It’s time to take that back.
“What was I thinking? I was thinking that Perry is incredibly attractive and smart, and I like those qualities in a woman. It’s not that serious, Meron.”
He shifts his weight, satisfied, as if the lack of immediate pushback confirms his authority. “You know how this looks to the administration. It’s an ethical minefield. She’s vulnerable.”
“She is not vulnerable,” I say calmly. “She’s an adult who makes her own choices?—”
“She just had twins.”
“You think that stops her from having proper cognitive function to make choices? Because that’s deeply sexist of you. Plenty of new mothers make all sorts of choices every day, and you’re calling her adulthood into question, like some man from the fifties. Distasteful of you.”
“She was your patient, Damian. You know it’s wrong.”
I hold his gaze. “She is not my patient anymore.”
“That’s a technicality.”
“No,” I correct evenly. “It’s policy. Remember? Snow Valley is too small to forbid everyone in the hospital from dating patients. You literally wrote the policy on that.”
He exhales sharply. “After the wedding, you should seek other employment.”
The parking lot feels strangely quiet. No cars passing. No ambulances screaming in. Just morning air and two men who used to share drinks after shift.
“You’re suggesting I resign.”
“I’m suggesting it’s not a suggestion.” He smirks, self-satisfied. “You’re not a reckless intern. You’re a senior physician. There are standards, and you failed to live up to them. You’re out, Baylock. You have until your son’s wedding to make other arrangements. I don’t want to embarrass you before such a big event for the community.”
I watch him carefully. The rage that flared earlier is gone entirely now. In its place is something colder. Logic. The thought crystallizes so suddenly it’s almost physical. If I don’t work here, he has nothing. No leverage. No proximity to dictate who I see or how I live.
I don’t need this job. I chose it. Family money sits untouched. Investments hum quietly in the background of my life. I work because I prefer usefulness. I love saving lives. It’s my calling. But I have choices.
Meron continues talking. “…unseemly, Damian. It reflects poorly on the hospital. On leadership. On you.”
He assumes I’m tethered to this place. What if I’m not?
I consider the alternatives in quick succession. Private practice. Consulting. Volunteer trauma work. Anything that removes his shadow from my daily orbit.
My pulse steadies. I straighten slowly. “You’re done?”
He frowns. “Excuse me?”
“My apologies. That sounded like a question. I should have said it this way—you’re done, Meron.”
His irritation spikes. “You should take this seriously.”
“I am,” I reply.
Meron mistakes the shift in me for compliance. “I’m advising you for your own good,” he says, tone settling into patronizing calm. “This will blow up. Amber won’t stay quiet. The board won’t like it. And if it becomes a complaint?—”
“If what becomes a complaint?” I ask evenly.
He falters for half a beat. “You know how these things escalate. It’s obviously not serious between you two, and the moment you break up with her, she could sue the hospital. Honestly, Damian, you can’t believe we’d let something like this go unchallenged.”
I let a slow smile form. “Thanks.”
“For what?” he asks sharply.
“For clarifying something.”
