“No,” I say evenly. “We maintained professional boundaries until his file was closed.”
There’s a quiet scratching of pens. Ivy exhales against my chest, and Heidi still hasn’t moved behind me, but I feel her there. A constant warmth. A shield.
Tallow continues. “Are you currently in a relationship with Mr. Hutchison?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He doesn’t blink. “And he is the father of your child?”
I inhale slowly. “Yes.”
He nods, as though confirming something already known. “Thank you, Dr. Park.”
Karen continues with procedural questions—paperwork, policies, who I informed, when I informed them. I answer them all.
Until one final question comes—not from the board, but from Moreno himself.
“Would you do anything differently?”
It’s quiet for a moment as I consider it. I look down at Ivy briefly, my hands over her warm back, her peach fuzz head lying soft against my heartbeat.
?? ?.
Uri ttal.
My daughter. You’re brave, you’re smart. You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.
“No, I would not,” I say firmly. “Because I believe I acted with integrity, both as a surgeon and as a person. And I will continue to do so.”
There’s a pause, then Moreno speaks again, his voice quieter, but resolute.
“Good.” He meets my eyes. “Because that’s the kind of surgeon I want in this clinic.”
The air suddenly feels sharp in my chest, and Tallow clears his throat.
“Thank you, Dr. Park. We’ve reviewed the evidence provided prior to this meeting, as well as your statement today.”
He glances at Karen, who nods, then back at me. “It’s the board’s decision that no breach of professional conduct has occurred. You maintained appropriate boundaries during the period in which Mr. Hutchison was your patient, and you disclosed the relationship in accordance with our policy.”
My pulse stutters, and I tighten my hold on Ivy, a quiet breath slipping out of me.
“We will formally close the inquiry today,” he continues, “with no disciplinary action or notations on your record. We do, however, recommend that moving forward, any patient relationships—past or present—be disclosed immediately, in writing, to avoid further speculation.”
“Understood,” I say quietly.
Karen nods. “Thank you, Dr. Park. That concludes the matter.”
There’s a scrape of a chair, and I glance up. Moreno is standing.
He doesn’t say anything right away. He watches the others file from the room until it’s only Heidi and me remaining. Then he looks at me with that sharp, thoughtful expression he wears in the OR. The one I used to chase, the one I spent years trying to earn.
“I hope this hasn’t made you forget,” he says, “you’re one of the best surgeons I’ve worked with. And I’m very happy to have you back.”
For a second, my eyes burn, and I can’t speak.
“Thank you, Dr. Moreno.”
He nods once, then slips from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. For a beat, the silence feels impossibly big.
