Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
You plant your feet and hold the line
Carina
The sky is gray, despite the season. That bone-deep kind of gray that doesn’t match the calendar. Today, the light forgot it was supposed to be warm.
My blouse pulls over the curve of my stomach, and I smooth it with my hands. It fits, mostly. The fabric gathers a little higher than it used to, pulling faintly at the buttons. I could’ve gone up a size, but I didn’t want to look like I was swimming in it.
I wanted to look capable and professional. Like the woman who graduated top of her class and published four peer-reviewed studies before turning thirty. Someone who deserves to be taken seriously.
I check the time, then the message draft still open on my phone.
Me: Almost there. I’m okay. Love you x
My thumb hovers, not because I don’t mean it. I do, more than anything. But part of me still hesitates at what those words represent.
A tether. A witness. A reminder that I’m not doing this alone.
I hit send anyway.
Then I slip the phone back into my bag before I can change my mind and text him again, or ask him to come. Ask him to wait outside, like he offered.
I love Reid’s support, but no. Not today. This is on me.
I’ve gone over the phrasing in my head a dozen times. The exact way I’ll lay it out calmly and clearly, with accountability. I’ll confirm the relationship. I’ll explain the timeline and provide a reference point if they need one. Heidi knows the full sequence and is prepared to verify it.
We were never involved when Reid was my patient. We weren’t even really speaking during his last wound check. Everything that transpired—everything that matters—came later.
It wasn’t a breach, but it was reckless. I concede that. But it was also real.
And I love him. I’m living with him. We’re having a baby.
God, we’re having a baby.
My hand settles lightly over my bump as I cross the parking lot and head toward the clinic entrance. I’m just over six months pregnant and into the third trimester, so every movement feels different. Slower and more weighted.
I’ve started waking at night to phantom kicks and dreams I can’t remember. I keep apples in my office now, and granola bars in every coat pocket. I’m exhausted, but I’m grounded and building something permanent.
And if I’m going to keep building this with Reid and our daughter, I can’t keep walking around like I’m waiting to be exposed. Like this thing I’m holding could break under someone else’s judgment.
I straighten my shoulders and swipe my ID card at the side door.
I have nothing to be ashamed of and everything to fight for.
And I will.
The moment I step into Moreno’s office, I know something’s off, because he’s not alone.
Jenny is seated to his left, her spine straight, notepad open, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She’s smiling, but only with her mouth, not her eyes.
To his right sits a man in a navy blazer with square shoulders, silver hair, and the kind of neutral expression that’s been practiced in front of a mirror.
I recognize him immediately. Paul Tallow.
One of the Moreno Clinic board members. I’ve seen him at fundraising events, always hovering near the highest donors, always with a handshake ready.
A low twist of warning suddenly coils in my stomach.
“Dr. Park,” Moreno says, rising to gesture to the chair across from them. “Thanks for coming. This is Paul Tallow, one of our board members. I thought it best he join us.”
My palms go damp as I sit. “Of course. I… assumed this was just my check-in.”
“We understand you reached out to set this meeting,” Paul says smoothly, folding his hands. “We’re grateful for that. There are a few things we’d like to clarify on our end as well.”
My jaw locks, and my spine stays straight—not visibly, I hope. “I’d scheduled this meeting to disclose something,” I say, voice even. “So I’m happy to clarify whatever I can.”
Jenny clicks her pen annoyingly loudly. “How fortuitous.”
I don’t take the bait.
Paul glances at a folder in front of him. “There’s been an observation regarding a… personal interaction that may present a potential reputational risk to the clinic.”
Moreno shifts slightly but says nothing.
“We understand you were recently assisted on-site by a former patient, Mr. Reid Hutchison,” Paul continues smoothly. “Who arrived in some distress after you reportedly experienced a dizzy spell.”
I keep my face still.
“He was concerned,” I agree. “He’d been called by someone on-site and arrived to check on me.”
Jenny blinks. “Unusual, don’t you think? For a former patient to display that level of urgency?”
My breath shortens, shallow and sharp beneath my ribs, but I force it deeper.
“I am in a relationship with Rei—Mr. Hutchison,” I say carefully. “We’re expecting a child, and we’ve recently moved in together. I wanted to be transparent about the timeline and the nature of the relationship.”
