Carlos:LMAOOOOO
My high school football coach:Dr. Negrorio, I think there's been an error.
Pastor Morrison:I'll be praying for you, son.
My stomach drops. I pull up the clinic's outgoing message log on my computer.
The template was supposed to say: "This is a reminder from Largo Waters Family Medicine that you're due for your annual wellness exam. Please call to schedule."
What it says, sent to 347 patients including Pastor Morrison, Coach Griffith, and my eighty-seven-year-old grandmother:"This is a reminder from Largo Waters Family Medicine that you're due for your annual wetness exam. Please call to schedule. We look forward to getting you wet."
I read it three times.
"Jessica."
No response.
I push back from my desk and stride out of my office, through the waiting room, past the front desk. Her chair is empty. The computer screen shows the sent folder. Three hundred forty-seven messages. Delivered. Read. Probably screenshot and shared across every group chat in Largo Waters by now.
My phone buzzes again.Unknown number:Is this some kind of new alternative medicine thing? Because I'm interested.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Take a breath. Then another.
She's going to be devastated.
Jessica, who's already convinced she's a walking disaster. Who spent last night in tears over a filing system. Who's trying so desperately to prove she's not worthless.
She's going to think this is the final straw.
I need to find her.
Now.
The supply closet door is closed. That's wrong. It's supposed to be propped open. Has been propped open for years because the lock sticks and I once trapped a nurse inside for forty minutes.
I push it open.
Jessica is huddled on the floor between shelves of gauze and boxes of latex gloves, knees pulled to her chest, shoulders trembling with silent sobs.
Every instinct I have roars to life.
"Jessica."
"I saw it." Her voice is raw. Stripped. "After I sent them all. The autocorrect. Wellness to wetness. Exam to..." She hiccups. "I tried to send a correction but I just made it worse and now everyone thinks you're running some kind of..."
She dissolves into fresh sobs.
Words have never been my strength. Comfort has never come easily. But standing here watching her break apart over a mistake anyone could have made...
I step into the closet and close the door behind me. The space is small. Cramped. There's room for the two of us if we don't mind touching.
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor across from her, my scrub-covered knees almost touching hers.
She looks up, startled. "What are you doing?"
I don't answer. Just sit. Present. Still.
"Aren't you going to yell at me?" Her voice breaks. "Fire me? Tell me I'm the worst employee you've ever had?"
