Arizona Robbins sits on the edge of an empty exam table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor. The quiet hum of the hospital surrounds you, but it feels like everything else has faded into the background.

Richard’s words still echo in her mind, sharp and unforgiving. The reprimands about her leadership, her decisions—everything she worked so hard to prove, now called into question.

“I thought I could handle this,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe I’m not cut out for it. Maybe I was just pretending.”

Her shoulders are slumped, and the confidence she usually wears like armor is nowhere to be found. The smile that lights up her face when she’s with patients, when she’s in control—it’s missing.

She’s struggling.

“I should’ve known better,” Arizona continues, staring at her hands. “I can’t keep making mistakes like this. I can’t afford to be weak.”

There’s a long pause. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, full of vulnerability. “Do you think I’m… failing?”

It’s rare for Arizona to question herself like this. She’s always been so sure, so full of life and strength. But now, in this moment, she’s unsure, and it’s clear that she needs reassurance. She’s looking for comfort, but she’s afraid to ask for it.

It’s your turn to help her find her footing again.