The Surgeon’s Scars: Running From My Past

The soup arrived, steaming and fragrant. Adria took a small sip, the warmth spreading through her chest, momentarily easing the knot in her stomach. It was a small mercy in a room full of knives.

Campbell, sensing she was losing the center of gravity, decided to reclaim it. She turned to Ollie, her voice pitched to carry.

"So, Ollie, did you hear? I'm finally going on the Hansen ski trip this year." She beamed, resting her chin on her hand. "Mrs. Hansen practically insisted."

Ollie looked at Damon, sweat beading on his forehead. "Uh, right. Yeah. If... if Damon is cool with it."

"Of course he is," Campbell laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "I'm practically family now. Six years is a long time, right, Damon?"

Adria felt the blood drain from her face. Six years. She had been gone six years. Campbell had been there for six years. It sounded like a marriage in all but name.

Zack, trying to diffuse the bomb ticking in the center of the table, turned to Adria. "So, Adria. How long are you back for? Are you heading back to Boston after this?"

The table went quiet. Even the silverware noises seemed to dampen.

Damon didn't move, but Adria saw his hand-the one wrapped in the bloody napkin-tighten around his wine glass. His knuckles were white. He was listening.

Adria set her spoon down. She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, buying herself a second. She needed to end this. She needed to sever the tie before she suffocated.

"I'm not going back to Boston," she said. Her voice was steady, surprisingly so. "And I'm not staying in D.C."

Damon's head snapped up. For a fraction of a second, there was something in his eyes-hope? Vulnerability? It was gone so fast she thought she imagined it.

"I've accepted a position at Nanxi Affiliated Hospital," Adria said, looking at the centerpiece of white roses. "In the trauma center."

Damon's eyes went wide. The hope vanished, replaced by a shock that quickly curdled into fury.

Campbell let out a scoff. "Nanxi City? God, that's literally across the country. You really want to get away, don't you?"

"Nanxi City?" Damon's voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the table.

Adria forced herself to meet his gaze. It was like looking into a storm. "Yes. They have one of the best trauma teams in the nation."

Damon let out a short, harsh laugh. He leaned forward, his large frame casting a shadow over her. "Is it for the job, Adria? Or are you just running away again? That's what you do best, isn't it?"

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. Running away. If only he knew. If only he knew she had crawled away to save her life.

"I'm starting over, Damon," she said quietly.

"Starting over," he repeated, tasting the words like poison. "Is that what you call it?"

The air was too thin. The walls were closing in. Adria couldn't do this. Not here. Not with Campbell hanging on him, not with the memory of the baby she lost screaming in her head.

She stood up abruptly. Her chair scraped loudly against the parquet floor, a harsh, ugly sound that drew eyes from neighboring tables.

"Excuse me," she said, clutching her purse. "I'm not feeling well."

She didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor. She didn't run, but it was close.

Damon started to rise, his chair tipping back.

"Damon, don't," Campbell hissed, grabbing his arm with both hands. "The press is watching. Don't you dare leave me here."

Damon looked down at her hands on his arm. His face twisted in revulsion. "Get off me."

He ripped his arm away, but the moment was lost. Adria was already through the double doors.

Damon stood there, chest heaving. He yanked at his bowtie, loosening it as if it were a noose. He pulled his phone from his pocket, ignoring the stares of the entire room.

Outside, the night air hit Adria's face, cold and biting. She shivered violently.

Goodbye, she thought, looking back at the glowing windows of the estate. Goodbye to all of it.

Adonis came jogging out the front door. "Adria! Wait! Are you okay?"

She shook her head, tears finally spilling over. "Get me a car, Adonis. Please. I need to leave. Now."

Up on the terrace, hidden by the shadows of a pillar, Damon watched her get into the black sedan. His face was unreadable, a mask of stone. He pressed the phone to his ear.

"It's me," he said to his assistant. "Find out her flight number. Now."