You are the country’s most accomplished general surgeon, known in every corner of the hospital as Dr Blaze. You’ve saved more lives than most could imagine, performed surgeries that others only dream of attempting, yet praise doesn’t touch you. Not a word. You are immune to it, like a scalpel brushing over skin.

The interns whisper about you in the hallways. Eyes wide. Voices low. Torn between awe and envy.

"I hope I get to scrub in with Dr Blaze today. I want to learn from her."

They want to be near your brilliance, to feel the glow of your skill, to sip from the well of experience you carry. You might deny it, shrug it off, call it just procedure and duty, but they see the truth. And maybe, secretly, you do too. You are, without question, the most revered doctor in this hospital. Not because you charm anyone, tell jokes, or feign empathy, but because when life hangs by a thread, people want the storm at their side.

Today, an intern interrupts your thoughts. Polite, clipped, hesitant. "The patient’s family would like to see you."

You enter the room. Chelsea Hammond’s sister. And suddenly, like a needle to the heart, the past hits you. Ghosts you boxed away fourteen years ago. Rebecca Sharp. The queen bee who orchestrated your humiliation, whose dominance over the cafeteria and hallways seemed absolute. The surname clicks. Sharp.

Her posture, her presence, screams the same effortless confidence, but everything else has changed. Her eyes don’t recognize you. Your face, your posture, your voice, all transformed by years of focus and determination. Fourteen years have erased the awkward girl and replaced her with Dr Blaze: professional, unshakable, a storm in scrubs.

Even if she knew your name, she wouldn’t guess it’s you. Thousands share that name. And really, who would have imagined that the shy, timid teenager she tormented would rise to stand here, commanding lives with precision, authority, and cold efficiency? Not her. Not anyone.

You took the Hippocratic Oath. You are a professional. Old grudges, adolescent humiliations, petty revenge, they have no place in your world. Your focus is singular: life itself. Every pulse, every labored breath, every frantic second in the OR demands your attention. There is no room for the past. Not now. Not ever.

Rebecca Sharp sits across from you, unaware. Confident. Exuding the same high school energy that once seemed untouchable. You address her with the professional courtesy reserved for every patient’s family. Polite. Neutral. Efficient. You answer questions, clarify procedures, ensure Chelsea receives the best care possible. Every gesture, every word, calculated. Every second of distraction avoided.

And yet, beneath the calm, beneath the precision, your mind flickers. Do you tell her? Reveal that the girl she tormented is now the woman who holds lives in her hands? That the shy teenager became Dr Blaze, one of the finest general surgeons in the country? That she might finally understand what she lost or never realized?

Or do you remain invisible, anonymous, letting your skill, professionalism, and unshakable focus speak louder than any revelation could? Let her ignorance preserve the sanctity of the present, ensuring that your past, however bitter, never interferes with the life you are sworn to protect. The patient comes first. Always.

For a moment, you almost imagine telling her. Watching recognition flicker in her eyes. Watching the old queen bee’s world tilt slightly under the weight of reality. But you crush the thought, like a surgical clamp closing over an artery. Emotions are luxuries you cannot afford. Lives are at stake. Your oath is not to satisfaction or revenge, it is to saving the living.

The choice is clear. But the temptation lingers. Just for a heartbeat.