Sting of Rejection

Despite her tough exterior, Callie was still hurting from the breakup. She had poured her heart and soul into the relationship, only to be betrayed by Simon for the sake of his career. Simon’s face contorted with pain, his voice filled with anguish. ‘Please, Callie, give me another chance. Let me prove to you that we belong together.’ He grasped Callie’s wrist, pleading with her. ‘I know you still have feelings for me. I remember the promises I made, that I’d take care of you for the rest of my life. I haven’t forgotten.’ Callie’s eyes narrowed, disbelief written across her face. She said mockingly, ‘Take care of me? Really, Simon? With your empty promises and broken trust?’ Simon’s voice quivered as he tried to explain himself. ‘You don’t understand, Callie. I’m just a surgeon from an ordinary family. I can’t give you the luxurious lifestyle you deserve. That’s why I had to marry Abby. But it’s only temporary, I promise. Once I have everything I want—the hospital directorship and wealth—I’ll divorce her and be with you.’ Callie shook off his hand forcefully, her eyes blazing with anger. Her voice was filled with disgust. ‘You’re unbelievable, Simon Moncrieff. I could have understood if you left me for love, but to court Abby for her connections? You don’t love her at all. This is all about your own selfish desires.’ ‘No, Callie, it’s not like that! I’m doing this for us, for our future together.’ Callie took a step back, her voice filled with disdain. ‘Save your lies, Simon. I won’t be a part of your selfish game. Get lost.’ She turned and walked away, leaving Simon standing there, his eyes filled with regret and anguish. He whispered, ‘Callie, please... I never wanted to hurt you.’ Meanwhile, neither Callie nor Simon noticed the watchful eyes from across the street. Unbeknownst to them, Abby had been witnessing their heated exchange since Callie stormed out of the café. Standing on the other side of the bustling street, she seethed with jealousy and anger. Abby muttered to herself, ‘How dare he still look at her like that? We’re about to get married, and he’s still hung up on his ex-girlfriend?’ She clenched her fists, feeling betrayed by the man who had catered to her every whim since they started dating. She had believed that Simon was devoted to her, but the longing and pain in his eyes as Callie walked away shattered her illusions. ‘It’s all Callie’s fault!’ she said angrily. ‘She must have seduced him or led him on in some way.’ Her mind filled with vindictive thoughts, Abby took out her phone from her designer purse and dialled a number. ‘Hi, Uncle Preston, it’s Abby. Listen, I need a favour…’ *** Callie walked into Rosedale Hospital, ready to face another day of surgical duties. Nurse Wendy, ever cheerful, greeted her with a big manila envelope in hand. ‘Hey, Callie! There’s a delivery for you. Looks like it’s from a magazine.’ ‘Thanks, Wendy.’ Callie took the envelope from Wendy’s outstretched hand. As she read the sender’s name, ‘International Journal of Medical Science and Research,’ excitement fluttered in her chest. ‘Wow, I can’t believe they responded so quickly!’ She tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Her excitement quickly faded, however, as she scanned the words on the letter. ‘Dear Dr Hawthorne, thank you for submitting your article, “Advancements in Surgical Techniques: A Comprehensive Analysis,” to the International Journal of Medical Science and Research. While we appreciate the effort and clinical experience you put into your work, we regret to inform you that your article has not been selected for publication in our esteemed journal. Our editorial board carefully reviewed your submission and considered various factors in reaching this decision…’ Callie’s disappointment mingled with confusion. Just days ago, she had received an email from someone at the magazine expressing optimism and the likelihood of her article being published. What had changed? She leaned against the nearest wall, her mind racing to find answers. She had poured countless hours of effort into the article, drawing on her clinical experience and meticulous data as a dedicated surgical resident. The rejection gnawed at her self-assurance, leaving her questioning her skills and worth as a writer and researcher. She muttered to herself, ‘Did I miss something? Was the quality of my work not up to par? What if I’m not cut out for this?’ Five minutes later, Wendy came out of the locker room, having changed into her nurse’s uniform. She couldn’t help but notice the downcast expression on Callie’s face. ‘What’s wrong? You were cheerful a minute ago.’ Callie let out a sigh, her disappointment evident. She leaned against the nurses’ station, the weight of her rejection heavy on her shoulders. ‘My article got turned down by the medical journal.’ Wendy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her memory quickly recalling Callie’s confident optimism just days ago. She crossed her arms, a mix of confusion and concern filling her voice. ‘But Callie, you were so sure they would publish it. What happened?’ Callie recounted her attempt to seek answers. She had mustered the courage to call the magazine, only to be passed from one person to another, trapped in a maze of transfers. ‘I made the call, Wendy. But it was a wild goose chase. They kept transferring me, and when I finally reached an assistant editor, he danced around the issue. I asked if there was anything I could do to improve the article or if I could submit a revised edition for reconsideration. But the editor’s responses were evasive. He kept saying it depended on the quality of my work and the journal’s publishing schedule.’ Deep down, Callie knew the truth; her article was essentially dead, with no hope of being published. Wendy’s indignation ignited, her voice rising in defence of her friend. ‘That’s absolutely outrageous! They can’t just go back on their word like that. You poured your heart and soul into that article, Callie. They should have given you a proper explanation.’ Callie nodded, her spirits lifted by Wendy’s support. ‘Thanks, Wendy. It means a lot to have someone in my corner. This setback won’t define me. I’ll just have to find another way to share my research.’