"I'm in charge of monitoring her health, not her academics."
"But what if she feels depressed because of this? And then her head starts to hurt and she's going to grow another aneurysm—"
He pointed to the door. "Out."
"I don't understand what she sees in you." Emily's voice had gone dark, her ponytail practically vibrating with conviction. "She's better off with someone else."
That much was true, Kazeyuki thought as he watched his assistant leave in a huff, but smart enough not to slam the door because they both knew that would be a line she should never, ever cross.
The silence that followed should have been a relief.
It wasn't.
As he made his rounds later that day, Kazeyuki was waylaid four times, quite politely to be fair, by a collection of people who had absolutely no business involving themselves in whether a twenty-one-year-old former patient graduated from her advertising program on time.
Nurse Prasida caught him first, outside the supply room on the fourth floor, her tone gentle but her eyes sharp. Then the local church volunteer who had gifted Katherine with a Bible during her recovery and who apparently kept in touch. Then Dr. Eddington from pediatrics, who had never once spoken to Kazeyuki about anything other than referrals and was now suddenly concerned about "the emotional wellbeing of young patients transitioning back to academic life." And finally, and most impressively, the best friend of his patient Jim's mother's girlfriend, a woman Kazeyuki had never met and whose connection to Katherine required a diagram to trace, but whononetheless felt qualified to inform him that "the poor girl has been through enough."
And the only thing they all had in common?
Speak of the troublemaker.
He saw her step out of the elevator at the opposite end of the hallway, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, and Kazeyuki's lips compressed into a line. She had been in the co-working space again. The one in the lobby, with the window-facing seat she claimed every time she came in for a follow-up, and on days she didn't have a follow-up, and on days that had no medical justification whatsoever. Katherine had informed him, quite earnestly, that the hospital's WiFi was superior to her apartment's, and that as a freelance advertising consultant, reliable WiFi was a professional necessity.
He had not pointed out that the seat she chose faced his parking spot.
Perhaps Emily had reason to be concerned after all.
"Dr. Collington?"
It was Jonas, one of the residents assigned under him, and exactly the kind of person Kazeyuki needed to talk to. "Do you remember Ms. McKenna?"
"Oh, yeah. She's the girl who has a cru—" Too late, Jonas noticed the way Dr. Collington raised a brow, and he hastily corrected himself. "A crucial need to look after herself, having survived an aneurysm."
"Exactly."
Jonas wondered uneasily if he had just lied, and if he had, was that against his Hippocratic oath?
"Take a good look at her. Does anything seem amiss?"
Jonas gulped. Was this some kind of trick question? He took a closer look at Kitty, who was making her way down the corridor toward them. She was...pretty. Pretty cheerful. And pretty obvious with the way her whole face had already started to glow the moment she turned in their direction.
"Tell me what you see."
He knew it, heknewit. This was a trick question. Maybe even Dr. Collington's way of getting rid of him and passing him on to a junior doctor.
"She looks happy."
"Exactly."
Oh, thank God.
"She looks happy."
"Yes." Jonas nodded eagerly. From now on, Jonas believed God existed—
"But not joyful."
And he would never, ever doubt God's existence again—wait. What did Dr. Collington just say?
