Chapter 1 — Frozen Moment
Ariel
The room was cold—sterile in a way that felt more punishing than purposeful. This wasn’t the comforting coolness of freshly fallen snow but a biting chill that seeped into her bones, making her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Ariel Huxley Novak sat hunched in the corner of the on-call room, her legs tucked beneath her like a child hiding from the dark. Her trembling hands cradled a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold, the faint aroma a poor mask for the antiseptic smell clinging to her scrubs.
Her gaze drifted to her vintage medical satchel on the nearby table, its worn leather glinting faintly under the fluorescent lights that hummed incessantly overhead. The satchel’s brass buckles were undone as if mocking her, spilling out the weight of her mother’s legacy. It was a relic of a past she could never quite escape and a future she was certain she’d failed to uphold.
Her pager, silent now, lay discarded beside the bag. She had turned it off an hour ago, unable to bear its shrill, piercing cries. Her scrubs clung to her skin, wrinkled and damp with sweat. If she looked closely enough, she could still make out the faintest trace of blood near the hem.
Mrs. Carol Finch’s blood.
Ariel’s throat tightened as she closed her eyes, willing the images away. But like shadows cast by a relentless light, they refused to fade.
The room had been chaos—a whirlwind of sound and panic. Alarms screamed, monitors blared, voices barked orders that tangled in the air. The metallic tang of adrenaline coated her tongue. She had stood at the foot of the bed, syringe in hand, her grip trembling as though it carried the weight of the world.
“Dr. Novak, now!”
The attending’s sharp, commanding voice had sliced through her paralysis, forcing her hands to move. Her vision blurred, the numbers on the vial swimming before her eyes. She had checked them—or thought she had. But sweat dripped into her eyes, and her thoughts spiraled into a chaos louder than the alarms.
When the injection was done, silence descended. Not the silence of relief but a suffocating void that seemed to suck the air out of the room. The monitors flatlined. The shouting stilled. And Mrs. Finch lay motionless, her chest no longer rising.
“Time of death: 3:14 p.m.”
The words hit like a scalpel, precise and cutting. Ariel had stared down at her hands—shaking, traitorous things—as if they could explain themselves.
Mrs. Carol Finch. Sixty years old. Terminal cancer. The fighter, her chart had said. A mother of three, a grandmother of five.
A human being.
A memory surfaced unbidden, sharp as broken glass. Mrs. Finch had clasped Ariel’s hand during rounds just days before. “You remind me of my daughter,” she had said with a smile that defied the pain etched into her features. “She’s about your age—so determined, so kind. Thank you for taking the time to care.”
The image of her smile shattered against the memory of her family’s grief. Ariel saw Mrs. Finch’s daughter sobbing into her husband’s shoulder, her son pacing the hallway with curses muttered under his breath, and the youngest—a little girl no older than five—clutching a stuffed rabbit as she looked up with tear-streaked cheeks. “When is Grandma waking up?”
A bitter, acrid taste rose in Ariel’s throat. She wanted to scream, cry, run—anything to escape the weight pressing down on her chest. But she had stood there, stiff as a marble statue, because wasn’t that what doctors did? They bore the fallout. They didn’t let it break them.
Except now, hours later, the weight felt unbearable. It wasn’t just Mrs. Finch’s death crushing her—it was the stark certainty that she would never trust herself again.
A soft knock at the door startled her, jolting her back to the present. Her hands jerked, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She set it down hastily, her voice hoarse as she croaked, “Come in.”
The door creaked open to reveal Dr. Rebecca Lin. Sleek black hair swept into a no-nonsense bun. Sharp brown eyes softened by the faintest flicker of something—empathy, maybe. She stepped inside, her presence calm and steady, as though the chaos that consumed Ariel couldn’t touch her.
“How are you holding up?” Dr. Lin asked, her voice quiet but firm.
Ariel let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a ragged gasp. “I killed her.”
Dr. Lin didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush to contradict Ariel or smother her with hollow reassurances. Instead, she stepped closer, pulling a chair across from her and sitting down with quiet deliberation. “Tell me what happened.”
Ariel’s fingers fidgeted with the seam of her scrub pants, her throat tightening to the point of pain. What was the point of explaining? The damage was done. She’d already lost everything—her confidence, the respect of her colleagues, any hope of stepping out of her mother’s shadow.
“I miscalculated the dose,” she said finally, the words barely a whisper. “It was a stupid mistake. I—I thought I’d checked it, but I froze. I didn’t double-check, and by the time I realized…” Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. “I thought I was better than this. I thought I was precise. Focused. Her daughter. But I…”
The words crumbled into a sob.
“You’re human, Ariel,” Dr. Lin said after a long pause, her tone steady but not unkind. “Humans make mistakes. Even doctors. Even good ones.”
“She’s dead because of me,” Ariel said, her voice cracking.
“She was dying,” Dr. Lin countered gently but firmly. “Her cancer wasn’t your doing, and neither was her body’s decision to stop fighting. You were one thread in a web of factors.”
Ariel shook her head, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. “But I didn’t help her. And the worst part is… I don’t think I’ll ever trust myself again.”
Dr. Lin’s expression softened, a flicker of something raw passing across her face. “I understand what you’re feeling,” she said quietly. “I’ve been where you are. My first year in the field, I made a mistake that cost someone their career. That guilt—” She exhaled, the sound heavy. “It doesn’t go away. But it doesn’t have to define you.”
Ariel swallowed hard, the admission striking a chord she hadn’t expected. “What if I’m not strong enough?” she murmured.
Dr. Lin leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “Strength isn’t about never falling, Ariel. It’s about getting back up. And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
Ariel looked away, her vision blurring. “I don’t even know if I can keep doing this.”
“Then take tonight to rest,” Dr. Lin said, rising from her chair with a smooth grace. “But don’t let this moment consume you. You owe it to yourself to find out what comes next.”
At the door, she paused, looking back with a faint, enigmatic smile. “And speaking of what’s next… there’s an opportunity I’d like you to consider.”
“What kind of opportunity?” Ariel asked, frowning.
“The New York Blades need a new sports medicine doctor,” Dr. Lin said. “I recommended you.”
Ariel blinked, her mind struggling to process the words. “You what? Why?”
“Because you’re exactly what they need,” Dr. Lin said simply. “And maybe they’re what you need too.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving Ariel alone in the cold, sterile room. Alone with the weight of her failure—and the faintest glimmer of hope she didn’t dare trust.
