Rebirth Into My Second Chance

I woke up with the crack of dawn, buzzing with excitement. Max had mentioned a surgery for me to observe, and I knew these chances were few and far between.

As usual, I grabbed a piece of toast, barely giving the milk in the fridge a second glance. It had been days; it was definitely past its prime.

Just as I was about to take the milk downstairs to the trash, I bumped into Max stepping out of his apartment. The last thing I wanted was for him to see the expired milk - especially since it was a gift from him. I feared it might seem disrespectful, risking a poor evaluation at work or during our practical exams.

But his sharp eyes caught sight of it anyway. "It's gone bad. Get a new one," he said, his words always sparing but his actions generous, handing me a fresh bottle.

The sight of the new milk bottle puzzled me even more. If he wasn't part of the Hilton family, how did he always have a fresh supply?

"And did Claude give you this milk again?" I questioned, my curiosity piqued.

He coughed lightly. "Hmm," was his delayed reply.

I put on a weak smile. He could lie without a flinch.

"Because Claude claims he doesn't know a Max."

Another cough escaped him. "Used a pseudonym for Mr. Hart's business," he confessed, hardly making eye contact.

Before I could delve deeper, the elevator arrived. He stepped in first, hitting the button for the basement, while I pressed for the ground floor.

He didn't offer a ride, and I didn't ask. Our relationship wasn't there yet.

As I stepped out of the elevator, his parting words were, "Have a good breakfast."

I waved the milk bottle at him, a silent acknowledgement, and headed for the bus stop, leaving the luxury of an elevator ride behind.

At the bus stop, I handed the new milk bottle to an elderly man begging nearby, then boarded the bus.

The milk, like my feelings about Claude and Kate, was just a nuisance, better off handed off to someone else.

I caught a glimpse of Max's car driving past the bus. I hope he didn't see me give away the milk.

Upon reaching the hospital, Max

was already geared up for surgery. I quickly scrubbed in, joining him in the operating room where he was ready, scalpel in hand.

He didn't glance up, his voice cold, "Come and assist."

The sympathetic looks from the nurses made me even more nervous; this was my first hands-on experience with such a surgery.

Thankfully had reviewed the

Ses and images Max haThis content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

sent the night before. I had a rough understanding of the patient's condition.

Four hours into the surgery, Max hadn't moved at all. Now I understood why he insisted I have a hearty breakfast.

Feeling faint and sweating bullets, I realized the single piece of toast I had eaten just wasn't going to cut it.

But with everyone so focused, I clenched my teeth and persevered.

"We're just left with suturing. You can step out now," Max finally said, his voice not loud but unmistakable.

I saw the pity in the nurses' eyes. I must have been the first Max had ever asked to leave the OR.

"I can keep going," I insisted, my

pride not allowing me to step down, but without even a glance, he took the suture from my hand, commanding, "Out."

Reluctantly, I left, not straying far, leaning against the wall outside the OR, waiting for Max and the others to finish.

Throughout my time as his assistant, I hadn't made any noticeable mistakes. Why had Max asked me to leave?