My office was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I just felt too big for it today—too aware of the eyes, the whispers that might follow. Khalifa stepped in behind me, scanning the space like he was cataloging it.
“This is it?”
“Yes, this is it,” I said, sinking into my chair.
“You have a couch in your office.”
“Apinkcouch,” I corrected.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes I have patients who need to lie down,” I said. Then, after a beat, “And sometimes I need to.”
He pointed to the armoire. “And that’s...a closet?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched. “Why do you need a closet at work?”
“In case I feel like having an outfit change in the middle of the day,” I said dryly, shuffling through the pile of charts on my desk.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Kevin shut the door behind him. He and Robert shared a look that made my stomach dip before either of them even spoke.
“Okay,” Kevin started, settling into the chair across from me. “We got the official notice this morning. Mr. Thompson has filed a claim against you and the hospital.”
I stared at him, words catching somewhere in my throat. “On what grounds?”
“He’s alleging negligence,” Robert replied. “Specifically, that you rushed into an emergency C-section when it wasn’t necessary. That if you’d waited, they would all still be alive.”
“That’s not—” I stopped, then steadied my voice. “That’s not true. You saw the labs. Her vitals were crashing. The babies—”
“We know,” Kevin said quickly. “We have all of it. The blood work, the fetal monitoring strips, the operative notes. It’s all there, Dr. T. You did everything right.”
But it didn’t matter. The facts never mattered as much as the grief did. Grief was louder, messier, more persuasive in a courtroom.
I pressed my fists against my eyes. “So what happens now?”
Robert exhaled. “The hospital’s legal team is setting up a meeting for tomorrow morning. You, Mr. Thompson, and his attorney. The goal is to settle quietly before it escalates.”
“‘Settle quietly,’” I repeated, the phrase burning a little on my tongue. “So basically,don’t make a scene while a man who called me a murderer gets to decide if I’m still allowed to practice medicine?”
Kevin’s expression flickered with sympathy and frustration woven together. “It’s not fair. But it’s standard.”
“And if it doesn’t settle?”
Robert hesitated. “Then it goes to court. And it’ll get ugly.”
Khalifa had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. When I finally glanced at him, he was already watching me, jaw tight, the muscle there ticking. “Who’s representing her?” he asked.
“The hospital’s legal department. We’ve already—”
“Get me the name,” he said, voice calm but edged with something that made both Kevin and Robert sit up straighter.
I turned toward him. “Khalifa—”
