Playing wife.
I stare at him, pulse ticking in my ears. “I’m sorry… ‘playing wife’?” My voice sounds calm, but it could slice through his stupid glasses and stab him in the fucking eyes.
He finally looks up, unfazed. “I’m too tired to sugarcoat anything. Having a husband and kids doesn’t entitle you to any benefits at the cost of others.”
I raise a brow. “And who exactly is it costing? A colleague and I are preventing each other from burning out, since, you know… so many physicians here seem to.”
He gives a dismissive shrug. “Be that as it may-”
“No,” I cut in before I can stop myself. “Don’t brush that off. You don’t get to imply I’m shirking responsibility because I have a family.”
His expression doesn’t change. “It’s irrelevant why you’re unavailable during a shift. Dr. Abbott shouldn’t have come in for you, and you shouldn’t be covering double shifts for him. Personal arrangements between staff interfere with scheduling consistency, and that affects the department.”
I feel heat rising behind my eyes, not from shame, but from anger.
“So,” I say quietly, “the new rule you’re issuing… is because you don’t like the idea of me ‘playing wife’?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
Of course he doesn’t. Men like this never argue past the line they draw. They just sit there in their pressed suit, acting like efficiency incarnate while calling a woman with a family a burden.
I inhale slowly through my nose. “For the record, Dr. Murphy, I wasn’t being ‘a wife.’ I was being a doctor who knew she was needed at work but wasn’t willing to miss her husband’s promotion ceremony for it.”
He blinks.
“And when Dr. Abbott covers for me, or I cover for him, it’s not because of gender roles or favoritism. It’s because we know what it means to be exhausted down to the bone. And we know no one cares until someone quits.”
His eyes narrow just a little. “That won’t be necessary.”
I stand. I don’t trust myself to keep sitting.
“Oh? Good. Then the next time I have a personal commitment, I’ll just take the whole day off. Since I’m not allowed to leave mid-shift.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“You can’t do that,” he says, like I’m the one being unreasonable.
I shrug. “Then fire me.”
We both know they don’t have the staff to fire anyone. I turn and walk out before he can respond.
And God, it feels good.
On the drive home, I seethe the entire way. How dare he.
I have never asked for favoritism. I have never expected to be treated differently because I am a mom.
What the hell does a piece of shit like him even know about me?
By the time I pull into the driveway, Patrick’s car is already parked in its spot. I check the time. Nine-thirty. He’s probably still awake. Hopefully Milo is too. I know that makes me a terrible mother, but I want my kid as a buffer so I don’t have to deal with my husband immediately.
I push open the front door and step inside.
Patrick is sitting on the sofa in the living room, folding laundry while watching the game.
