The sterile scent of antiseptic always clung to Dr. Aryn, a perfume of her demanding life. Today, however, it was laced with the metallic tang of blood, thick and cloying. The steady, relentless beep of the monitor echoed in the operating room, a grim soundtrack to her deepest fears.

Seconds stretched into an eternity as she watched the focused eyes behind goggles, their intensity reflecting her own. Her hands, still gloved and stained crimson, felt cold, disconnected. This wasn't the first time they had changed to red, nor would it be the last. The dark stain reminded her of the ominous feeling that often accompanied the bitter taste of promise unfulfilled.

"I couldn't save him. I apologize."

The words, heavy with empathy, left her lips, yet they offered no solace. The family outside dissolved into an eternal loop of sorrow, their disbelief a tangible force. She walked past them, the weight of her profession pressing down. She had chosen this path, knowing death was inevitable, and so was the guilt that followed.

Later, driving through the rain-soaked streets of Georgia, her thoughts drifted to the letter lying untouched on her wooden table. Her parents' cryptic message, after twenty-three years of silence, had ignited a faint flame of curiosity, a desperate need to understand the past they had so cruelly abandoned. Now, the heavy rain outside mirrored the storm brewing within her, threatening to drown her in secrets.