Not anymore.
“Wish me luck,” I tell Margaret.
“You might need more than luck this time.”
I laugh under my breath as I continue down the hallway, my head still held high.
When I enter my office, I’m not surprised to find Robert sitting behind my desk.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he grits out, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger.
I calmly turn around and close the door. Then I face him. “I assume this is about yesterday.”
“You humiliated this family,” he snaps, jumping to his feet and stalking toward me. “Do you have any idea what people were saying? Missing your wife’s birthday memorial to…what? Galivant around town like it’s a cause for celebration? People reported seeing you mini golfing. And at the trampoline park. And the arcade.”
“I was spending the day with my kids. Celebrating Cora’s life in a way that wasn’t centered on her death.”
“So is that it? You’re just going to blow off your responsibilities now so you can spend time with that nanny of yours? What will people think?”
“I don’t give a fuck what people think.”
He stiffens, his eyes flashing with anger, his face becoming even redder.
“I’ve let you dictate how I grieve for over a year,” I continue. “You can mourn however you need to. But from now on, I’m going to remember Cora the way I choose.”
He leans into me, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. “You’re forgetting what’s important.”
“No,” I say quietly, at complete odds with his demeanor. “I’m remembering.”
I move past him and open the top drawer of my desk, pulling out the folded paper I’ve been hiding for days. I hand it to him.
“What is this?” he barks out as he hastily unfolds it. His expression immediately darkens.
“I accepted a position as Head of Emergency Medicine at St. Andrew’s,” I explain. “This is my two weeks’ notice.”
Silence floods the room, and I can physically feel his temperature rising.
I had a feeling he’d react this way. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t told him until now. I was offered the position earlier in the month, and they gave me a few weeks to think about it.
Even when I wrote this resignation letter, I wasn’t sure if it would ever see the light of day. Thought it might sit in that top drawer for the rest of my life.
This weekend changed that.
“You can’t be serious,” he scoffs.
“I’ve never been more serious.”
“What about Cora?”
“What about her?”
“This is a family medical practice. Considering you’re the reason she’s not here to continue the family legacy, it falls to you.”
“Cora didn’t want any part of this legacy either. Why do you think she never left Chicago?”
“You,” he stammers. “She?—”
“She would want me to be happy,” I cut in. “Not chained to something that makes me miserable out of obligation.”