A flicker of surprise crosses Paul’s face, followed by a beat of silence before Moreno exhales through his nose.
“And when did this relationship begin?”
“After Mr. Hutchison’s care was transitioned entirely to physiotherapy,” I say. “I saw him for a follow-up wound check and signed off on his discharge. Once that care ended, there was a period of no contact, and our relationship began weeks later.”
Moreno’s brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
Paul tilts his head. “You’re confident there was no overlap? No emotional entanglement prior?”
I hesitate for only a breath. “We weren’t close during treatment. There was no personal involvement until after I was no longer overseeing his care in any capacity.”
“Which physio handled his care?” Moreno asks.
“Heidi Grant. She was made fully aware of the timeline once the relationship began.”
Jenny taps her pen once against the page. “And Ms. Grant can verify that timeline?”
“She can.”
There’s another silence, and Paul nods slowly.
“Congratulations, but I’m sure you can understand our concern here, Dr. Park. Relationships between physicians and patients, even if technically outside the window of treatment, can present a reputational risk—especially in high-profile cases.”
Moreno’s hands rest lightly on his desk. “We’ve always held ourselves to the highest ethical standards, and while I have no reason to believe you acted inappropriately during Mr. Hutchison’s care, we’ll need to formally assess that timeline.”
Jenny leans forward, pen still poised as she jots down the meeting notes. Her smile is tight, and her eyes flick to mine once, before darting back to Moreno.
“Given the nature of the concern, we’ll be initiating a clinic-level review of the situation before determining if further escalation is necessary.”
“And in the meantime,” Paul adds, “we’ll be placing you on full paid leave, effective immediately.”
I knew this was coming. I thought I was ready for it, but hearing the words spoken aloud makes my vision tighten at the edges.
“Effective immediately,” Jenny adds, her smile all teeth.
I can’t speak because if I do, I’m going to rip her fucking head off.
Moreno’s voice softens. “Given how far along you are, this may coincide with your planned maternity leave, Carina. Think of this as an opportunity to rest.”
A cold, bitter laugh nearly bursts out of me.
Rest.
Because beneath the anger and the fight in my throat is the awful, rising feeling of being small. Of being managed.
“Oh, this isn’t about judgment, Dr. Park,” Jenny says, all faux empathy. “It’s about protecting the Moreno Clinic’s integrity. I’m sure you understand.”
I don’t look at her, instead focusing directly on Moreno.
“I do understand,” I say quietly. “And I welcome the inquiry. I have nothing to hide.”
I rise before they can say anything else, and my hand is steady as I grab the strap of my bag. A glint of sun suddenly stretches through the window, the first of the day. It ricochets off a glass vase on Moreno’s shelving and casts a prism of rainbow light across the carpet.
When you believe in something, Carina, you don’t back down. You plant your feet, you hold your line, and you grow anyway.
I make my way to the door and don’t look back, because my dad’s voice is in my head, my vision tight and blurring.
But I walk out with my head held high.
I make it three steps down the hallway before my composure starts to crack.
So I duck into my office, close the door with more force than necessary, and lean my forehead against the cool metal for a beat—just long enough to press the heat behind my eyes back down.
Then I turn, hands shaking, and start packing.
My locker bag is already half-full—just a change of shoes and a few files I’d been reviewing. Everything feels unreal, as though I’m floating outside of myself, watching someone else get benched for a game she’s trained her whole life to play.
Paid leave. Like it’s some kind of favor. Like it’s not a fucking punishment dressed up in soft edges and good intentions.
My throat tightens, and I press a palm hard against my sternum, trying to ground the tremor in my chest.
This isn’t just a job; this is everything. Every sacrificed weekend, every night I spent studying instead of sleeping. Every moment I had to prove I belonged here. In this field with these people. In a specialty that still looks surprised when a woman walks into the OR and takes the lead.
And now I’m being painted as reckless.
Unethical.
For falling in love with a man who quietly showed up for me again and again.
I fumble for my phone. It slips once in my hand and clatters to the desk as my vision blurs for a second, and I blink hard until it clears. I could text him instead. I could keep this locked down like I’ve done a hundred times before.
But my fingers hover, then move. Because I need him, and he’s the only voice I want to hear.
I hit Reid’s name and press call.
It rings once, then twice.
“Carina?” His voice is alert when he answers. Low and rough and already on edge. “How did it go?”