Jenny leans forward, pen still poised as she jots down the meeting notes. Her smile is tight, and her eyes flick to mine once, before darting back to Moreno.
“Given the nature of the concern, we’ll be initiating a clinic-level review of the situation before determining if further escalation is necessary.”
“And in the meantime,” Paul adds, “we’ll be placing you on full paid leave, effective immediately.”
I knew this was coming. I thought I was ready for it, but hearing the words spoken aloud makes my vision tighten at the edges.
“Effective immediately,” Jenny adds, her smile all teeth.
I can’t speak because if I do, I’m going to rip her fucking head off.
Moreno’s voice softens. “Given how far along you are, this may coincide with your planned maternity leave, Carina. Think of this as an opportunity to rest.”
A cold, bitter laugh nearly bursts out of me.
Rest.
Because beneath the anger and the fight in my throat is the awful, rising feeling of being small. Of being managed.
“Oh, this isn’t about judgment, Dr. Park,” Jenny says, all faux empathy. “It’s about protecting the Moreno Clinic’s integrity. I’m sure you understand.”
I don’t look at her, instead focusing directly on Moreno.
“I do understand,” I say quietly. “And I welcome the inquiry. I have nothing to hide.”
I rise before they can say anything else, and my hand is steady as I grab the strap of my bag. A glint of sun suddenly stretches through the window, the first of the day. It ricochets off a glass vase on Moreno’s shelving and casts a prism of rainbow light across the carpet.
When you believe in something, Carina, you don’t back down. You plant your feet, you hold your line, and you grow anyway.
I make my way to the door and don’t look back, because my dad’s voice is in my head, my vision tight and blurring.
But I walk out with my head held high.
I make it three steps down the hallway before my composure starts to crack. So I duck into my office, close the door with more force than necessary, and lean my forehead against the cool metal for a beat—just long enough to press the heat behind my eyes back down. Then I turn, hands shaking, and start packing.
My locker bag is already half-full—just a change of shoes and a few files I’d been reviewing. Everything feels unreal, asthough I’m floating outside of myself, watching someone else get benched for a game she’s trained her whole life to play.
Paid leave.Like it’s some kind of favor. Like it’s not a fucking punishment dressed up in soft edges and good intentions.
My throat tightens, and I press a palm hard against my sternum, trying to ground the tremor in my chest.
This isn’t just a job; this is everything. Every sacrificed weekend, every night I spent studying instead of sleeping. Every moment I had to prove I belonged here. Inthisfield withthesepeople. In a specialty that still looks surprised when a woman walks into the OR and takes the lead.
And now I’m being painted as reckless.
Unethical.
For falling in love with a man who quietly showed up for me again and again.
I fumble for my phone. It slips once in my hand and clatters to the desk as my vision blurs for a second, and I blink hard until it clears. I could text him instead. I could keep this locked down like I’ve done a hundred times before.
But my fingers hover, then move. Because I need him, and he’s the only voice I want to hear.
I hit Reid’s name and press call.
It rings once, then twice.
“Carina?” His voice is alert when he answers. Low and rough and already on edge. “How did it go?”
