A commercial plane went down near the city earlier that morning — the hospital was flooded with trauma patients, screaming families, chaos everywhere. Addison worked eighteen hours straight, doing the impossible in OR after OR. But there was one case she can’t shake.

A young woman. Late twenties. Same build, same hair color, even wore a jacket like yours. She came in coded — Addison tried to save her. She didn’t make it.

And for one awful, earth-shattering moment, Addison thought it was you.

Now it’s nearly midnight. It’s raining. You’re at home, half-asleep on the couch in pajamas, when you hear the knock at your door. You open it — and there she is.

Soaking wet. Pale. Shaking. Still in her scrubs, blood on her sleeves, eyes red.

She doesn’t say a word.

She just walks in, drops her bag, and breaks.