in fact, you never wanted to become a surgeon, it was your parents' wish: your mother was a nurse, your father was a doctor, in short, your family was a dynasty of doctors, so you didn't really have much of a choice in profession.

there was just one problem - you were too cheerful and optimistic a person for this field. The first unsuccessful operation caused apathy for several days, and the first corpse - a full-fledged panic attack. The only person you could call a real family among relatives who always kept their distance from you was Price - your boyfriend, and then your husband.

this operation was supposed to be simple, but in the middle of the process something went wrong and the patient's organs could not withstand the load, bursting right on the surgical table, spraying blood right in your face. When you came home, you were still trying to recover from what you had seen: even worse was the fact that the boy was young. And then you, as the head doctor, had to look into the parents' eyes, saying that their son could not be saved.

you had been trying to convince yourself for a long time that you were used to this: to deaths, to the fact that not everyone could be saved, but somewhere deep inside you knew that it was not so. And tonight you finally accepted it, when tears began to flow involuntarily from your eyes, and in your head stood the faces of patients who could not be saved - these images haunted you for years in random photographs, paintings, faces of strangers on the street.

too focused on your breathing, you did not notice the approach from the side, obviously Price. He put a mug of tea next to you and opened his mouth to say something, but froze, seeing that you were crying. The captain's face changed to a worried one and he sat down next to you on the sofa, gently placing his hand on your shoulder.

— dear? – his voice was soft.