Chapter 2: Public Shame, Private Scars

Eight months of hard work had finally paid off. I let out a shaky breath.

I thought about all the nights spent hunched over microscopes. The endless debates. The false starts. Every sacrifice suddenly felt worth it. My hands trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer relief of success.

"Everyone gets the night off. Go home, get some rest."

I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked with pride. The team erupted in laughter and cheers. Some even hugged each other. Maya grinned, eyes shining. Someone made a joke about finally seeing their families again.

"Dr. Parker, you should go home and rest too. You haven’t slept in five days, all for this experiment."

Maya’s concern was genuine. She hovered by the door, arms crossed. Giving me that look only a friend can give—the one that says, "You’re not invincible, you know."

I hesitated, feeling the ache in my bones. “It’s nothing.”

I waved her off, but my body ached with fatigue. I was running on adrenaline and stubbornness, the only things keeping me upright these days.

As I spoke, I changed out of my lab coat and into the suit I’d set aside for tonight.

The suit felt stiff, unfamiliar after days in scrubs and sneakers. I checked my reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror, smoothing my hair and straightening my tie. For a moment, I almost looked like the man Madeline fell in love with. Almost.

Tonight is the anniversary of the day Madeline and I got together. We swore we’d celebrate it every year.

The memory was bittersweet. Our first anniversary had been a whirlwind—champagne on the rooftop. Her arms around my neck as fireworks burst over the city. We’d made promises under the stars, laughing like nothing could ever touch us.

But last year, I missed it because of the experiment. She tried to hide it, but she was upset for a long time.

She’d tried to hide her disappointment, but I saw it in her eyes. I’d promised to make it up to her, swearing I’d never let work come first again. But science has a way of swallowing you whole.

This year, no matter what, I have to be with her. I can’t mess this up again.

I told myself this was my chance to make things right. To show her she still mattered more than any breakthrough. I’d even made dinner reservations at her favorite restaurant—the one with the rooftop view.

As soon as I finished getting dressed, I hurried out. But after only a few steps, my vision just... went black.

The world tilted. My knees buckled, and I felt the cold linoleum rush up to meet me. The last thing I heard was Maya shouting my name, her voice echoing down a long, dark tunnel.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The smell of antiseptic lingered, and there was an IV in my hand. The ceiling tiles were blurry.

The room was too bright. My mouth was dry, and the steady beep of the heart monitor made my head pound. I flexed my fingers, feeling the tug of the IV taped to my skin.

She leaned in, worry in her eyes. “Dr. Parker, are you feeling better?”

Maya was there, hair pulled back, worry etched deep into her face. She reached for my hand, squeezing it gently, her voice soft but insistent.

I knew right away—because I missed it again, Madeline was probably furious.

I could picture her pacing the foyer, checking her phone, anger simmering beneath the surface. I’d let her down again. The thought made my chest ache.

It’s fine, I told myself. I pulled out the needle, ready to go find her.

I winced as I yanked the IV free, blood dotted the white sheets. Maya tried to stop me, but I was already swinging my legs over the side of the bed, mind set on making it home.

The researcher anxiously grabbed me. “You need to stay in bed for at least two days!”

She blocked my way, arms outstretched. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes—she’d probably been sitting here for hours, waiting for me to wake up.

“I have something important I need to do tonight.”

My words came out sharper than I meant. This was my last chance to fix things with Madeline.

I brushed her hand away. I didn’t notice the bitterness and sympathy in her eyes as she withdrew.

She let her hand fall, biting her lip. There was a sadness there I didn’t want to think about—a quiet resignation that made me feel even more alone.

“Sir, the road ahead is blocked. We can’t get through. What should we do?”

The cab driver was craning his neck, peering through the windshield at a sea of red brake lights. Horns blared, and people milled around, umbrellas bobbing like jellyfish in the rain. I could see the frustration on his face—nobody was moving.

The driver hesitated, but I didn’t wait—I pushed open the car door.

The rain hit me like a slap, cold and relentless. My shoes sank into the muddy curb as I stepped out, determination pushing me forward. I barely heard the driver’s protest as I slammed the door behind me.

I’ll walk. I told myself I had no other choice.

I pulled my coat tighter, ducking my head as I started weaving through the crowd. Every step felt heavier, but I refused to turn back.

But after getting out, I realized there were even more people than I expected. I could barely move.

People pressed in from all sides—students, couples, photographers with their cameras ready. The air buzzed with anticipation. I pushed forward, muttering apologies as I squeezed past.

Why are there so many people? I wondered, frustration prickling beneath my skin.

My voice was lost in the din. I tried to peer over the heads in front of me, but all I saw were umbrellas and excited faces.

A young guy squeezed next to me and rolled his eyes. “At your age, what are you doing here for the fun?”

He looked about twenty, all swagger and bravado. He eyed my rumpled suit and tired face, smirking like he’d just spotted a stray dog at a country club. I could almost hear his silent laugh.

“Your face is so dried out you could be jerky. Miss Carter wouldn’t give you the time of day!”