I went down to the changing room to clean up and change my stained scrubs before heading to the Neurosurgery Department.
If I was going to face him, the least I could do was look like I knew what I was doing.
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above me as I buttoned up a fresh set of scrubs. I loosened my messy bun, let my hair fall for a second, then tied it back neatly. Then I grabbed the patient file and stepped out—only to run into Dr. Sink.
“You’re still here?” he demanded, his voice rising.
“My scrubs were stained. I had—”
“This isn’t a fashion show, Doctor.”
The nurses and residents nearby glanced at me, whispering behind their hands.
“Sure,” I murmured, biting back a sigh, and walked away toward the Neurosurgery Department.
The hallway seemed impossibly quiet, but my puls
