Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
A badass for a mom
Carina
The engine’s off, but I haven’t moved.
Ivy’s asleep in her car seat behind me, her cheeks flushed and tiny fists curled under her chin. Her breathing is steady, so soft and rhythmic in the quiet, and I know I should be grateful for the timing.
A full feed, a fresh diaper, a clean wrap already clipped and ready. I’ve done everything right. And still, my palms are damp against the steering wheel.
I’ve spent my life proving I belong in rooms like this. And now, I’m walking in as a liability.
I exhale slowly through my nose and force my hands to move.
I twist in my seat, unbuckle her carefully.
She doesn’t stir, just stretches, then scrunches a little as I pull her against my chest and tuck her into the wrap.
One palm rises instinctively to the back of her head, the other smooths over my blouse—creased, but passable.
My phone buzzes in the center console of the car just as I’m reaching for the door.
Reid
I hesitate, then answer, keeping my voice low. “Hey.”
He’s already mid-breath. “Havoc. Fuck, I hate that I’m not there.”
His voice is hoarse, controlled only by a thread. I can hear noise in the background—arena chatter, or maybe the team bus. He’s in Toronto tonight.
“I’ll be fine,” I murmur, shifting Ivy a little higher.
“I should be there.”
“I know.” My hand tightens around the phone. “But you can’t reschedule hockey, and they couldn’t push this any further.”
He doesn’t argue, just exhales. “I’m gonna check my phone every fucking whistle.”
The absurdity of that almost makes me smile. “I’ll text as soon as I’m out.”
“Carina—” He hesitates, and I hear him audibly swallow down the line. “Go in there and burn it down, alright? You don’t owe them an ounce of shame.”
My throat tightens. “I know.”
“You owe Ivy proof that her mother’s a goddamn weapon.”
I look down at her as my eyes sting. So small, so soft.
“Tell her I said hi,” he says.
“I will.” My voice is quiet now.
“I love you,” he adds with a fierce breath. “No matter what they say, no matter what comes next. I love you so fucking much.”
“Love you too.” I breathe once, then hang up. Not because I don’t want to talk, but because I need to keep it together. He knows it, too. He always knows.
Opening the door, I walk slowly toward the clinic, my arms wrapped around Ivy.
The lobby’s half full of patients, reps, and admin staff. Some glance up as I walk through—most look away or don’t seem to care.
Jenny’s at the front desk, her spine straight and reading glasses perched on her nose like she thinks they make her smarter.
“Dr. Park,” she says coolly. “You’re expected.”
Her eyes flick to the baby wrapped against my chest, then back to me, thinly veiled disdain in every glance.
I don’t utter a single word and walk past her like she doesn’t exist. At the end of the hallway, the conference room door is already open.
Heidi’s waiting, seated just off to the side in a tailored dress and sneakers, one foot tapping gently. She gives me a firm nod, her eyes softening slightly as they fall to Ivy in her wrap.
Paul Tallow sits at the head, running the meeting, same as last time. He glances up as I enter, expression neutral. “Dr. Park. Thank you for coming in.”
“Of course,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him.
Ivy shifts slightly in the wrap, one tiny sigh escaping her lips.
His eyes shift briefly to her, then back to me. “And congratulations, by the way.”
There’s a beat of polite silence, then the woman beside him—Karen from HR, I think—adds, “She’s beautiful.”
I don’t relax, but I nod once. “Thank you.”
Moreno is seated further down the table, not participating—just observing. His gaze meets mine, and he gives a neutral nod.
Heidi stands and moves to sit just behind me, my selected support person who is a verifiable witness, in lieu of Reid.
“I’m ready when you are,” I say, adjusting the wrap one final time.
My daughter breathes against my heart.
And I wait.
Tallow opens a manila folder and reads from a printed document. “This meeting is being formally recorded as part of the internal investigation into a potential breach of clinic policy involving a romantic relationship with a patient—specifically, Mr. Reid Hutchison.”
The words hang heavy, clinical and exact.
I nod once. “Understood.”
Karen from HR glances at her notes. “Dr. Park, could you confirm the nature and timeline of your interactions with Mr. Hutchison, beginning from his first appointment here?”
I answer clearly, without hesitation.
“Mr. Hutchison sustained a meniscal tear during a game and was referred directly to Dr. Moreno for surgical consultation following his hospital imaging. I was the senior resident assigned to his case under Dr. Moreno’s care, and I assisted with both pre-op and post-op management.”
I pause, then continue. “I remained involved in his post-operative care for approximately six weeks—handling wound checks, progress assessments, and surgical follow-up during his recovery period. Once his file was formally closed on the surgical side, he was referred internally to Ms. Heidi Grant for physiotherapy and rehab, also within the Moreno Clinic.”
“Thank you.” Karen marks something down. “And when did your personal relationship begin?”
I don’t flinch. “After he was no longer under my care in any capacity.”
“How long?”
“Several weeks—about a month.”
There’s a pause.
Paul interjects gently. “You understand, of course, that perception and power dynamics are part of what this inquiry is designed to assess.”
