my grandfather, Professor Maxwell Martins, took the podium."
"Welcome to St. Martins Medical Center. You're not just joining the best hospital in the country — you're joining a family built on excellence, empathy, and precision."
Roxanne nudged me lightly. "Oh my God, that's August Sinclair," she whispered, eyes wide.
I froze.
Of course he was here.
The room stirred with excitement.
"I heard he's joining us too!" someone said behind me.
"He's so handsome in person."
Girl please, I rolled my eyes.
"Don't be deceived," another nurse chimed in. "He's strict. Always expect perfection in his department."
"Is he married?"
"I don't think so. Who would dare marry someone like him? You'd be thinking about him every five seconds."
"Am I wrong, Maya?" Roxanne asked playfully.
I forced a smile. "You said something?"
Before she could answer, the HR representative stepped forward with a clipboard.
"You'll collect your scrubs and lab coats at the registration desk after this briefing. Please ensure your ID cards and department tags are correct before leaving."
"About time," I muttered — anything to avoid more talk about August Sinclair.
The chatter dimmed as nurses began handing out folded scrubs.
"Martins, Maya," one of them called.
I stood and walked to the front. The nurse handed me a neatly folded set of scrubs with a plastic-wrapped ID badge on top.
"Welcome to St. Martins Hospital, Dr. Martins," she said.
I smiled faintly. "Thank you."
As I sat back down, I traced my fingers over my new badge — 'Dr. Maya Martins, Emergency Medicine'.
So far, so good, I thought.
But I should've known better. In hospitals like this, peace never lasts long.
"You can all go inside to meet Dr. Sink. You're under his supervision," the nurse said.
There were three of us.
"Can't you just think straight for once?!" Dr. Sink's voice thundered from inside before we could enter. Everyone froze.
A nurse came out moments later, teary-eyed and pale. She quickly wiped her eyes when she saw us.
"Go in," someone whispered.
We stepped inside his office quietly. Dr. Sink was in his mid-forties, with a stern face that looked like it hadn't smiled in years.
"Welcome to the Emergency Department," he began. "If you're here to lollygag around, you're in the wrong place. Every second counts here — one mistake could cost a life."
Before he could continue, a loud alert came through his pager.
"Ambulance incoming—trauma case!"
He looked up sharply. "Now move! Run to the ER like your life depends on it!"
We all bolted out of the office, following his long strides down the corridor.
"Thank goodness my hair's in a bun," I murmured as I ran down the hall.
Outside, an ambulance had already pulled up. Paramedics rushed a woman — maybe in her late fifties — onto a stretcher. Her skin was pale.
"No pulse! Possible cardiac arrest!" one of them shouted.
"Code Blue!" Dr. Sink barked. "Start compressions, now!"
Without thinking, I climbed onto the stretcher as they rolled her toward the trauma bay. My hands pressed down hard on her chest, counting in rhythm.
"One, two, three, four—come on, breathe!"
Sweat trickled down my temple as I continued the compressions.
"Keep going, Doctor!" someone yelled.
But I didn't need the reminder—I wasn't stopping until she came back.
The world went silent — just me and the patient. The stretcher sped down the hall, and I was on top of her, giving it everything I had.
Then — a faint pulse. She was back.
They rushed her into the emergency room, and the cases kept coming.
After four long hours of chaos, the woman's test results came back — brain tumor.
"Dr. Martins?" a nurse called.
"Yes?" I turned toward her.
"Dr. Sink said to take this file to the Neurosurgery Department." She extended a folder.
"Neurosurgery Department?"
"Yes. He said the new doctor, Dr. August Sinclair, should review her case."
"Okay," I whispered, suddenly weary.
I glanced at my reflection in the glass window — messy bun, scrubs stained with blood I hadn't even noticed until now.
It was already a long day — and the sun hadn't even set.
And now, after all this, I'm expected to face August Sinclair?
My pulse quickened. The universe really had a cruel sense of timing.
Somewhere down that hallway, behind a closed door, my worst memory wore a white coat.