The next morning.
Medical Center.
Changing Room.
Liz had just showered, her wet hair hanging loose as she sat there, head down.
George and Cristina were perched beside her, offering quiet support.
Meredith leaned against a locker, looking at her with pity.
"My baby Emily died," Liz murmured.
"We know," they replied softly.
The quintuplets were the hot topic at the medical center right now. Everyone knew the moment they walked in. Baby Emily had held on until 4 a.m. Liz had spent the night fighting to save her, but exhaustion took over, and she'd dozed off beside the crib.
A nurse should've woken her up.
But Dr. Montgomery had arrived early, saw her sleeping, and told the nurse not to disturb her. By the time Liz woke up and realized Emily was gone, she asked the nurse—only to be hit with the devastating news.
Cue the endless self-blame.
When Dr. Montgomery finally told her the truth, it went exactly as Adam had predicted: Liz lost it. She yelled, demanded answers, then stormed off. After a shower calmed her down a bit, she was left with this overwhelming sadness and confusion.
That's when Adam walked in.
"You!" Liz's eyes snapped to him, her confusion and sorrow morphing into rage. She shot up, grabbed his collar, and shouted, "Where were you last night? Do you know how many times I paged you?! Emily's dead!"
"I know," Adam said, nodding calmly. "We did the surgery yesterday. Once we opened her chest, we all knew."
"What?!" Liz froze. "You knew too?! You were in on it with her?!"
"It's not a trick," Adam explained patiently. "You're an intern, here for residency training to learn. Last night was a lesson—one your attending deliberately set up to teach you."
"Teach me?" Liz let out a bitter laugh. "By being that cruel?"
"What's not cruel?" Adam's voice stayed gentle. "We've been interns for months now. How many tearful goodbyes have we seen? If you can't handle it, maybe you're not cut out to be a doctor. You should get out early—because this kind of 'cruelty' will happen in front of you every single day."
"Adam!" Meredith frowned. "Liz is hurting right now. Ease up."
"Am I wrong?" Adam cut in. "You know why Dr. Montgomery did this? It's because Liz's flaw is way too obvious: she's too emotional. Take Mrs. Rusabin's case, for example. As the primary doctor, Liz met a pregnant patient and immediately mocked her, saying she and her husband should've read the fine print on those fertility drugs. Why? Because she couldn't stand the patient—too emotional.
Then, when it's something she finds touching, she flips to moral blackmail—acting like anyone who doesn't follow her script is a villain. Sure, it looks like she's giving her all for the patient. But can an emotional doctor like that really stay rational and calm about a patient's condition?
In critical moments, let's not even get into the scary possibility of her letting a patient she dislikes slip away, intentionally or not. What about the ones she's overly attached to? If they're beyond saving but she gets worked up and insists on saving them anyway—like in a transplant case—doesn't that steal a chance from someone who could survive? Isn't that indirectly killing someone?"
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Adam shifted his gaze from a stunned Meredith back to Liz, who stood there, dazed. "So when Dr. Montgomery asked me to keep quiet and take a risk to teach you this brutal lesson, I agreed. If it happened again, I'd still say yes. If you can't accept it—or think we've done something unforgivable—then I'm telling you, don't be a doctor. With emotions like yours, you'll end up truly harming a patient one day. That's when you'll feel what real cruelty is."
He pried Liz's now-limp hands off his collar, walked to his locker, and started changing.
The room fell dead silent.
When Adam finished dressing, he glanced around: Cristina gave him a helpless smile, George looked pained, Meredith glared daggers, and Liz stood there, tears streaming down her face. He sighed.
"Which great doctor doesn't have a patient's death on their hands due to a mistake? Go ask Dr. Green, Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Burke, or even the Chief of Surgery. They've all lost patients they could've saved because of their own errors. That torment? That's real cruelty.
Compared to that, you getting this chance? You're lucky. Dr. Montgomery took a risk for this lesson—she genuinely wants to help you. If you cool off and figure that out, go thank her. Learn from her. Save as many patients as you can down the road."
He stopped there, not bothering to say what'd happen if she didn't get it. He met Meredith's glare with a cold smirk and left.
Meredith was totally unhinged now—not because she disagreed with him, but because he'd sided with her rival, Dr. Montgomery. Another emotional mess, just less extreme than Liz. No wonder, despite her talent, her mom, Ellis Grey, never gave her the time of day.
A legend like Ellis Grey could go 18 years without a single personal chat with her dedicated scrub nurse—despite secretly admiring her. Only when Alzheimer's hit, and she couldn't even recognize her own daughter, did she let slip a smile, saying how great that nurse was.
That ice-cold, steady mindset? That's the foundation of a legend.
---
Morning.
"Thanks."
In the hallway, Dr. Montgomery stopped Adam, her gratitude sincere. Clearly, word of his changing-room speech had reached her.
Adam wasn't surprised. It was a big room—shared by all the surgical interns. Sure, it'd seemed like just Cristina and the gang were there, but others were in the back, listening. One morning was all it took for the story to spread.
Emmm.
This definitely wasn't Adam showboating to score points with the medical center's current star, Neonatal Chief Dr. Montgomery. Nope, his words came straight from the heart.
Yup.
Totally!
"No problem," Adam said. "Did Liz come around?"
"With that wake-up call you gave her, she probably will," Dr. Montgomery replied with a smile.
She'd just run into Liz. A quick look in her eyes told the seasoned doctor everything: less anger, more complexity. A solid start. No need to find a new protégé. Adam's favor? She'd remember it.
"Heh." Adam flashed a grin, his teeth catching the light like a cheesy movie sparkle.