“I do,” I say. “Which is why professionally, ethically, I’ve done nothing to compromise my position or Mr. Hutchison’s treatment outcomes.”
Moreno’s gaze flickers with something unreadable, but he says nothing.
Karen shifts forward. “At any time during Mr. Hutchison’s treatment, were there any instances of blurred boundaries or inappropriate behavior, emotional or otherwise?”
I want to laugh, but I don’t.
“No,” I say evenly. “We maintained professional boundaries until his file was closed.”
There’s a quiet scratching of pens. Ivy exhales against my chest, and Heidi still hasn’t moved behind me, but I feel her there. A constant warmth. A shield.
Tallow continues. “Are you currently in a relationship with Mr. Hutchison?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He doesn’t blink. “And he is the father of your child?”
I inhale slowly. “Yes.”
He nods, as though confirming something already known. “Thank you, Dr. Park.”
Karen continues with procedural questions—paperwork, policies, who I informed, when I informed them. I answer them all.
Until one final question comes—not from the board, but from Moreno himself.
“Would you do anything differently?”
It’s quiet for a moment as I consider it. I look down at Ivy briefly, my hands over her warm back, her peach fuzz head lying soft against my heartbeat.
?? ?.
Uri ttal.
My daughter. You’re brave, you’re smart. You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.
“No, I would not,” I say firmly. “Because I believe I acted with integrity, both as a surgeon and as a person. And I will continue to do so.”
There’s a pause, then Moreno speaks again, his voice quieter, but resolute.
“Good.” He meets my eyes. “Because that’s the kind of surgeon I want in this clinic.”
The air suddenly feels sharp in my chest, and Tallow clears his throat.
“Thank you, Dr. Park. We’ve reviewed the evidence provided prior to this meeting, as well as your statement today.”
He glances at Karen, who nods, then back at me. “It’s the board’s decision that no breach of professional conduct has occurred. You maintained appropriate boundaries during the period in which Mr. Hutchison was your patient, and you disclosed the relationship in accordance with our policy.”
My pulse stutters, and I tighten my hold on Ivy, a quiet breath slipping out of me.
“We will formally close the inquiry today,” he continues, “with no disciplinary action or notations on your record. We do, however, recommend that moving forward, any patient relationships—past or present—be disclosed immediately, in writing, to avoid further speculation.”
“Understood,” I say quietly.
Karen nods. “Thank you, Dr. Park. That concludes the matter.”
There’s a scrape of a chair, and I glance up. Moreno is standing.
He doesn’t say anything right away. He watches the others file from the room until it’s only Heidi and me remaining. Then he looks at me with that sharp, thoughtful expression he wears in the OR. The one I used to chase, the one I spent years trying to earn.
“I hope this hasn’t made you forget,” he says, “you’re one of the best surgeons I’ve worked with. And I’m very happy to have you back.”
For a second, my eyes burn, and I can’t speak.
“Thank you, Dr. Moreno.”
He nods once, then slips from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. For a beat, the silence feels impossibly big.
Then Heidi explodes, sharp and gleefully beside me. “Fuck yes!”
I blink at her, stunned. “I—”
“You did it,” she breathes. “Carina, you did it.”
Her arms wrap tight around both Ivy and me, and something inside me finally gives. I hold onto her like a lifeline as the adrenaline collapses and the tears come fast, hot, soundless. Ivy stirs with a sleepy little grunt, but doesn’t cry.
“I thought—I really thought—” I choke out, trying to breathe, to collect myself.
But Heidi just holds on tighter. “I knew they’d see it. You did nothing wrong except fall in love with that man. And you’re too damn good. You’ve always been too good.”
I press a kiss to Ivy’s head, her soft fuzz damp with the heat of my skin. Her little hand is curled between us, warm and oblivious, tucked over my heart.
“Hey,” I whisper, voice cracking. “You hear that? Your mom’s still a surgeon.”
She doesn’t answer, of course, but Heidi does. “Hell yes, she is.”
I let out a wet, shaky laugh, then swipe at my face with the back of my hand. “I need to text Reid.”
Heidi snorts, reaching into my bag and handing me my phone like it’s a mission-critical tool. “Babe, if you don’t, I will. That man has even texted me to promise I’ll send him updates.”
Ivy lets out a very small, very unimpressed fart.
“See?” Heidi beams. “Even she agrees.”
I type the message with trembling fingers, then stare at it for a long moment before pressing send.
Me: It’s over. Cleared and no record. I’m still a surgeon
I don’t expect a reply; he’s mid-game. But I still picture the moment he’ll see it—gloves off, sweat dripping, scowl in place. And underneath it all, that quiet way he looks at me like I’m the most important thing in the world.
My throat aches at the thought, and I pull Ivy tighter, burying my face in her hair. Heidi wraps her arm around me again as we make our way back to the parking lot.
Outside, the day is still cold and gray, but inside, everything is light.
Reid: I’m so fucking proud of you.
Reid: Ivy’s got a badass for a mom.
Reid: And I’ve got a fucking legend as the love of my life.