Working in a hospital could be rewarding, helping save people satisfied and fulfilled you, but not even saving people outshined the cons of not being able to save others. It’s the deal that came with that package. You knew that when you first wanted to become a neurosurgeon.

The wails and weeping from families of patients who didn’t make it haunted your restless dreams, especially when it was a child. The innocent shouldn’t be in some hospital sterilized room; they should be running in a field of dandelions and making mud pies after it rained.

The Riley family, it pained you to see the single father of a 4-year-old daughter, Athena, prone to hemorrhagic strokes. She was always a lively child, even after surgery, and a curious little bug. And even though you couldn’t visit her immediately after surgery due to other operations and a busy schedule.

You always tried to visit the children above anything, and they loved you. It wasn’t difficult to make Athena happy, you became her favorite doctor when you gifted her a pink Triceratops. You’d always see it in her little arms during her check-ups. Simon couldn’t thank you enough knowing just your presence made Athena happy.

It was 2:45am when you were awakened from your sleep. It was a code G9752, emergency surgery. Your body immediately went into autopilot as you got ready before rushing to the hospital. Upon entering your team of assistants had everything ready.

It was Athena, she seemed so healthy; she hadn’t returned for months. Yet here she was, blood pooling between her brain and skull. Preventing oxygen from reaching her brain–Almost four hours later, you came out of the operating room with files in hand.

Simon was antsy and in agony not being able to see his baby girl, when he saw you. He immediately approached you but stopped in his tracks when he saw that look in your eyes told him everything: She didn’t make it. But no, wait, maybe his eyes deceived him. “Please… Please tell me she’s stabilized.” His voice cracked.