Chapter 2: The Weight of Dreams

The break room at Elrond Medical Hospital was a strange mix of chaos and exhaustion. The fluorescent lights flickered, buzzing faintly above the worn-out couches and cluttered tables. A half-empty pot of stale coffee sat on the counter next to stacks of patient files and abandoned snack wrappers. Interns slumped in chairs, some half-dozing, others trading war stories from their endless shifts. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air — a constant reminder that even here, the hospital never truly left them.

Isla sat in the corner, her back pressed against the cold wall, phone gripped tightly in her hand. Her legs felt like lead, her mind sluggish after yet another 48-hour shift. She stared at the notification on her screen, the words swimming before her eyes. The break room noise faded into a distant hum.

Congratulations, you have been accepted into the Aurora General Hospital Residency Program.

Aurora General Hospital. The hospital she had dreamed of since medical school. The hospital where the best of the best trained. Where her mother had made her name.

Her hands shook as she read the message again — and again — as if the words might change. She felt dazed, her breath shallow. After years of struggle, after months of self-doubt, it didn't seem real. The room spun, her exhaustion warping the edges of reality.

"Isla? Hellooo? Earth to Isla!"

Sofia's bright, sing-song voice snapped her out of it. Isla blinked up at her best friend, who stood over her, blonde curls bouncing, blue eyes sparkling with the energy Isla hadn't felt in months. Even in the unflattering scrubs and after a long shift, Sofia looked radiant — the kind of person who turned heads without trying.

"You okay?" Sofia asked, cocking her head. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I... I think I got in," Isla whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Sofia's eyes widened. "What?! Got in where?"

"Aurora..." Isla's throat tightened. "Aurora General."

For a second, Sofia just stared. Then she let out an ear-piercing squeal and launched herself at Isla, nearly knocking the phone out of her hands. "Oh my GOD, Isla! You did it! I knew you would!"

Isla let herself be hugged, but her limbs felt too heavy to lift. The reality still hadn't sunk in. She let Sofia's words wash over her, tried to absorb the warmth in them. Maybe, just maybe, she could believe it.

"You're gonna be amazing," Sofia said, pulling back with a grin. "I always told you, you're way better than you think."

The words should have felt comforting. But all Isla could think was that they sounded too much like hope — and hope had betrayed her too many times before.

Later, when she finally got home — a small, cramped studio apartment with barely enough space for her textbooks and bed — Isla sat on the edge of the mattress, the phone still in her hand. She refreshed the page, the screen flickering.

Accepted.

It hit her then, like a tidal wave. The fear, the relief, the crushing weight of everything she had worked for. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She had made it. After everything, she had finally made it.

Her fingers hovered over her contacts before she tapped the number she rarely called. The line rang three times before a familiar voice answered.

"Alicia Vega speaking. I'm busy — make it quick."

"Mom… it's me," Isla said, her voice trembling. "I… I did it. I got into Aurora General. Just like you."

A long silence stretched between them. Then Alicia sighed. "Who is this?" she asked sharply. "I told you, I'm in the middle of my research — I don't have time for this nonsense."

Isla's heart twisted painfully. "Mom, it's Isla," she whispered. "Your daughter."

But Alicia was already speaking over her. "Whoever this is I am hanging up. I'm working."

The line went dead.

Isla stared at the phone, her vision blurred by unshed tears. She wanted to scream. To throw the phone across the room. But all she did was sit there, the silence pressing down on her.

Her eyes drifted to the one framed photo on her bedside table — a younger version of her mother, beautiful and poised, holding a gleaming award in one hand and a toddler Isla in the other. The Kelly Award. The most prestigious honor a doctor could receive. Alicia Vega had won it twice — the youngest recipient in history.

"I always dreamed you'd be someone extraordinary," her mother's voice echoed in her mind. "But you're just… ordinary. You'll never be good enough."

Isla Vasquez pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as if she could block out the memory, as if she could scrub away the words that had been carved into her soul long ago. But they stayed. They always stayed.

"She's just a kid. She's nothing good."

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, cold and dismissive — the same way it always was when Isla reached out, hoping for some kind of warmth. The sting of those words hadn't faded with time. If anything, they'd rooted deeper.

The small apartment felt suffocating now, the walls closing in around her. She stood up, pacing the narrow space, trying to breathe through the ache in her chest. But the more she fought it, the more the memories surged.

She could still see it — the fight between her parents when she was nine. She had been sitting at the top of the stairs, arms wrapped around her knees, listening to their voices rise from the living room below.

"Why can't you just take care of her, Michael?" Alicia Vega's voice was sharp, impatient. "She's your daughter too!"

"I AM taking care of her!" Michael's voice cracked with frustration. "Because you're never home! I'm the one who takes her to school, who helps her with her homework, who makes sure she's fed! She needs her mother, Alicia!"

"Oh, please," Alicia scoffed. "She's just a kid. She's nothing good."

The words had hit Isla like a slap. She remembered the way her breath caught, the way her eyes burned. She had known, even then, that her mother was brilliant — one of the best doctors in the country, the youngest ever to win the Kelly Award, not once but twice. But knowing that brilliance came at the cost of being wanted… that was a pain no child should have to understand.

"She's nothing extraordinary," Alicia continued, her tone cutting. "I had hoped — I dreamed she would be something special. But she's just… ordinary."

"She's YOUR daughter!" Michael roared. "How can you say that about her?!"

But Alicia's voice had softened, gone cold and distant in a way that was somehow worse than the shouting. "Because it's true."

Isla squeezed her eyes shut now, trying to block it out. But she couldn't stop the tears.

Even after all these years, even after working so hard to prove herself, those words still haunted her. And no matter how far she'd come — even now, after getting into Aurora General Hospital — she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd never be enough.

She sank onto the bed, staring at the framed photo on the shelf. The one of her mother, Alicia Vega, beaming with pride as she held Isla in one arm and her first Kelly Award in the other. Isla had been too young to understand then — too young to know that the award meant more to her mother than she ever had.

She picked up her phone again, staring at the screen, the acceptance letter still glowing there. She should be happy. She should feel proud.

But all she felt was hollow.

Because the one person she wanted to be proud of her… wouldn't even recognize her voice.