JUNE’S POVI pushed open the doors to the hospital wing that morning, chest loose from the first step. Three years earlier the sharp antiseptic bite would've locked up my shoulders while I questioned every choice that brought me there, but none of that surfaced now. This was my final year in medical school.Every shift I worked, every study session I pushed past midnight, every setback I flipped into progress had shaped me into the person I caught in my reflection. Adrian had told me I looked strong during our call the week before—I laughed it off at the time—yet there in my white coat with my hair pulled back, I got exactly what he saw.I no longer walked as the woman who bolted a year earlier, or the one who stayed with Franklin for twenty full years, or the one who stepped aside from Luca because fear took over. I was just June. That felt solid enough.The patient was waiting inside Room 4.Mrs. Patterson, sixty-eight, with new shortness of breath, heavy fatigue, and spells of ches
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