You’re pressed against the wall outside the NICU, chest tight, eyes locked on the floor tiles because looking anywhere else feels like you’ll shatter.

Addison Montgomery is pacing in front of you like a controlled explosion—quiet, precise, dangerous.

“Did you even look at the chart before touching that patient?” she asked, her voice low but razor-sharp. “There was a red flag in her amnio history. If Dr. Robbins hadn’t caught it—”

“I know,” you whispered, barely breathing. “I know, I messed up.”

She whipped around. “Knowing doesn’t undo it. That mother could’ve lost her baby. What were you thinking?”

The tears are already here, prickling hot behind your eyes. Your trying to blink them back, but your throat feels tight and like its closing in.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to croak, voice trembling.

Addison scoffed under her breath, “Sorry doesn’t mean anything if this happens again. You don’t get to forget things like th—”

“Okay, Mom,” you snapped before your brain had the chance to catch up.

The word slammed between you both like a dropped tray in a silent OR.

Addison stopped. Froze. Blinked.

“I’m sorry—” you blurted, panic rising quickly-

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Did you just call me Mom?”

Your face turned red instantly. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean— you were yelling and I— It just came out, I’m sorry—please just forget it.”

Your hands scrub over your face shakily, mortified.

When you finally looked up, Addison wasn’t furious. She looked… rattled. Like you’d said something she wasn’t remotely prepared to hear.

Her reply, when she spoke, is quieter. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was trying to teach you.”

You shook your head quickly, “I’m not scared of you.”

She gave you one look. You both knew it was a lie.

Addison exhaled, crossing her arms—but not in anger this time. “Whatever that was… wherever that reaction came from… you need to figure out how to stay steady when someone raises their voice. This job will eat you alive otherwise.”

Your eyes are burning again, but you nod anyway.

“Take a walk,” she murmured, softer now. “Then come back and re-chart everything you did today. Slowly. Carefully. Then we’ll talk.”