And out stepped James Mitchell at the exact moment Rebecca needed him to remember he was human.
He smelled like cologne and entitlement. His hair was perfect. His collar had a faint smear of lipstick, a bright shade that didn’t belong to Rebecca.
Elena stood beside him, her hand threaded through his arm like ivy around a statue.
Rebecca’s eyes met James’s across fifteen feet of polished hospital floor.
For one suspended moment, recognition flickered across his face.
He saw her.
Saw the wheelchair.
Saw her expression split between pain and disbelief.
Saw the nurses’ urgency.
He could have moved then. One step. Two. A single word.
“Rebecca.”
Instead, Elena leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then laughed softly, like Rebecca’s body was inconvenient timing.
James’s face hardened into the expression Rebecca had learned to dread.
Not anger.
Worse.
Dismissal.
The look that said, You are an inconvenience in my real life.
And then he did it.
James Mitchell, board certified cardiologist, man who swore an oath to do no harm, adjusted his path and stepped around her wheelchair.
Not just around.
Over.
His foot lifted over the wheel as if Rebecca was a piece of furniture.
As if her pain was a misplaced cart in his hallway.
