The drive to the clinic felt longer than usual, my stomach churning with dread. When I pulled into the parking lot, I immediately noticed the difference. The building looked the same from the outside, but something felt off.
Inside, Monique was already at her desk, her expression grim.
"How bad?" I asked without preamble.
She handed me a stack of pink message slips. "There have been three cancellations already this morning. Mrs. Henderson called to rescheduleindefinitely. The Parkers want to transfer their records to Dr. Mason's practice."
My heart sank. "Because of yesterday?"
"Because of the media attention." Monique's voice was gentle. "Mrs. Henderson specifically mentioned not wanting her dogs photographed or her family dragged intoyour drama."
I closed my eyes, fighting the wave of nausea. This was my livelihood. My practice. Years of building trust and relationshipswith clients, and it was unraveling because of who Casey's father was.
"There's more," Monique said, her voice dropping. "Someone left this taped to the front door."
She handed me a folded piece of paper. I opened it with shaking hands.
GOLD DIGGER. LEAVE EASTON ALONE.
The words were written in angry capital letters, the pen pressed so hard it had nearly torn through the paper in places.
"Jesus," I whispered.
"I took it down before any clients saw it. But Sadie…" Monique hesitated. "You should probably check your online reviews."
I pulled out my phone, already knowing what I'd find. Sure enough, the clinic's Google page was flooded with new one-star reviews.
"Unprofessional. Brought her personal drama to work."
"You can't trust a vet who hides children from their father for years."
"She trapped a rich hockey player with a baby and now she's cashing in. DISGRACEFUL."
None of them were actual clients. Many of the profiles had generic names and no photos, suggesting they'd never set foot inside the clinic.
But potential clients wouldn't know that.
"How many?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Twelve so far. I've been trying to report them as spam, but…" Monique shrugged helplessly.
I sank into one of the waiting room chairs, the phone heavy in my hand. This was worse than I'd imagined. The clinic was under attack, and the unwanted media attention only made things worse.
My phone buzzed. A text from Easton.
Easton:How's Casey?
I stared at the message, torn between gratitude that he cared and frustration that I was dealing with this mess alone.
Actually, that wasn't fair. He'd asked to help yesterday. Multiple times. And I'd pushed him away, insisting I could handle it.
Look how well that was working out.
Me:
Staying home today. Too scared to go to school. I'm at the clinic now. It's not good.
Easton:
