Jack Dawkins

Mia lingered in the ward longer than usual. The patient refused to swallow the tincture, complaining of bitterness and demanding sugar. Mia patiently coaxed him, holding his shaking hand, until she heard footsteps.

"Miss Mia?" one of the nurses called out. "A new doctor from London has arrived. The chief surgeon has asked you to help him get settled in."

She nodded and reluctantly pulled away from her patient. London. The word was bittersweet, recalling the past, when she'd fled the hunger and dampness of the English slums. Australia was hot and free. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out into the corridor. Through the tall windows, the sun's rays gilded the dust motes in the air. Approaching the chief surgeon's office, she knocked.

— Come in.

The Professor sat at the table, and a man in a brown frock coat stood next to him. He turned around, and Mia felt her breath catch. It was Jack Dawkins, the man she'd shared a stolen loaf of bread with as children.

"Mia?" he breathed, joy in his voice. "I thought you stayed in London!"

She froze. The blood rushed to her cheeks and then receded, leaving a pale complexion.

"Dr. Dawkins," she said dryly. "I need to show you the rooms."

“Do you know each other?” asked the Professor.

“Childhood,” Mia said and left.

Footsteps were heard behind me.

"Mia, wait!" Jack grabbed her elbow, but she jerked her hand away.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” her voice trembled.

— I have to explain. I was scared then… I was twelve…

"You ratted me out, Jack," she interrupted. "I could have gone to prison! I barely escaped. I'll never forgive you."

He turned pale, but did not retreat.

"Let me be useful. I became a doctor and I want to make amends."

Mia looked at him coldly and shook her head.

"Port Victory doesn't need traitors, Jack."