Virago

Virago — a strong, brave, war-like woman.

A week had passed since the awkward silence and avoidance at the hospital, and my feelings remained a tangled mess. Dr. Avery continued to treat me with a cold professionalism that left me feeling invisible, and my attempts to address it had been met with dismissive responses.

It was a struggle to concentrate on my clinical work, but I forced myself to remain focused, determined not to let my emotions undermine my performance.

One particularly busy afternoon, the hospital was thrown into chaos when a multiple-car accident sent a flood of patients into the emergency room.

The entire staff was stretched to their limits, and the tension was palpable. In the midst of the crisis, I found myself working alongside Dr. Avery, our professional duties momentarily pushing aside the personal turmoil between us.

As we worked together to stabilize a critically injured patient, I couldn't help but notice the intensity of his focus, the way he commanded the room with an air of authority. Despite the tension between us, I had to admit that his skills were impressive.

"Pass me the scalpel," he ordered, his tone clipped but efficient.

I handed it to him, our fingers brushing briefly. For a split second, his eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of something—regret, perhaps?—before he turned his attention back to the patient.

After hours of intense work, the situation finally began to stabilize.

Exhausted but relieved, I took a moment to catch my breath in the break room. Stan found me there, concern etched on his face.

"You okay, Miyah? You look drained."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Just a tough day. How about you?"

"Surviving," he replied with a chuckle. "Hey, have you seen Chelle? She was supposed to help me with some post-op paperwork, but I haven't seen her since the chaos started."

Just as he spoke, Chelle burst into the room, her face flushed with excitement. "Guys, you won't believe what just happened!"

Stan and I exchanged curious glances. "What is it?" he asked.

"There's a new attending physician starting today, and she's... well, let's just say she's making quite an entrance."

Before we could probe further, the break room door swung open, and in walked a tall, striking woman with an air of confidence. Her presence commanded attention, and it was clear from the way she moved that she was someone to be reckoned with.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted us with a warm smile. "I'm Dr. Isabella Torres, the new attending. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

The room fell silent as we took in the unexpected arrival. Dr. Torres exuded charisma, her dark eyes sparkling with intelligence and a hint of mischief.

As she introduced herself to each of us, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. There was something about her that set my instincts on edge.

Over the next few days, it became apparent that Dr. Torres was not just an ordinary addition to the team. Her medical prowess was undeniably impressive, quickly earning her the admiration of many colleagues and patients alike. She handled complex cases with remarkable skill, often diagnosing conditions others had been missed and performing procedures with a precision that left even seasoned professionals in awe.

However, her arrival at the hospital wasn't without its complications.

Despite her talent, she was notoriously rude, her blunt demeanor and sharp tongue frequently cutting down those around her. She had a habit of interrupting colleagues mid-sentence, dismissing their opinions without a second thought, and berating nurses for the slightest mistake.

However, her arrival also seemed to stir up tension, particularly with Dr. Avery.